champagne from the night before made her tongue feel coated in cotton. She hadn’t even been drunk—just a little buzzed. Hardly enough to earn this kind of morning-after breath. She yawned and rolled over to see her alarm clock: 6:30 a.m.
She glanced across the room. A half-naked man sprawled across in her easy chair. Hurt and a spark of regret crept into her consciousness as her mind replayed her fight with Gabe. A little bit of guilt mingled with the cocktail of ugh she had brewing.
She’d obviously offended Gabe when she’d thought he might sleep with all of his clients. But he hadn’t told her she was wrong.
Her hips were stiff and sore when she stood up. The image of Gabe’s naked, muscular body grinding into hers against the wall of her dojo filled her mind. Heat flushed through her until she nearly smiled. Adjusting her robe, she wandered toward the bathroom, pretending she wasn’t staring at Gabe’s bare chest.
One arm rested above his head, giving her a nice view of his biceps. His disheveled hair and peaceful expression warmed her heart. Too bad he wasn’t as sweet when he was awake. She stopped, tempted to run a finger down his cheek. Fine stubble shadowed his jaw, and she swallowed the desire that smoldered inside her belly.
Client. That’s what he called her. Only a client .
But making love to her until her body was deliciously sore wasn’t the job she was paying him to perform. Stoking the embers of her anger, she turned and walked into the bathroom.
***
Gabe waited for the door to close before he opened his eyes. He’d been awake for a few hours. In fact, he hadn’t slept more than a couple hours at a time since he took this case. Nightmares weren’t unusual for him given his line of work, but something about this case kept him up.
He closed his eyes again the moment Tegan stirred in the bed. Since he still had no idea what to say to her, he figured pretending to be asleep was probably his best course of action.
He got up and pulled on a clean T-shirt. After running a comb through his hair, he went down to the dojo to retrieve his coat. Time to start thinking with another body part.
Downstairs, he carefully pulled the small leather-bound journal from the pocket of his jacket. Tegan had slipped it to him during her birthday party the night before, but shortly afterward she’d kissed him, so any hope of clear thinking was lost at that point.
The woman knew how to kiss.
A mental image of her above him, working her hips into him, a sensual smile on her face, threatened to derail his concentration. The flame of desire fizzled, though, when he remembered the look on her face when she’d admitted thinking he got that personal with all his female customers.
He cracked a window, hoping some fresh air might clear his head. Shifting himself inside his sweats, he sat in one of the chairs along the sidewall and opened the book.
It was all in Welsh Gaelic. Shit . He could make out a few words, but otherwise he was lost. He glanced up the stairs to the door to her loft. Tegan’s father spoke Gaelic. Had he taught his only child?
He flipped through the pages, recognizing some Welsh names. Her dad had instructed her to find a connection, a reason Tegan wasn’t the first of her ancestors to be attacked. He squinted, concentrating as if the words might suddenly mean something to him. Flipping to the back pages, he turned until he found the final page with writing on it.
Tegan Ashton. She was the last entry.
If he had a clue what the book referenced about the attacks or who the people listed were, he might be on to something. A gust of ocean wind blew through the open window of the dojo along with a unique scent.
Demon.
His muscles contracted and he peered out the window, scanning the lot. Nothing.
Glass shattered upstairs, drawing his attention.
“No,” someone pleaded. Chairs crashed, maybe a table. “Wait. I seek Gabriel,” a voice squeaked.
Tegan answered, “He’s the one who told
She glanced across the room. A half-naked man sprawled across in her easy chair. Hurt and a spark of regret crept into her consciousness as her mind replayed her fight with Gabe. A little bit of guilt mingled with the cocktail of ugh she had brewing.
She’d obviously offended Gabe when she’d thought he might sleep with all of his clients. But he hadn’t told her she was wrong.
Her hips were stiff and sore when she stood up. The image of Gabe’s naked, muscular body grinding into hers against the wall of her dojo filled her mind. Heat flushed through her until she nearly smiled. Adjusting her robe, she wandered toward the bathroom, pretending she wasn’t staring at Gabe’s bare chest.
One arm rested above his head, giving her a nice view of his biceps. His disheveled hair and peaceful expression warmed her heart. Too bad he wasn’t as sweet when he was awake. She stopped, tempted to run a finger down his cheek. Fine stubble shadowed his jaw, and she swallowed the desire that smoldered inside her belly.
Client. That’s what he called her. Only a client .
But making love to her until her body was deliciously sore wasn’t the job she was paying him to perform. Stoking the embers of her anger, she turned and walked into the bathroom.
***
Gabe waited for the door to close before he opened his eyes. He’d been awake for a few hours. In fact, he hadn’t slept more than a couple hours at a time since he took this case. Nightmares weren’t unusual for him given his line of work, but something about this case kept him up.
He closed his eyes again the moment Tegan stirred in the bed. Since he still had no idea what to say to her, he figured pretending to be asleep was probably his best course of action.
He got up and pulled on a clean T-shirt. After running a comb through his hair, he went down to the dojo to retrieve his coat. Time to start thinking with another body part.
Downstairs, he carefully pulled the small leather-bound journal from the pocket of his jacket. Tegan had slipped it to him during her birthday party the night before, but shortly afterward she’d kissed him, so any hope of clear thinking was lost at that point.
The woman knew how to kiss.
A mental image of her above him, working her hips into him, a sensual smile on her face, threatened to derail his concentration. The flame of desire fizzled, though, when he remembered the look on her face when she’d admitted thinking he got that personal with all his female customers.
He cracked a window, hoping some fresh air might clear his head. Shifting himself inside his sweats, he sat in one of the chairs along the sidewall and opened the book.
It was all in Welsh Gaelic. Shit . He could make out a few words, but otherwise he was lost. He glanced up the stairs to the door to her loft. Tegan’s father spoke Gaelic. Had he taught his only child?
He flipped through the pages, recognizing some Welsh names. Her dad had instructed her to find a connection, a reason Tegan wasn’t the first of her ancestors to be attacked. He squinted, concentrating as if the words might suddenly mean something to him. Flipping to the back pages, he turned until he found the final page with writing on it.
Tegan Ashton. She was the last entry.
If he had a clue what the book referenced about the attacks or who the people listed were, he might be on to something. A gust of ocean wind blew through the open window of the dojo along with a unique scent.
Demon.
His muscles contracted and he peered out the window, scanning the lot. Nothing.
Glass shattered upstairs, drawing his attention.
“No,” someone pleaded. Chairs crashed, maybe a table. “Wait. I seek Gabriel,” a voice squeaked.
Tegan answered, “He’s the one who told
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