“Funny, that’s the same thing she said. Just remember: the DA generally cuts a deal with the first one arrested. Bridgette might beat you to the punch.” Max glanced at the hotel’s security agent. “Make sure the police know this man is wanted in connection with a home invasion and assault in Massachusetts. I want to make damn sure he never gets out of jail.”
The police arrived a short time later. Ellie’s assailant refused to identify himself and was promptly hauled off to jail.
Max was now in the room down the hall with Ellie, waiting for the police to complete her statement. The hotel’s general manager hovered in the background, profusely apologetic.
Gerard showed up and reported that Bridgette and the reporter were being charged with trespassing. “I told the sheriff other charges would be forthcoming. Bridgette was nearly hysterical to learn Ellie’s assailant had been captured. She’s also insisting that you still care for her, that you won’t press charges no matter what she’s done.”
Max shook his head. Bridgette’s possessiveness had been a problem back when they were dating, but he had no idea she would go to these extremes. “Let me know what else you find out.”
When Gerard left, the officer who’d been talking with Ellie motioned to Max. Max moved up and sat beside Ellie.
“The man we arrested,” the officer said, “has quite a record. He’s also wanted for questioning in the disappearance of at least three other women. It appears he works for hire. Do you have any enemies, Ms. DeLuca?”
“Enemies?” Ellie blinked.
“This may be more about my enemies than hers.” Max explained what Gerard had shared about Bridgette.
They talked for a while with the officer. By the time they were finally alone, it was dark outside. “Stay as long as you like,” the general manager said before leaving. “Just call room service when you’re ready for food.”
“I’m really not hungry,” Ellie said.
“That’s understandable,” Max said. “It’s been a hellacious day.”
She nodded. “At least it’s over.”
“The worst of it’s over, yes. However, you and I still need to talk.”
Ellie rubbed her forehead. “If it’s about the stock, I’ll instruct my attorney to cooperate fully with yours.”
“You probably won’t believe this, but I went to my attorney’s today intending to pick up transfer documents relinquishing my control of your shares. Instead, I get there and find that you had signed over yours.”
“The shares weren’t really mine. They were Stefan’s.”
“We can argue that point later.” He took her hands in his, squeezed them. “The reason I took you to the island was to keep you safe, El. While I tried to set a trap for this creep. Bridgette’s involvement blindsided me.”
She tried to tug her hands free, but couldn’t. “You should have told me about Gerard.”
“You’re right. I handled it all wrong.” He paused, took a deep breath. “Hell, I’ve handled this wrong for seven years. So I’m just going to cut to the bottom line. I want a new deal, El. A chance to start over.”
“Another seven days?” She looked uncertain.
“No. I’m talking seven weeks, seven months. Seven eternities. And not just on an island. I want a chance to make it work everywhere, El.” He linked their fingers together. “What do you say?”
She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she smiled. “It’s a deal, Max.”
You’ve got to try
THE ONE I WANT
by Nancy Warren,
new this month from Brava…
Matthew wandered past his front door, yawning, fantasizing about the first strong, black cup of coffee of the day when he noticed a fat envelope on the mat inside his front door.
He stood there for a moment regarding it, eyes unconsciously narrowing. It wasn’t part of the regular mail delivery. He’d locked up just after midnight and the envelope hadn’t been there then. He glanced at his watch and wondered who had dropped off a fat piece of mail in the last seven hours and whether he should be alarmed.
As usual, curiosity was stronger than caution. He picked up the envelope. Chloe was handwritten on the front. The envelope was soft, the flap tucked in but not sealed. A man with strong moral fiber and a healthy conscience would walk right next door and push the envelope through the correct mail slot.
He pulled out the tucked flap and peeked inside, where he found a wad of cash. And a note.
Chloe,
Thanks so much. Didn’t want this on my credit card for obvious reasons. Everything worked out great. I’d use you again.
Allan
He counted the money, then stood there chewing his upper lip with an unpleasant feeling that both he and his London acquaintance Gerald had been snowed. He shoved the money back and walked outside into the cool of the morning. Lights were on in a few of his neighbors’ windows, and Horace Black across the street and two down, was backing his new truck down the driveway.
Up and down the street signs of life, but in his new neighbor’s house nothing. She’d been here for two weeks, and while she seemed like a good tenant, she came and went at strange hours. He had a bad feeling he now knew why.
He strode next door and knocked on her front door, perhaps a little more aggressively than necessary.
He’d been conned, and he didn’t like being conned.
Probably he should go back to his house and drink some coffee, give himself a chance to cool down and little miss “I’ll use your services again” time to wake up. But he didn’t feel like doing the sensible thing.
He gave it a minute, then banged again, holding the bell with his finger at the same time.
After an age and a half, the front door opened. Chloe Flynt stood there, her black hair soft and tousled in the sexiest case of bed head he’d ever seen. Her eyes were the most amazing purple–blue, and they gazed at him in the vaguely unfocused way of someone who’s not totally awake yet. He had no idea what—if anything—she was wearing since everything from the neck down was behind the door.
“You should have asked who it was before opening the door,” he snarled.
“I looked out the bedroom window,” she said on a yawn. “I could see you.” Almost as though his sharp advice to be cautious had the opposite effect, she straightened and opened the door fully.
He’d checked her out, the way a single man in his prime always checks women out. He’d sensed a very nice body was packaged in the trendy clothes she wore. But he’d had no idea.
