Книга - Look, But Don’t Touch

Look, But Don't Touch
Sandra Chastain


Photographer Cat McCade has no problem admitting she has a weakness for half-naked men. After all, she's gained national recognition for her men's underwear ads. Still, she's always very careful not to let any man get too close–until she has a fateful run-in with Texas Ranger Jesse Dane. And then she can't get him out of his clothes fast enough.…Jesse Dane is a loner–and likes it that way. Only, since he shared a one-night stand with a sexy stranger, he's been out of sorts, suddenly wanting more.… So when he learns he's getting a new assignment–to serve as a bodyguard to powerful businessman Sterling Szachon's new photographer– he's relieved. Until he realizes that the body he'll be guarding is the one that shared his bed…







“If you need your shirt back, I’ll take it off,” Cat offered

“No, that’s okay. It looks much better on you, anyway,” Jesse managed to say.

“It’s very soft,” Cat continued, sliding her fingers up and down the flannel fabric. “It feels…good.”

He let out a deep hot breath. This sexy stranger seemed to be sending him an invitation, but he couldn’t be sure. He desperately tried to hold on to his last thread of control. Then he saw the tops of her breasts peeking out of the shirt. The thread snapped. He groaned and did what he’d been aching to do all night. He kissed her.

Silently, hungrily she responded with a passion that scared him. She kept her eyes open as he slid his hands beneath the shirt. He started for a moment when he realized he was touching her bare skin—and nothing else. Then she slid her arms around his neck and melted against him, making him forget everything else. Tearing his lips away from hers for a moment, he gave her one final chance to back out. “Are you sure about this?”

She met his eyes, her gaze sure and direct. “That I want you? Absolutely. That it’s smart? Not at all.” She held out her hands to him. “So you better stop talking, Ranger, and make love to me before I change my mind….”


Dear Reader,

Every woman dreams of the perfect lover. As readers, we like these tortured heroes, the bad boys and the loners. Mitchell Dane, the responsible older brother, was the tortured hero in my last book, Bedroom Eyes. Now Mitchell’s little brother, Texas Ranger Jesse James Dane, can kiss his days as a bachelor goodbye. Jesse hides behind his badge, living by rules and regulations. Or he does until Cat McCade sweeps into his life and turns it upside down.

Photographer Cat McCade has found a technique to take ordinary men and make them extraordinary on film. And sometimes she even takes them home for a one-night stand. But she never lets anyone get close to her—until she meets Jesse….

A traffic accident, a wild thunderstorm and an even wilder attraction take them both to a place they never expected to be. And that’s just the beginning….

I hope you enjoy Look, But Don’t Touch. I love to hear from my readers. You can write to me at P.O. Box 67, Smyrna, GA 30081, or e-mail me at sandrasmy@aol.com.

Enjoy,

Sandra Chastain


Books by Sandra Chastain

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

768—BARING IT ALL

843—BEDROOM EYES


Look, But Don’t Touch

Sandra Chastain






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Contents


Chapter 1 (#ufd7f1daa-e027-59c8-9f9d-6239162df2dd)

Chapter 2 (#u57215aed-894e-587b-a65a-d67849f9033d)

Chapter 3 (#u790df211-3d85-5279-ba38-cedb1b4d7902)

Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)




1


CAT MCCADE drove her gleaming black Harley into the restaurant parking lot, gunned the motor, then let the bike glide to a stop in a no parking area. She peeled off her black helmet and shook out a waterfall of straight blond hair that fell to her shoulders. Once she’d dismounted, she removed her jacket, slung it over her shoulder, and strode toward the front door on long, leather-clad legs.

It was Friday night and Cat could feel the eyes on her as the noisy patrons of the Atlanta Tex-Mex restaurant turned to look as if a television star had entered their midst. She ignored them, searching for Bettina, who would have a table and margaritas waiting. She could always depend on Bets.

From the time Bettina had hired Cat as a photographer for the models in Bachelor in a Box, they’d been friends. She’d gone on to become very successful in supplying phantom bachelors for women without permanent mates. The client selected a photograph of her fictitious lover and a “relationship” was established wherein Bettina sent gifts, letters and placed telephone calls to make it all seem real. The only problem was, on her off hours Bettina used her matchmaking efforts to arrange real relationships for her family and friends. And that included Cat.

“Cat! Over here.”

Waiters and patrons stood back, allowing Cat to move through the crowd to her friend who was waving at her from a table in the corner. Bettina was drinking something pink and slushy. At the other place was a mug edged in salt and filled with an icy-green liquid.

Cat sat, picked up the mug and took a sip. “Not bad, Bets.”

“Best margaritas in Atlanta and you know it.”

“Ah, Atlanta, our hometown. No place like it. But by Monday I’ll be in San Antonio along the River Walk, drinking the south-of-the-border variety.”

Bettina gave her a look of bemused disbelief. “You just got here and now you’re leaving? Of course you are. You never stay anywhere long enough to unpack.” She tilted her head. “You know, I often wonder what you’re running from.”

“Not from,” Cat amended quickly. “To. There’s a whole world out there, ready and waiting for me to find it.”

“And what’s it?”

That stopped Cat for a moment. “It is my job,” she said. “I’m a photographer. I enjoyed the architectural shoots and nature studies but, quite frankly, I got tired of being an assistant, and I’m just not into bugs and wild animals. What can I say? I like the comforts of hot water and good food. And being able to sleep in my own bed at night—alone.”

“So that’s why you photograph men, to sleep alone? I’ll admit you’re a challenge to my matchmaking abilities. But I’m up to it. After all, I found my brother, Mitchell, a wife who’s willing to travel with him.”

“I repeat. I’m not looking.”

“I know. But don’t think I’m not on to you. You like to be the one to call the shots. It just seems to me that a woman like you who works with men all the time could find at least one who suits her.”

One thing about Bettina Dane, she didn’t give up. To her, Cat couldn’t possibly be happy until she had a husband or at least a significant other. “Lots of them suit me…through a camera lens. I like my life, just like it is. And that’s how I intend to keep it. I’ve seen too many desperate women willing to give up everything to keep a man.”

“Cat. Look at your sisters. They’re happy, aren’t they?”

“I knew a long time ago that I wasn’t like my sisters. They didn’t like the location moves that came from being military brats. I did. When they married and settled down, they sent out roots that have gone so deep they hardly take a vacation. They say they’re happy—” Cat shrugged “—but so does my mother.”

“What makes you think she’s not?”

“Because she has no life of her own. In the military, an officer’s wife is simply an extension of him. And now he’s retired and she’s switched to caring for grandchildren. She’s never had her own identity.” There was a catch in her voice when she said, “That’s never going to happen to me.”

