understand what he was thinking without him saying much, if anything. He appreciated her honesty and directness.
And he was crazy about those eyes.
“Are you planning to seduce me to your cause?” he asked, his heart picking up speed in hopeful anticipation.
Heat swam through her eyes for a second, then she stepped back and let go of his arm. “No.” She shook her head, as if clearing it. “No, I’m not.”
Too bad.
Even as his libido surged with that thought, he dismissed it. He had a job to do. Didn’t he always?
“Boss?” The crackling deep voice came from the walkie-talkie clipped to his belt.
“Yeah?” Wade answered, knowing his time with the lovely Tara Lindsey was truly about to come to an end.
“Code Lavender,” Marco returned from the depths of the speaker.
Already? Hell. “I’ll be right there.” He returned the walkie-talkie to his belt and knew his reluctance to leave wasn’t simply because of the mundane ridiculousness of his job.
“What’s Code Lavender?” Tara asked.
“Drunk bridesmaid.”
“I take it back, Mr. Cooper,” she said with an amused smirk. “Your job is in much greater jeopardy than mine. Don’t let me keep you from it.”
“Saving people from themselves seems to have become my specialty,” he muttered as he walked away.
He didn’t look back at first. But then he remembered the sacrifices of his past had led to a present he wasn’t all that crazy about and a future promising more of the same. This was all he had, all he’d ever have.
He’d already lost the love of his life. Why shouldn’t he make time for something else for a change?
Stopping, he turned toward her. “Maybe we could have a drink at the bar later? One not on J. D. Maynard’s tab.”
“Sure,” she said, the sarcasm clear. “Call me anytime.”
Wade finally smiled. Along with blowing him off, she was apparently confident he had no idea how to get in touch with her.
She didn’t know he was a first-rate investigator.
At least he used to be.
3
“Y OU CAN’T HAVE ANY MORE crappy roast beef, Ms. Lindsey, but you can have me.”
Tara moaned. She really wanted him. His broad, strong body hovered over hers. His raspy, commanding voice echoed in her ear. His blue-black hair glinted in the moonlight.
As his hand caressed her bare thigh, her body pulsed in response. Maybe this was moving too fast. Her ears rang.
Literally.
Dragging her way out of the dream, she groped for the phone on the bedside table. “Is the hotel on fire?”
“No,” said a familiar and commanding voice.
Despite her sleep-deprived state, Tara shivered in delight. “Do you know what the hell time it is?”
“Two-fifteen.”
Tara shot straight up in bed. “You’re kidding,” she said, though the bedside clock confirmed his response.
“You said call you anytime.”
“That was sarcasm.”
“I know. So how ’bout that drink?”
Struggling to shed the vestiges of sleep from her brain, she rubbed her temples. Maybe if he spent some time with her, he’d understand how badly losing this contract had damaged her business and her confidence. Maybe she could convince him to look the other way while she spied on Carla and her staff.
Besides, when was the last time a hot stranger had invited her anywhere?
“That’s a really long pause,” he said into the silence.
“Okay, fine. I’ll meet you in the bar in fifteen minutes.”
She dropped the phone in its cradle before either of them could change their minds.
She was, by nature, an impulsive person. A curse the French pastry chef at her mother’s NYC restaurant had tried unsuccessfully to exorcise from her DNA at regular intervals over the years.
“Zee pastry is like a fragile child” he’d said at least a thousand times. “You must have patience, mademoiselle. ”
Yeah, yeah. In a minute.
With a little concealer, blush and mascara in place, and her mass of waves pinned on top of her head, she appeared in the bar only a couple of
And he was crazy about those eyes.
“Are you planning to seduce me to your cause?” he asked, his heart picking up speed in hopeful anticipation.
Heat swam through her eyes for a second, then she stepped back and let go of his arm. “No.” She shook her head, as if clearing it. “No, I’m not.”
Too bad.
Even as his libido surged with that thought, he dismissed it. He had a job to do. Didn’t he always?
“Boss?” The crackling deep voice came from the walkie-talkie clipped to his belt.
“Yeah?” Wade answered, knowing his time with the lovely Tara Lindsey was truly about to come to an end.
“Code Lavender,” Marco returned from the depths of the speaker.
Already? Hell. “I’ll be right there.” He returned the walkie-talkie to his belt and knew his reluctance to leave wasn’t simply because of the mundane ridiculousness of his job.
“What’s Code Lavender?” Tara asked.
“Drunk bridesmaid.”
“I take it back, Mr. Cooper,” she said with an amused smirk. “Your job is in much greater jeopardy than mine. Don’t let me keep you from it.”
“Saving people from themselves seems to have become my specialty,” he muttered as he walked away.
He didn’t look back at first. But then he remembered the sacrifices of his past had led to a present he wasn’t all that crazy about and a future promising more of the same. This was all he had, all he’d ever have.
He’d already lost the love of his life. Why shouldn’t he make time for something else for a change?
Stopping, he turned toward her. “Maybe we could have a drink at the bar later? One not on J. D. Maynard’s tab.”
“Sure,” she said, the sarcasm clear. “Call me anytime.”
Wade finally smiled. Along with blowing him off, she was apparently confident he had no idea how to get in touch with her.
She didn’t know he was a first-rate investigator.
At least he used to be.
3
“Y OU CAN’T HAVE ANY MORE crappy roast beef, Ms. Lindsey, but you can have me.”
Tara moaned. She really wanted him. His broad, strong body hovered over hers. His raspy, commanding voice echoed in her ear. His blue-black hair glinted in the moonlight.
As his hand caressed her bare thigh, her body pulsed in response. Maybe this was moving too fast. Her ears rang.
Literally.
Dragging her way out of the dream, she groped for the phone on the bedside table. “Is the hotel on fire?”
“No,” said a familiar and commanding voice.
Despite her sleep-deprived state, Tara shivered in delight. “Do you know what the hell time it is?”
“Two-fifteen.”
Tara shot straight up in bed. “You’re kidding,” she said, though the bedside clock confirmed his response.
“You said call you anytime.”
“That was sarcasm.”
“I know. So how ’bout that drink?”
Struggling to shed the vestiges of sleep from her brain, she rubbed her temples. Maybe if he spent some time with her, he’d understand how badly losing this contract had damaged her business and her confidence. Maybe she could convince him to look the other way while she spied on Carla and her staff.
Besides, when was the last time a hot stranger had invited her anywhere?
“That’s a really long pause,” he said into the silence.
“Okay, fine. I’ll meet you in the bar in fifteen minutes.”
She dropped the phone in its cradle before either of them could change their minds.
She was, by nature, an impulsive person. A curse the French pastry chef at her mother’s NYC restaurant had tried unsuccessfully to exorcise from her DNA at regular intervals over the years.
“Zee pastry is like a fragile child” he’d said at least a thousand times. “You must have patience, mademoiselle. ”
Yeah, yeah. In a minute.
With a little concealer, blush and mascara in place, and her mass of waves pinned on top of her head, she appeared in the bar only a couple of
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