She wasn’t a tall woman, but she was exquisite. She wore teeny-tiny girl boxer shorts with the Union Jack stamped all over them and a little white T-shirt with “Rule Britannia” printed across the chest. Her legs were shapely; her breasts small and perfect. Even the tiny strip of skin between the end of her shirt and the beginning of the shorts fascinated him. So white, so smooth.
His gaze returned to her eyes and he found them fully awake now and regarding him with a certain amused speculation. Damn it, she’d knocked him on his ass and she knew it.
“Don’t tell me, your bra has the Queen on one cup and Prince Charles on the other.”
She glanced down at her outfit as though she’d forgotten what she was wearing. “A going-away present from a friend.”
The sun was against his back, already warm. To his right he heard a bee sounding like it was snoring in the Texas lilac bush he’d planted last year.
“Did you come over to check that my pajamas are patriotic?” she asked.
He realized he was staring and felt stupid, which annoyed him even more. “I came to deliver some mail which came to me by mistake.”
He held out the envelope.
“Thank you.” She put out her hand, but he didn’t relinquish the envelope.
“What’s going on, Chloe?”
Her eyebrows rose in an incredibly snooty fashion, as though she might call her palace guards to come and have him shot. “I beg your pardon?”
“Somebody stuffs a thousand bucks in cash in my mail slot in the middle of the night, it makes me curious.”
“A thousand dollars?” she exclaimed, sounding delighted. “He must have added a tip. How sweet.”
For an instant he was distracted by the thought of what her services were and what she’d done to deserve such a big tip.
A jovial male voice called out, “Mornin’ Matt, ma’am.” Chloe’s hand waved in greeting and he turned to see Chuck Dawson and most of his car pool waving as his van drove by. He moved his body to block Chloe from view, though he wondered why he bothered, since she didn’t seem at all worried about waving her flag to whoever went by.
“Maybe we could discuss this inside,” he said.
“Discuss what? You’re bringing me my mail. Thank you.” She held out her hand again, flat palmed.
“Where did the money come from?”
“None of your business.”
He shifted and as he did he saw a white convertible turn into the road, one he recognized all too well.
“Shit,” he muttered, then stepped forward so fast his neighbor squeaked when he bumped her with his body, pushing her inside the house and shutting the door fast behind them.
“How dare you. Leave this house instantly,” she demanded, small and fiery.
He ducked away from the window and made a dash for the kitchen.
“Are you a lunatic?” that crisp English voice trilled.
“Quiet. She’ll hear you.” He was in the kitchen, jamming his butt onto a kitchen chair that put him out of window range of his own house next door.
“Who will hear me? Matthew, what on earth—”
“Brittany.”
She followed him into the kitchen and looked down at him. “And who is Brittany?”
“My girlfriend.”
There are more sexy shifters
in Cynthia Eden’s
HOTTER AFTER MIDNIGHT,
available now from Brava…
“I’m an empath, Colin. My gift is that I sense things. I sense the Other. I can sense their feelings, their thoughts.”
Oh, yeah, he’d definitely tensed up on her. “You’re telling me that you can read my thoughts?”
The temperature seemed to drop about ten degrees. “I’m telling you that sometimes I can tell the thoughts of super-naturals.” She’d known he wouldn’t be thrilled by this news; that was why she hadn’t told him the full truth the other night. But now that they were working together, now that her talent was coming into play, well, she figured he had the right to know.
Colin grabbed her arms, jerked her forward against his chest. “So this whole time, you’ve been playing with me.”
The sharp edge of his canines gleamed behind his lips. “No, Colin, it’s not like that—”
“You’ve been looking into my head and seeing how much I want you?”
“Colin, no, I—” Seeing how much I want you. Had he really just said that?
His cheeks flushed. “While I tried to play the dumb-ass gentleman.”
Since when?
“Well, screw that.” His lips were right over hers, his fingers tight on her arms. “If you’ve been in my head, then you know what I want to do to you.”
Uh, no, she didn’t. Her shields had been firmly in place with him all day. Her heart was pounding so fast now, the dull drumming filled her ears. She licked her lips, tried once more to tell him the truth. “It’s not like that—”
Too late. His mouth claimed hers, swallowing her words and igniting the hungry desire she’d been trying so hard to fight.
Don’t miss
WHEN HE WAS BAD,
a sexy paranormal anthology from
Shelly Laurenston and Cynthia Eden,
coming next month from Brava.
Turn the page for a sneak peek
at Shelly’s story “Miss Congeniality”!
A few minutes later the doorbell rang and Irene didn’t move. She wasn’t expecting anyone so she wouldn’t answer the door. She dealt with enough people during the day, she’d be damned if her nights would be filled with the idiots as well.
The doorbell went off again, followed by knocking. Irene didn’t even flinch. In a few more minutes she would shut everything out but the work in front of her. A skill she’d developed over the years. Sometimes Jackie would literally have to shake her or punch her in the head to get her attention.
But Irene hadn’t slipped into that “zone” yet and she could easily hear someone sniffing at her door. She looked up from her paperwork as Van Holtz snarled from the other side, “I know you’re in there, Conridge. I can smell you.”
Eeew.
“Go away,” she called back. “I’m busy.”
The knocking turned to outright banging. “Open this goddamn door!”