“I know how much you worry about her, but you’re carving out a lonely life for yourself,” Bettina said. “Who exactly are you waiting for?”

“I’ll know him when I see him. But, for now, I like my life just fine. Besides, where’s your significant other, girlfriend?”

Bettina sighed and admitted, “You’re right. You either marry at eighteen and divorce at twenty or you suddenly realize you’re thirty and there are no available men interested. But the difference in me and you is that I haven’t given up. I like men. I’m just selective.”

“To each her own. Your relationships are selective. My relationships are impersonal.”

“That’s what you told me when you did your first photographs of the hunks for my Bachelor in a Box portfolio. Your work may be impersonal to you, but I have to tell you, Cat, the poor guys who were your subjects told me that it affected them a little differently. They said you’re a vamp.”

Cat smiled. In a way Bettina was right. She could have used experienced models for that shoot but she preferred real men and she’d had to learn how to make them relax. “So? Any good photographer develops her own techniques and if a little flirting gives me what I want on film, I reap the results. The men feel important and nobody gets hurt. And occasionally…well, there’s nothing wrong with enjoying your work so long as you move on. That much of the military life I liked.”

“Being a military brat didn’t seem to bother you,” Bettina agreed.

“Hated the rules and regulations. Loved the travel.”

Bettina took a look out the front window at Cat’s bike and nodded her head in the direction of the parking lot. “I can see that. A motorcycle? I don’t know why that surprises me. Do you intend to ride it to Texas?”

Cat laughed. “I wish. No, I’m driving the El Camino.”

Bettina rolled her eyes. “The truck? I can’t get over that. You have the looks of a sex goddess—every man you meet falls at your feet—and you drive a truck?”

“The El Camino isn’t a truck. It’s a sleek, restored, classic vehicle, a cross between a truck and a convertible. It may not be your style, but I love it. Tell me, what are you driving these days?”

“I drive a white Honda Civic, and the only way anybody notices it is if I park it illegally.”

“Bettina, you may be supplying imaginary lovers for women who are satisfied with a picture and a few phone calls and gifts. But you have the opportunity to see these guys up close and personal. I say you ought to buy yourself a red convertible and drive out to audition your bachelors personally.”

“Not interested,” Bettina said. “I don’t mix business and pleasure.”

“You don’t have any pleasure. My career is my pleasure and it works fine for me.”

Bettina nodded. “I suppose. But, unlike you, I think it’s important to build roots. Your sisters may have established domestic roots—well I’m building business roots. Haven’t you ever stopped to think where you’ll be in ten years?”

That made Cat pause for a moment. The future was always out there. She told herself she’d know it when she arrived. She sure as hell didn’t have a game plan to get her there. “Someplace exciting. But for now the near future is enough for me to think about.”

“So what’s the new assignment?”

“I’m going to Texas to shoot a catalog for Sterling Szachon. You’ve heard of him, haven’t you? He’s Texas’s answer to Donald Trump, a love-’em-and-leave-’em tycoon who’s opening a chain of underwear shops for men.”

“I’ve heard of him,” Bettina said. “Sounds dangerous. Better keep your distance and stick to scouting for those yummy models.”

Cat slapped her hand down on the table. “I know. Why don’t you come with me and help me look for men?”

For a moment Bettina looked startled, then studied Cat thoughtfully. “No way, but I know who might be able to help you—my brother Jesse. He lives in San Antonio.”

“Jesse? Well, I always hire a local assistant. If he’s looking for a job, I’ll talk to him.”

“Jesse, a photographer’s assistant?” Bettina chuckled. “I don’t think so. He’s a rules-and-regulations Texas Ranger now.”

“I guess that means he wouldn’t consider posing for my catalog. If I said you told me to look him up to add him to my portfolio, he’d probably run the other way.”

Bettina laughed. “You got that right. I don’t know what I was thinking. Forget looking him up. You two would never get along anyway, you run away from rules and regulations. Beside, Texas Rangers only operate in Texas.”

The conversation shifted to Bettina’s new service, Rendezvous. The idea for the service had come about after a busy executive had asked her to arrange a real exotic weekend with a real woman. Now she had as many male clients with special requests as females. And the best part about it was that everything was anonymous.

“That’s great, but I don’t know why the men need you, Bettina,” Cat said. “There are travel agencies who specialize in that sort of thing.”

“Not for the men I deal with. These are high-profile individuals who want complete confidentiality. Since this part of my service caters to the client’s personal needs, it’s very expensive—and business is booming.” She eyed Cat. “You know, I could really use a partner if you ever decide to stop covering the world and find a man of your own.”

Cat laughed. “I don’t need a nine-to-five business and I don’t need a man. You already know that, girlfriend.”

They polished off the chips and tacos, finished their drinks and left, splitting in different directions, Bettina to her Honda and Cat to her Harley. At the last minute Bettina turned back. “You know, Cat, maybe I’m wrong about you and Jesse. You’re very different but you do have some things in common. He has a motorcycle. And he seems to be as much a connoisseur of one-night stands as you.”

“Forget that. First of all, I’m not interested in one-night stands with anyone I know personally.” Cat ticked off her fingers. “Second, Jesse already has a job and I’ve had enough rules and regulations to last a lifetime from my father. And third, unless your brother agrees to audition, I couldn’t even put him in the catalog. So what’s the point in getting in touch?” She dropped her hands. “No, I’ll just have to count on finding some other men who will pose for me.”

“It’s a tough job…” Bettina laughed. “By the way, how do you find out how your models look in a thong?” she asked curiously.

“Simple. I have all my candidates strip.”

JESSE WAS TIRED and he was later than he’d planned.

Clouds were building into swirling black shapes across the murky light of the October moon. The breeze was strong. A storm was brewing.

As Jesse picked up speed and let the wind whip past him, he thought about why he loved his motorcycle—it was controlled power. No arguing, just compliance. But driving through a Texas rainstorm changed the rules. The elements didn’t abide by the rules. Without order, came chaos. He needed to be careful.

The Katy Highway between Houston and San Antonio alternated from busy clusters of strip malls and fast-food outlets to long flat areas of nothing. He’d been summoned for an appointment in San Antonio with the chief the next morning and Jesse James Dane would never be late. A little caffeine would help; he’d pull into the next truck stop.

In the darkness ahead he caught sight of the tail-lights of an eighteen-wheeler running side by side with a smaller truck.

As he came closer, the commercial rig started to weave and the trucker jerked the vehicle back into his lane. After several “near misses” that forced the pickup to either speed up or slow down, Jesse decided he might be driving into trouble.

