scale.
"Thanks." After sliding a five across the bar, he turned and leaned his elbows back against it, watching the crowd with a mixture of envy and fascination. That used to be him, and not more than ten years ago. Now he felt like an old man as he wondered where they came up with the stamina to not only pull it off but also live to tell the tale.
Clyde College at the end of the bar was slamming tequila shooters to the roaring approval of his pals. Coed Cathy was crying in her beer while her girlfriends tried to sober her up. And— hello —in the corner, Larry Linebacker was putting the moves on a petite blue-eyed blond in a tiny red tank top and white pants.
Jackpot.
And what a haul it was. It was the first time since he'd looked down the business end of her .38 that Mac had had an actual opportunity to observe pretty Eve without her barking orders or leveling insults. She was completely unaware of his presence. And he was a tad too aware of hers.
She still took his breath away. Didn't look much older than the eighteen-year-old girl he'd talked into going all the way fourteen years ago. A sharp arrow of pure unadulterated lust shot straight to his gut and curled tight at a vivid memory of how she'd looked that night, all pretty and pink and naked.
Not now, numb nuts. This was not the time for a little X-rated stroll down memory lane. The present was pretty damn pleasant anyway.
He tipped back his beer, never taking his gaze off her. God, she looked good. She wore her hair a little different now than she had back then. Longer. Fuller. A thick, sexy mass, streaked white and gold and subtle colors in between, that hit her bare shoulders and fell midway down her back.
He wasn't usually such a detail man, but this woman's details were just too lush to overlook. Full, pouty lips. Wide summer blue eyes. And that body. Jesus. No wonder Larry Linebacker was primed to light up her life. She was like a banquet of desserts. A small, delectable treat. What man in his right mind wouldn't want to nibble on her good parts before eating her whole?
A man who knew that the sugar-and-frosting-wrapped package was only window dressing, that's who. Eve Garrett was no simple cupcake, even though he took endless delight in calling her one. And she sure as hell wasn't a twinkie. She had a shrewd mind, a rapier tongue, and a degree in criminology. Tiff's flight path wasn't the only thing he'd studied last night. He'd taken a little time to check out E.D.E.N. Securities, Inc., on the Web.
The Garrett boys had been tough in high school— protective as hell and mean as caged tigers where their sister was concerned. Their military background and the credentials listed on the firm's Web site confirmed nothing had changed in that venue. Their little sister was no slouch, either.
No. This was no crumbling cupcake Mac was up against. This was a highly trained, experienced, and, given the fact that she'd beaten him to Key West, excellent investigator.
But right now it appeared she might be in a little trouble. The big bruiser was all over her, and when she finally spotted Mac watching her from the bar, damn if the first thing that registered in those baby blues wasn't relief.
Well, well. Wasn't that interesting?
Tough as nails, my-bad-ass-is-meaner-than-your-bad-ass Eve Garrett actually looked like she might have found herself in a position where she could use some help. Specifically, his help.
Hell, he could get into this. Thoroughly enjoying himself, Mac leaned a little farther back into the bar, grinned, and lifted his beer in greeting.
Her eyes glazed over. Anger? Warning? A little of both maybe, as her besotted and very drunken admirer braced a hand on the wall above her head and, leaning in close, slobbered something romantic in her ear.
Mac grinned a little wider, wondering if she'd actually swallow her pride and ask him to help her out. Clearly, she had a very
"Thanks." After sliding a five across the bar, he turned and leaned his elbows back against it, watching the crowd with a mixture of envy and fascination. That used to be him, and not more than ten years ago. Now he felt like an old man as he wondered where they came up with the stamina to not only pull it off but also live to tell the tale.
Clyde College at the end of the bar was slamming tequila shooters to the roaring approval of his pals. Coed Cathy was crying in her beer while her girlfriends tried to sober her up. And— hello —in the corner, Larry Linebacker was putting the moves on a petite blue-eyed blond in a tiny red tank top and white pants.
Jackpot.
And what a haul it was. It was the first time since he'd looked down the business end of her .38 that Mac had had an actual opportunity to observe pretty Eve without her barking orders or leveling insults. She was completely unaware of his presence. And he was a tad too aware of hers.
She still took his breath away. Didn't look much older than the eighteen-year-old girl he'd talked into going all the way fourteen years ago. A sharp arrow of pure unadulterated lust shot straight to his gut and curled tight at a vivid memory of how she'd looked that night, all pretty and pink and naked.
Not now, numb nuts. This was not the time for a little X-rated stroll down memory lane. The present was pretty damn pleasant anyway.
He tipped back his beer, never taking his gaze off her. God, she looked good. She wore her hair a little different now than she had back then. Longer. Fuller. A thick, sexy mass, streaked white and gold and subtle colors in between, that hit her bare shoulders and fell midway down her back.
He wasn't usually such a detail man, but this woman's details were just too lush to overlook. Full, pouty lips. Wide summer blue eyes. And that body. Jesus. No wonder Larry Linebacker was primed to light up her life. She was like a banquet of desserts. A small, delectable treat. What man in his right mind wouldn't want to nibble on her good parts before eating her whole?
A man who knew that the sugar-and-frosting-wrapped package was only window dressing, that's who. Eve Garrett was no simple cupcake, even though he took endless delight in calling her one. And she sure as hell wasn't a twinkie. She had a shrewd mind, a rapier tongue, and a degree in criminology. Tiff's flight path wasn't the only thing he'd studied last night. He'd taken a little time to check out E.D.E.N. Securities, Inc., on the Web.
The Garrett boys had been tough in high school— protective as hell and mean as caged tigers where their sister was concerned. Their military background and the credentials listed on the firm's Web site confirmed nothing had changed in that venue. Their little sister was no slouch, either.
No. This was no crumbling cupcake Mac was up against. This was a highly trained, experienced, and, given the fact that she'd beaten him to Key West, excellent investigator.
But right now it appeared she might be in a little trouble. The big bruiser was all over her, and when she finally spotted Mac watching her from the bar, damn if the first thing that registered in those baby blues wasn't relief.
Well, well. Wasn't that interesting?
Tough as nails, my-bad-ass-is-meaner-than-your-bad-ass Eve Garrett actually looked like she might have found herself in a position where she could use some help. Specifically, his help.
Hell, he could get into this. Thoroughly enjoying himself, Mac leaned a little farther back into the bar, grinned, and lifted his beer in greeting.
Her eyes glazed over. Anger? Warning? A little of both maybe, as her besotted and very drunken admirer braced a hand on the wall above her head and, leaning in close, slobbered something romantic in her ear.
Mac grinned a little wider, wondering if she'd actually swallow her pride and ask him to help her out. Clearly, she had a very
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