Jesse hadn’t witnessed a traffic offense in a long time, but it looked as if he was about to. Matters worsened when a light rain began to fall. As Jesse approached, the big rig picked up speed and moved into the passing lane in front of the pickup.

To avoid rear-ending the eighteen-wheeler, the pickup whipped into the inside lane in front of Jesse, forcing him to use his brakes. Normally the bike would have responded but a little sand on a barely wet road caught it and the bike began to slide to the outside lane. For a moment, Jesse thought he had it under control, then the back tire lost traction and the bike skidded into a sudden sideways motion. Jesse swore. He was going to have to lay the bike down. As the eighteen-wheeler that had started the trouble sped out of sight, Jesse’s machine slid across the highway and landed in the ditch with a crunch.

Jesse swore again and pulled himself to a limping stand. Taking a deep breath, he dragged off his helmet, dropped it next to the bike and glanced up to see the pickup driver now backing along the shoulder of the empty highway. He didn’t know why the two vehicles had been playing tag and he couldn’t assume the driver of the pickup was stopping to be a Good Samaritan. He’d been a ranger long enough to know that even the most innocent action could have disastrous consequences. He stepped back, pulled his cell phone from his backpack, and punched in 9-1-1. No service. Damn. The driver was almost at the crash site. Casually, Jesse reached down and picked up one of the rear view mirrors that had snapped off in the skid.

The vehicle coming to a stop in front of him was no simple pickup. Even in the dark he could see that it was a classic Ford El Camino with some kind of custom-designed toolbox built across the cab’s outer wall. As the door opened, the clouds parted and a shaft of moonlight cut through the black rain clouds, hitting the driver like a spotlight and revealing a pair of long, jeans-clad legs, an open stretch of bare midriff and a denim jacket.

“A woman.” She peeled off a baseball cap and, with the shake of her head, her mass of blond hair was caught by the whipping wind.

No, not just a woman, a vision. The Cameron Diaz look-alike strode toward him. She was almost as tall as he was—something he didn’t like in a woman. He preferred them tiny and temporary.

“Hello,” she called. “Are you okay?” For a moment he didn’t answer. He was struck by an awareness of something very physical between them, an energy that started in his fingertips and vibrated up his arms and into the back of his neck. He could only think it was some kind of atmospheric anomaly caused by the impending storm. He felt as if he was about to be struck by lightning. As a ranger, he’d earned the reputation as Ice Man when he encountered trouble. It kept situations from becoming personal. This time that control seemed totally elusive.

“I’m okay but I might not have been,” he blurted, taking his uncertainty out on a woman who didn’t deserve it. He couldn’t see any lightning but he sure as hell felt electricity in the air. If he’d been standing in water, he’d be fried. It was the kind of feeling he imagined a law officer might experience if he were forced to kill a man.

“Should I have hit him?” she asked, a hint of anger in her voice. He wondered if she felt the tension between them. “I don’t think so. My pickup was no match for that big wheeler.”

He took another look at the El Camino with the Georgia tag. “Pickup? Not too many normal people drive a restored vehicle like that on the highway.”

“I do.”

“I can see that.” He made a disparaging sound, not so much directed at her as an attempt to disconnect himself from his rescuer. “What’s a woman from Georgia doing out here alone at this time of night?”

“You have a curfew in Texas for women from other states?”

She couldn’t see his face. He was a silhouette: a lean, dark figure holding a bike mirror as if it were the head of a staff. The Grim Reaper. All he needed was a cloak and a black horse, Cat mused, shivering. Every nerve in her body responded to him in a way she couldn’t understand.

A circle of light split the clouds and fell across the man. She gasped. His five o’clock shadow gave him the sinister look of an old Western outlaw. Dark eyes seemed to look right through her. In response, her teeth began to chatter. She felt as if she were in the eye of a storm. As long as she didn’t move, she was safe.

Bettina had asked her who she was waiting for. She’d quipped that she’d know when she found him. One look at the man in the moonlight and she knew he would be at the top of her list. It had been too long since she’d felt such desire and never this intense. She wanted this man naked, in her bed, inside her—and the sooner the better.

The wind picked up, flinging a wet sheen across her face, and she pulled her cap back on, barely aware she was doing it. “I stopped to help you,” she said.

“Thanks, but I can manage,” he said gruffly.

She took a step back, holding up both hands as a shield. “Okay. Sorry I stopped,” she said, annoyed and puzzled at his mood.

He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. This isn’t your fault.” If it had been anybody else, he’d have forced himself to be more pleasant, but something he couldn’t explain was affecting his breathing. The very air between them was hot.

She asked again, “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Those words echoed in his head as he lost himself in thought….

All right? When he was a child, long after his father had gone, he’d asked his mother that. His older brother Mitchell had been forced into becoming the head of the household and making the rules.

Mitchell and Ran, the middle brother, had established a conspiracy of silence that had closed Jesse out, and he’d never understood why. Rule number one was that Mama was sick and Jesse shouldn’t go into her room.

Yet, he’d slip into Mama’s room when they were away and she would loop her thin arms around him and cry against his chest. “Are you all right?” he’d ask. She’d only cry and say she loved him.

Then came the bad days when she no longer knew him as her youngest son. She’d cried then because she was in pain. He’d continued to break Mitchell’s rules—because she’d needed him—until she’d been sent to the nursing home. Then, out of pain and anger, he’d broken some of Mitchell’s other rules. On probation from his second DUI charge, Jesse had finished high school one day and joined the marines the next. But he’d never gotten over the feeling that he’d let Mama down.

He’d determined long ago that he’d never let anyone need him again and he’d never break any more rules.

“Listen. I feel bad about what happened,” the woman facing him said. “It’s starting to rain. If you’ll put your bike in the back of my truck I’ll drive you wherever you like.”

With her hands still extended, his skin tingled with the crazy sensation that she was pushing against him, as though her long fingers were pressed against his bare skin. Damn. When he’d fallen, he must have hit his midsection. The feeling intensified. Hell, he must have hit his head, too.

“No thanks.”

“Fine.” She dropped her hands and started to turn away, then stopped. “Since you don’t want my help, I’ll just go.”

“Where are you heading?” His question stopped her. He’d surprised himself by asking. Asking made the connection stronger. As the rumble of thunder in the distance grew louder, the physical responses in his body seemed to intensify, fed by the wind and the rain.

“I’m headed for San Antonio. If I read the last road sign right, it’s just ahead.”

“You’re about twenty miles out,” Jesse agreed, switching to ranger mode. “It is none of my business, but you shouldn’t give out information. In fact, you shouldn’t have stopped to help me. Suppose I’m an ax murderer?”

He told himself his voice wasn’t tight because of the overwhelming tension that arced between them—he was simply reprimanding her. A smart woman would get out of here. He’d bet she was smart. And gutsy. Whatever she was feeling, she certainly wasn’t afraid of him. In fact, he sensed what might be called cynical amusement.

She stood her ground. “I’m just curious. Are you an ax murderer or do you club your victims with rearview mirrors?”

He glanced down. He was holding the broken mirror with no recollection of picking it up. “I improvise. What about you?” The words came out as though someone else was speaking. Maybe he really had hit his head.

“Normally, I’d already be gone, but since I did contribute to your accident, I felt compelled to help. It’s your call, Motorcycle Man. We can put your bike in the back of the El Camino and get out of the elements or I’ll send someone from the next open garage.” She jutted her chin forward and waited.

He shook his head. “If I thought the two of us could lift a five-hundred-pound machine into the bed of your truck, I might agree.” He didn’t have a choice. He’d have to take his chances and let her help. “Just send a wrecker when you get to the next garage.”

“Well, I could, but it happens that I have ramps, a tarp and a tool chest in the back. I travel alone so I’m always prepared. By the way, I believe your motorcycle is a Road King and they weigh closer to seven hundred and twenty-five pounds.”

Jesse was amazed. She was right about the bike. It was a Harley Road King and it weighed seven hundred and twenty-three pounds. Before he realized what he was doing, he heard himself saying, “I accept your offer. You carry ramps around?”

“They’re useful in moving things in and out of the truck. Never know what I’ll need when I start a new assignment.”

Because of her tool chest, getting the bike into the truckbed wasn’t easy. By the time they’d done it and picked up the broken pieces of metal along the roadside, both were soaking wet. He was still curious about the ramps as he watched the woman pull off her jacket and wet cap, open the passenger side door and lean inside the cab. Moments later she straightened again. “Okay, get in, unless you’d rather ride in the back with the bike. Be careful of my gear on the floor.”

Jesse crawled in, carefully planting his feet around the bulky backpacks and wondering how he’d gotten himself into such a situation. The seat shifted as she got in on her side. He turned to thank her and heard a sharp intake of breath, not certain whether it had come from him or her. At this close proximity, they had their first clear view of each other. If tension could be measured by a thermometer, it would have hit the top of the gauge.

With the moonlight behind her, he’d only gotten a general impression of his angel of mercy. Up close, she was straight out of a fantasy comic book. Blond hair streaming in wet ropes and a T-shirt plastered against full breasts, she could have ridden a wild stallion with Zena or been an agent in the next episode of “Silk Stalkings.” If she stepped on a stage with Madonna or Brittany Spears, they’d fade away.

As they continued to eye each other, he took a deep breath and let it out. “Something wrong?” Wrong? If he asked himself that question, he’d have to answer yes. Something was wrong. The woman. The night. The storm.

She simply stared at him, the silence heavy between them. Her voice was tight when she answered. “Maybe. Maybe not. I think I’m just a little shaky. The accident was a shock.”

“That surprises me. I’d expect the average woman to be shaken up, but the average woman doesn’t drive a truck carrying tools and equipment.”

“Women have toys. They just aren’t always what you expect,” she said, and closed her door. Mercifully, the light went out. Moments later the engine came to life and she pulled back onto the highway. “It isn’t the accident that bothered me. It’s you.”

“I bother you? Why is that?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Men are my business. I’ve seen all kinds and I’ve learned to read them. Everything about you says danger.”

He didn’t know which comment bothered him the most, her reference to danger or that men were her business. He shifted his feet, wondering what she carried in her cases. With a taste for classic vehicles and motorcycles, she had to have money. Or maybe she was the ax murderer and she carried her weapons in her cases. Either way, this woman was trouble and trouble was something he didn’t need. He was going to find enough of that in the morning at the meeting scheduled with his boss.

“You’re very direct for a woman,” he finally said. “Or a man, for that matter.”

“I believe in confronting a situation head-on, yes.” She glanced at him. “I’m curious. You don’t seem to be the kind of man who would willingly ask for help, especially from a woman. And I’m definitely not myself around you, either. Can you say there isn’t something strange happening here?”

“No, I guess I can’t,” he admitted. He’d accused her of being direct and he liked that about her. Although if anyone had asked, he would have said it was what he’d always thought he’d wanted in a woman. But now he wasn’t so sure. “I don’t understand this, either,” he said. “Let’s just say, there was an accident and it shook us up, and leave it at that.”

The windows had fogged, giving the illusion of a gauzy cocoon isolating them from the rest of the world. The air felt warm and unstable.

“Whatever you say.” She reached for the windshield defroster. He was right. They were tuned into each other in a way she hadn’t experienced before. She attributed her reaction to the fact that he was absolutely perfect for her catalog, but this personal…connection was volatile and disturbing. She felt like the woman who knew there was an ax murderer in the basement. Everything about her said, Don’t go down there. And she was heading for the basement as fast as she could.

Cat shrugged her shoulders, trying to break out of what felt like a physical force field. “I prefer to think we’re two ships that pass in the night. From the looks of this weather, we could use a ship.”

Rain was blowing everywhere now, making it difficult to see. In addition to the weather, her windshield wipers were behaving erratically. Her passenger leaned back, not speaking. If he was worried about her ability to drive in the storm, he didn’t say it. Either he was the rare man who could relax with a woman at the wheel or he was scared speechless. She took a quick look. He didn’t look scared.

“You can just drop me off anywhere,” he finally said.

“If I’d been going to drop you off anywhere, you might just as well have stayed where you were. You’re soaking wet. I’m soaking wet. And your bike is wrecked. I’ll take you home. I suppose it’s too much to hope that you live on the River Walk.”

“You live on the River Walk?” he asked.

She laughed. “Live? Not likely. Home for me is wherever my work is. For the next few weeks, home is the Palace Hotel, compliments of my employer—that is, if he’s satisfied with my work when we meet.”

Satisfied? The Palace Hotel? That was the most expensive hotel on the Walk. Whatever she was, she was being very well paid. “Slow down. We’re almost there. Turn left at the next road and be careful as you cross the bridge—there’s a low spot on the other side. I live behind the church.”

She turned off the highway and drove over the bridge. Her headlights flashed on the church ahead. “Well, I’ve been with a lot of men, but this is a first.”

“Been with a lot of men? Are you always so candid?”

“In my business, I have to be.” She shook her head. “Here I am picturing you in your underwear and I find out you’re a priest.”

Picturing him in his underwear? Satisfied a lot of men? That’s when it hit him. She was a hooker, a high-priced call girl. And she thought he was a priest. He couldn’t hold back a laugh. “A priest? Not me. I just rent the little house in back. I like the solitude.”

“You already told me you weren’t an ax murderer so I guess I’ll trust you on that.” She looked him up and down without seeming conscious of the gesture. “Although I don’t know if trusting you is a smart idea.”

She returned her eyes to the road. With every bump, the tension grew.

He could smell the rain, the leather of his pants, the hint of flowers that seemed to come from her hair.

As they reached the church, lightning suddenly split the sky, revealing a very old adobe structure with a tiny steeple and a fenced yard. She jumped at the flash of light and laughed self-consciously. “I’ve seen a lot of chapels like this in my travels,” she said, “though seldom illuminated by the hand of God himself! Are we being warned, do you think?”

He was beginning to wonder the same thing. In spite of the defroster, the windshield was still fogging and the wipers had slowed to a jerky crawl. The El Camino and the wipers hesitated at the same time lightning struck again. His nerve endings were vibrating like danger flags caught in the wind.

The engine died and the headlights went out.

“Damn!” his driver swore. “I can’t believe this. First your bike wrecks and now my wheels have died. What’s next?” She gestured to the sky. “And who knows how long this storm will last.”

“As far as I know, we aren’t expecting a hurricane, so I’d say it’ll blow itself out pretty quick. We can call your…friend at the Palace. I’m sure he can send someone after you, or I’ll be glad to drive you when the storm stops. I don’t want to hold you up.”

She took a deep breath. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll manage. I truly am sorry if I caused you to go off the road. But you aren’t responsible for me. Once the engine cools down, it’ll run fine.”

He’d turned her down when she’d first offered her help. He should have insisted that she go. He hadn’t. Now he had a woman on his hands he’d like nothing more than to get his hands on. “You may know your cars but you don’t understand about Texas. This is flat-land out here. A hard rain and the low areas flood. I think you’re stuck for a while.”

A crack of thunder emphasized the danger of the storm.

She shivered and he had an almost overwhelming urge to slide his arms around her narrow waist. “You’re probably right. My Ellie has a mind of her own.”

“Ellie?”

“That’s what I call the El Camino. When something isn’t right, she just stops until it is. Which is pretty much what I do. Tell you what, if you have any coffee, I’d love a cup—particularly if you have a little brandy to spike it with,” she said, running her tongue over her lips.

“No brandy,” he said, trying to adjust his lower body, which had started to take on a life of its own. If he sat here, his thigh touching hers any longer, he would incinerate. “Only beer or coffee. But just sit tight a minute. I’ll unload the bike before we go inside.”

“I’ll help,” she said as she opened her door, which was immediately caught by the wind.

If there had been any dry spots left on their clothing, there were none by the time they got the bike into his shed.

Finally he replaced her ramps inside the truckbed and started toward his small adobe house. The woman hesitated.

“Come on in, dry off and wait for the rain to stop.” Jesse unlocked his door and stood aside. His guardian angel eyed him uncertainly, then moved past him. A sharp pang ran through him as she entered. It was a cardinal rule: when he spent time with a woman it was at her house or on neutral ground and he always went home before morning. Now, he’d let a stranger inside.

But this was different, he told himself. She didn’t know his name. And he didn’t know hers.

“I don’t have a clothes dryer,” Jesse said, “but I’ll build a fire and you can get warm.”

Warm? If she felt the way he did, she’d be better off if he turned on the air conditioner. As he walked over to the corner and crouched in front of an adobe fire-place, Cat sat on a stool and removed her boots.

Moments later flames were licking at the wood. Satisfied that the fire was burning, he stood. “I’m going to get out of this wet shirt and make the coffee,” he said. “The bathroom is through that door. There are towels on the shelf.”

Cat let out a sigh of relief and headed for the door. The bathroom made her smile. A large claw-footed tub filled almost the entire room. On one wall were shelves filled with towels and…rocks. She supposed he must collect them. Her host was obviously a man of the earth. At least he wasn’t a man of the cloth—which was good, considering the way she was feeling. She lifted a towel and turned to go back out to the fire when she spotted a blue flannel shirt hanging on the back of the door. It was soft and dry and smelled like sage, the same smell she’d been so conscious of in the truck. She took in the scent and felt it fuel the fire crackling inside her skin. Moments later, after shedding all her wet clothes, she was snuggled inside the flannel shirt that almost reached her knees.

“Did you find what you needed?” her mystery man asked, rounding the corner into the bathroom and coming to an abrupt stop only inches away from her. At her inadvertent yelp, he apologized. “Sorry. I see you found something to wear.”

“If you need your shirt, I’ll take it off,” she offered, reaching for the top button, then stopped. She’d be completely nude.

“No, that’s okay. It looks much better on you.”

“It’s very soft,” she said, sliding her fingers up and down the flannel fabric. “It feels…good.”

Jesse let out a deep, hot breath. She seemed to be sending him an invitation, but he couldn’t be sure. He desperately tried to hold on to his last thread of control. Then he saw the top of her breasts peeking out the vee of the shirt. She was every man’s wet dream. The thread snapped.

He groaned and reached for her.

“Don’t,” she said, her voice low and tight.

He kissed her.

Silently, hungrily, she responded with such passion that it scared him. She kept her eyes open as he slid his hands beneath the shirt. He started for a moment when he touched her bare hips, then moved slowly upward and cupped her breasts. He felt the pounding of her heart as she slid her arms around his neck and melted against him. He tore his lips away for a moment. “Are you sure about this?”

“That I want you? Absolutely! That it’s smart? Not at all. Now, stop talking and make love to me.”

He lifted her in his arms.




2


BETWEEN KISSES they were soon naked and breathless on his bed, covered with a down comforter that gathered them close and cushioned them in warmth.

He plunged his hands into her hair, pulling it, kneading her scalp as his hot breath brushed her skin. His lips captured hers in great hungry gulps while his hips ground against her, his arousal pulsating with need. The power of his appetite demanded that she meet his every move with equal fire. She did.

Suddenly he pulled her hands above her head so that she couldn’t move. His mouth moved down her neck, tasting her nipple with his tongue and finally capturing it with his lips. Beneath him she writhed, trying desperately to entice him inside her. But he was not finished with her yet. With a hard tug she pulled away from his grasp. Hands free to touch, she explored hard muscles. Soft, pliable skin clenched in its wild need to be joined. Skin against skin, she was on fire, little sparks exploding outward, heating them both, making her wet with want. She knew he could tell she was with him. Pleasure throbbed inside her, growing stronger, frantic to be released.

Jesse was inside her and for a moment any thought of control was gone, until he realized what was happening and forced himself to still. “Whoa, lady,” he said in a tight voice. What was he doing, making love to her without protection? And why hadn’t she stopped him?

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Everything. Because professional call girl or not, he wanted her.

She squirmed beneath him, crying out with need. He wanted her and he’d gone too far to turn back, but if he was going to break his own code of ethics, he’d still be smart enough to protect himself and her.

He reached past her and fumbled in the drawer in the nightstand. He couldn’t reach it and had to lift himself up.

“Don’t go away,” she said.

He tried to open the packet, dropped it and cursed. The throb grew stronger as if liquid lightning pulsed through his veins.

“You don’t need that,” she gasped.

“You may not, but I do. I don’t take chances.” He grabbed the packet from the floor.

“Give it to me,” Cat said, pushing him to his back as she removed the contents and tossed the foil to the floor. She smiled. He didn’t have to worry, but a little interruption like this always heightened the tension. She slowly rolled the latex down. He moaned and she could feel the muscles in his body contract as she touched him.

“For God’s sake, get it done,” he growled.

“For my sake, I’m trying.”

“Let me.” He pushed her away, finished and moved back over her. Their eyes were only inches apart. Even in the dark he could see the same desire he knew she saw in his. She breathed in the air he breathed out. He felt as though he’d never been so close to a woman before. She made a desperate sound deep in her throat and reached between them to grasp the hard length of him. This time she clasped her legs around his body and forced him inside her. There was no thinking, only her woman smell, his smell and the slight salty taste of her skin. He filled her with the raw sense of his hot sex.

This time there was no stopping. This time he slammed into her and she raised herself to meet him. He heard her gasp for breath, crying out in pleasure. He felt the beginning of her climax and tightened his muscles in an effort to sustain the moment, then groaned and once again plunged deep inside her as release exploded through them both.

Jesse had some earth-stopping climaxes before, but never like this. As the tremors subsided, little sparks of aftershocks continued to fire. He lay there until his heart stilled and his breathing went back to near normal. Then, finally, he rolled off her, pulled her close beside him, and curled his arm around her shoulder.

“I don’t know what to say,” he murmured, no longer loving her with his lips or his hands, yet still connected to her more intimately than he’d thought possible. How could he explain what had happened, how he’d broken his own rule, first about making love to a woman in his own house, then about the kind of woman he’d just shared the most intimate experience of his life with? It had to be an effect of the storm.

“Talking after something like that would be a sacrilege.”

“But women like to talk.”

“Not this woman. That kind of climax is worth a thousand words and I don’t know one that would accurately describe it.”

He kissed her forehead, his fingertips drawing little circles on her shoulder, memorizing the feel of her.

“Neither do I.”

He continued to hold her as he listened to the sound of his breathing, her breathing, and the heated waves of silence.

She shivered and said, “I think it’s stopped raining.”

“Are you cold?” he asked, but made no effort to pull up the covers.

“No. Cold is the last thing I am.”

“You shivered.”

“I think it’s because this is a little awkward. I’ve never been in exactly this situation before.”

“What kind of situation?”

“This may happen to you all the time, but I generally don’t end up naked in the arms of a man I don’t know.”

“You don’t? You did say men were your business, didn’t you?”

“But that’s different,” she started to explain, then stopped. He wouldn’t understand. He was right. She made her living off men’s bodies. She even sampled their attributes once in a while. But her partners always knew that it was casual and temporary. By staying in his arms, she’d broken one of her own rules tonight.

“I know. You do your thing, then move on and it’s all over.” He couldn’t pretend he expected anything else. From the beginning, everything about her looks, clothes, those heart-attack legs said big bucks and the expertise to demand it.

“Well, yes.”

“So this is over?” His words came out before he had known what he was going to say.

“Certainly. I mean, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Business as usual?” he said, wondering why he was bothered by her statement. He agreed with her. Didn’t he?

“Well, no. This isn’t business,” she admitted, a curious catch in her voice. “It’s personal. Normally, I make it a point to enjoy each…encounter, recognize it for what it is and move on. But this is different.” She was beginning to get a strange feeling about what was happening between them. “Like you said, I’m a direct woman. Since I’m being honest, I’ll confess I wanted you like I’ve never wanted any man. And you wanted me. How does that make you feel?”

“Horny as hell,” he admitted. “This was possibly a mistake, yet I’m about one touch away from making another.”

She laughed dryly. “Well, at least you’re man enough to admit when you’ve made a mistake.”

“And to admit when I’ve broken a few of my own rules.”

“Maybe we both did.”

The warm cocoon was dissipating. Cat didn’t like the awkward feeling. Always before, she and her partner had been on the same page. Tonight neither she nor her one-night stand had taken the lead and the result felt like two pieces of wire still sparking but no longer connected. It was time to go, before she did or said something dumb like “Can I live with you and have your children?”

Finally she made an uneasy move away. When he didn’t pull her back, she said the first thing that came to mind. “You think that coffee’s ready?”

“I’m sure it is,” he said, then stood and held out his hand to help her up. “By the way, if this were a business arrangement and I wanted to hire you, what would you have said to me?”

She stood, slid her arms into his flannel shirt, gathered up her damp clothes and headed to the fire in the other room, trying to put some distance between her and the man who’d just ravished her gloriously. “You don’t understand. It’s me that would be hiring you. And, that’s easy. I would have started by asking you to strip. Then I’d make you an offer.”

She didn’t know why she’d said that. That was her wise-cracking, break-the-ice line for models. But this wasn’t a wise-cracking kind of man. Suddenly she was confused. She had to get dressed and leave. Granted, her El Camino was low to the ground. Granted, the flat areas of Texas flooded quickly. Granted, he wasn’t an ax murderer. And he hadn’t done anything she hadn’t wanted. In fact, he’d done exactly what she’d wanted. Yet, she had the urge to run.

She heard him pad to the kitchen. Then she grabbed her clothes out of the bathroom, and as she leaned down and pulled on her jeans, she caught the scent of him again—as if he’d just removed his shirt and handed it to her. With nervous energy she crossed her arms over her chest and hugged the fabric close. For a long moment she held her breath, then let it out, chastising herself for being bewitched—for that was the only excuse she could come up with for how she was feeling. Clasping the towel with both hands, she leaned her head forward and began rubbing her wet hair.

“Coffee’s ready. Sorry, it’s black.” Wearing a pair of worn jeans, riding low on his hips, and a University of Texas T-shirt, he was carrying two mugs.

He walked over to her chair, handed her one, then moved toward the television. “Hope you don’t mind, but I want to catch the news.” He turned on the television and collapsed in his easy chair as if nothing had happened between them. Flipping channels, he seemed to focus all his attention on the news reports as if she wasn’t there. Was he finding this as strange as she was? Was he going to ignore her reply about stripping?

Moments later he was totally involved in the story of the solving of a five-year-old case, an undertaker who’d killed his wife and buried her in the same casket as the elderly aunt of one of San Antonio’s leading citizens. At the time, the undertaker appeared to be grief stricken. With no body or evidence to support foul play, the police had been forced to release him. The mortician’s wife had disappeared. Only the determined efforts of a Texas Ranger had finally solved the case. The problem was, he’d neglected to get permission from the family whose plot he’d disturbed.

Cat stood and walked over to the fireplace. The rain had stopped. It was time she left. As she turned to tell him, she noticed a desk in the corner and the pictures under the glass top. They appeared to be his family. Boys playing football. A girl hugging a guy.

No, not just a guy, it was the man she’d just made love with. He was wearing a white Stetson and a badge.

The woman was Bettina Dane.

“Now, for a word with the officer,” the television reporter was saying. Cat turned to the TV and watched him walk toward a tall, dark man wearing the customary white shirt and white Stetson worn by the Texas Rangers. “He’s the newest member of the San Antonio unit and he’s setting a remarkable record. A champion of law and order, he’s being called San Antonio’s supercop. Excuse me, Ranger—”

Cat leaned forward. She recognized that silhouette.

“—Jesse James Dane. Could we have a word with you?”

“No comment,” was the icy reply as he turned away.

Jesse James Dane. Bettina’s brother. The very man she’d planned to avoid. Suddenly a click changed the station to the weather channel where the forecaster was informing the public that the possibility of flooding was not over.

Jesse turned and saw that she’d witnessed the news clip. “I think I’d better go,” she said.

She watched Jesse take a big swig from his mug, give an elaborate shrug of his shoulders and lean back. “Relax. You’re safe from arrest. I’m off duty. Besides, the storm may be past, but you never know about flooding. Until we’re sure, you’re welcome to stay.”

“No!” Cat handed Jesse her mug and babbled like an idiot. “I have to get into town. Mr. Szachon is expecting me. I’ll get your shirt back to you. I’ll be able to buy you a new bike if this job goes well.”

Jesse stared at her. Sterling Szachon. He should have known. Everything about her said high-priced. From the beginning she’d been honest—she was out of his league. She was also a woman who gave full value for her service. He could attest to that. But her announcement that she was meeting Sterling Szachon knocked him for a loop.

As rich as Donald Trump, as handsome as sin, Szachon had taken San Antonio by storm. Like Trump, he had a reputation for success with both business and the ladies. He had a new female companion at his side every six months. The gossip was that they were all informed they were temporary. When their time was up, he’d give them something very expensive and send them happily on their way. The gossip didn’t say the women were professionals, but this mystery woman with the El Camino had said he would be her employer. He couldn’t blame her for keeping her profession private with her quip that she did the hiring, but he couldn’t stop a pang of regret. He stood and took a step toward her.

“Keep the shirt. And you’re not responsible for my bike. I have insurance.”

“Thank you for the shirt,” she said formally.

“Thank you for driving me home,” he murmured just as stiffly, following her as she backed out the kitchen door, stepped into a puddle of water and skidded.

He caught her elbows and she was in his arms again. There was an odd moment where both were absolutely still. By the light in the kitchen, he could see the clear blue of her eyes fringed by brown-gold lashes. He felt her catch her breath and hold it.

He’d thought he was in control. Since the death of his mother, he’d spent ten years training himself to erase emotion. Love hurt once it was gone. And this was a love-’em-and-leave-’em woman. But as she slowly let out the air in her lungs, he leaned forward and kissed her again. Like a lover, not a stranger. He hadn’t known he was going to do it.

For a second Cat parted her lips, then moaned and pulled away, her eyes open wide in surprise.

“Why did you do that?” she asked, her voice a throaty whisper.

“You’re in Texas,” he said. “people here kiss hello and goodbye.”

“I…h-have to go,” she stammered, pushing out of his arms and dashing to her truck.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn’t know her name. He didn’t want to. It was better that way.

THE EL CAMINO’S ENGINE started, just as she’d said. From the way she sped away, it was clear that if she had to, she’d swim to get away from him. As a man, he knew he ought not to go after her. As a Texas Ranger who had caused her desperate need to run, he told himself he couldn’t not go. She didn’t have to know. He’d just tag along behind her to make certain that she made it into town.

He watched as her truck sputtered a bit. But she was a good driver and made it onto the bridge. His vehicle, a Dodge Ram, rode across the water like a big sleek boat. He kept his distance, allowing her the illusion of being alone—at least until they reached the hotel. He slowed his truck as she drove onto the mock drawbridge entrance to the Palace, unloaded her luggage, then handed the keys over to the valet. Szachon had built a place that rivaled the Taj Mahal. If there’d been a ten-star rating, this hotel would get an eleven. The high-priced call girls he’d known about couldn’t afford to operate out of the Palace unless they were invited. This woman had a personal invitation.

With her long, determined stride she headed for the revolving doors, then stopped and turned back, her eyes scanning the street as if she sensed his presence. For just a second they seemed to connect on some level and he felt an odd tingle, then she tilted her chin up and entered the hotel.

He drove across the ramp, lowered the passenger window so that he could see her pause briefly at the registration desk then be whisked away toward the elevators without registering. Obviously she was expected.

What the hell was wrong with him, following this woman? He already had an appointment with his captain in the morning for what was certain to be a dressing-down. Getting a judge’s permission to disturb a grave without knowledge of the family had solved the crime, but he hadn’t followed political protocol. In his mind, the end result justified the means since he’d managed to solve a case. But he’d put a question mark in his file.

A Texas Ranger often operated alone, but he was expected to use good judgment. Jesse knew the captain wouldn’t gloss over his actions, even though he’d found the murdered woman and made the arrest. All he could do was apologize to the grieving family of the woman whose grave he’d opened.

He understood about grief and loss, and he’d found his own way to survive. First the marines, then later the Texas Rangers. They’d become his family, his stability in a life that had been an angry rebellion. Each had provided boundaries and taught him the value of rules. Now, he’d not only broken a department rule, he’d broken a personal one, as well.

Tomorrow he’d accept his captain’s punishment. Tonight, watching the most incredible woman he’d ever made love to disappear into another man’s territory was punishment enough.

AS THE ELEVATOR Cat and the Palace bellman shared shot up the side of the lobby, she was only vaguely aware of the luxurious hotel decor. Her mind seemed to be fused to a simple adobe house behind the church. From riding a Harley in the rain to fussing over the weather, everything about Jesse James Dane had been a contradiction. They’d shared incredible sex, then he’d turned away, glued to a newscast.

Normally she picked men that were easy to define. But this time she hadn’t picked. This time she’d been slammed into him thanks to a storm and her instincts to be a Good Samaritan. At least he didn’t know she was a friend of his sister Bettina’s.

As the elevator slowed Cat forced herself to concentrate on the man she was about to meet. Sterling Szachon was expecting her. He’d pay her well and provide living quarters and a liberal expense account. In return, she’d select the sites and photograph the models for his male underwear catalog. To make that happen, she’d forget about Jesse James Dane, Texas Ranger, trouble in every sense of the word.

At least he didn’t know her name.

THE ELEVATOR DOOR slid open with a whisper. She realized that they were exiting into a private corridor. The bellman wheeled his cart past the main set of double doors down the corridor and unlocked a smaller door.

Cat entered the room, caught sight of the elaborate fruit bowl and flower arrangement and knew immediately that this had to be a temporary arrangement. No catalog photographer was provided with such luxurious surroundings.

“Are you certain this is where I’m supposed to be?” she asked.

“Oh, yes, ma’am. Mr. Szachon left instructions for us to take you to your room. The top floor houses his personal living quarters, his office and his executive staff. He owns the hotel, you know.” He unloaded her bag and camera equipment, adjusted the drapes, pointed out the television and gave her the special elevator key needed to reach the top floor. She gave him a tip and he excused himself.

Well, maybe, she decided, but until she met Mr. Szachon she would leave her bags packed. This room made her uneasy. Until she signed the contract, this wasn’t a done deal. And staying in her employer’s quarters was unacceptable, even if the rest of the staff did enjoy the same privilege. She made a list of what she needed, including a sample case of his underwear and an assistant, preferably female.

By ten o’clock she’d eaten the fruit. By midnight she reined in her frustration at being ignored, pulled off everything but the flannel shirt and her panties, and went to bed. She’d get a good night’s rest and meet with the underwear king in the morning at her convenience.

But sleep was elusive. She tossed and turned, trying to empty her mind of distractions. It wasn’t her meeting with Szachon but her physical collision with Jesse Dane that kept intruding. He simply marched into her mind and took control.

He hadn’t taken anything she hadn’t given, but nothing about their lovemaking had been ordinary. It was almost as if she had been the victim of one of those fancy new drugs but she’d had nothing to eat or drink and she didn’t have to be told that Jesse was true-blue and full of propriety. Jesse was a ranger and by definition, followed the rules. A man like that tended to be her least favorite type, unless the man was following her rules.

And she hadn’t set any.

She hated to admit it but no man had ever affected her so strongly. Her body still strummed its need for more. She didn’t understand the lingering aftermath of heat.

She understood control. It was something her father had valued. Control was a state of mind, a kind of self-protection for someone who lived by the book. There were rules of order and, just as her father had done, she was certain Jesse kept every one of them. Except where women were concerned. Apparently he had different standards for one-night stands with perfect strangers. Still, like her, the ranger seemed to be out of sync at the end. Considering he lived by the rules, she was surprised he hadn’t escorted her back to the hotel. For a moment there, she’d been disappointed that he hadn’t.

Cat forced her attention away from Jesse James Dane to the man who was hiring her, Sterling Szachon, nicknamed Zon by the press when they dubbed him one of the twenty-five richest bachelors in the world. Cat had done a little research of her own. The press could well be right. Mr. Szachon owned a large, successful hotel chain, a major league baseball team, real estate, at least one ranch and a local Texas cable service. But the thing that made him different was that people seemed to genuinely like Zon. With his golden opulence, the women certainly did.

He had the Midas touch; every new project turned to gold. She could only hope that his underwear business followed that pattern. Shooting his catalogs would be a feather in her cap. And though she’d never admit it to Bettina, she was ready to stay in one spot for a while—so long as she had her photography to use as her get out-of-jail card when she wanted to go.

Finally she began to relax. Sleep would come. But it wouldn’t be Sterling Szachon who invaded her dreams, it would be a dark-haired Texas Ranger wearing jeans low on his hips, an Ice Man who slept under a down comforter, a man whose kiss still seared her lips.

Cat was aware of the sudden slowing of her breath. Of the shimmering reminder of what she’d shared with a stranger. She took a great gulp of air and breathed in the ever-present scent of Jesse that still clung to his shirt. With a moan of loss, she caught hold of the sheet and pulled it up to her chin.

Her last thought before she fell asleep was, What the hell happened to her?




3


THE INSISTENT RING of the phone roused Cat from a deep sleep. It took her a minute to remember where she was: the employee quarters of Sterling Szachon’s penthouse suite.

She reached for the receiver. “Hello?”

“Ms. McCade, this is Austin, Mr. Szachon’s executive assistant. Mr. Szachon would like you to join him for breakfast in his quarters.”

Cat sat up and glanced at the clock—7:00 a.m. “Breakfast?”

“Yes, ma’am. Will thirty minutes be enough time for you to get ready?”

“It won’t take me that long.”

Still wearing Jesse’s shirt, she pulled on a dry pair of jeans, brushed her teeth and ran a brush through her hair. The last stroke of the brush brought her palm to the collar of Jesse’s flannel shirt. She tilted her head, pulled the fabric to her nose and inhaled a deep breath. Now the shirt smelled like both of them. Funny what turned a woman on. Maybe she was crazy but this time it wasn’t just a man’s body she smelled—the scent triggered a memory, pulling her back to the night they’d shared. There ought to be other memories like that, memories of shared pleasure with other men. But there were none that mattered.

Until Jesse. And that had to stop. Always before, she’d walked away. This time she couldn’t. This time she didn’t want to go. This time she was scared.

But business before pleasure. “Remember, Cat, your business is your pleasure. You just have an itch you haven’t quite scratched yet.” If her boss wanted to call a business meeting in his quarters, she could wear the flannel shirt.

She tossed the brush on the counter, pulled on her running shoes and headed for the door. The penthouse corridor was empty. As she reached the end of the corridor, the door opened and a grandfatherly looking man with silver hair stood there. “I’m Austin, Ms. McCade. This way, please.” Through a glass window off the foyer, she could see a table set for a meal. Beside it stood the man she recognized as her potential employer.





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