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Unbridled
Tori Carrington


Carter is in jail when classy Laney strides in on her mile-long legs. This naughty bad boy’s lawyer-client privilege is about to take a sizzling detour!The sex is hot and wild – totally unbridled! But scorching the sheets is all this guy from the wrong side of the tracks can do with an uptown girl… right?







Dear Reader,



Wouldn’t it be nice if everything were either black or white? Good or evil? Wrong or right? Honestly, though, don’t you think it would also be unbearably boring? It’s one of the reasons we take great thrill in exploring the shades of gray that come between.



In Unbridled, hot, suspended Marine Carter Southard (from Branded) is cleared by sexy defense attorney Laney Cartwright of a civilian crime he didn’t commit, but he still must jump through military hoops if he hopes to be reinstated. As out of his league as Laney may be, he can’t help wanting to mess up her pristine existence just a little bit. But when steamy, no-strings sex evolves into much, much more, they must wrestle with their preconceptions of each other…as well as their own misconceptions of themselves.

We hope you enjoy Carter and Laney’s sizzling and sometimes heart-wrenching journey toward sexily-ever-after. We’d love to hear what you think. Contact us at P.O. Box 12271, Toledo, OH 43612, USA (we’ll respond with a signed bookplate, newsletter and bookmark), or visit us on the web at www.toricarrington.net.



Here’s wishing you love, romance and hot reading.

Lori and Tony Karayianni

aka Tori Carrington




About the Author


Romantic Times BOOKreviews Career Achievement Award-winning, bestselling husband-and-wife duo LORI and TONY KARAYIANNI are the power behind the pen name Tori Carrington. Their forty novels include numerous Blaze® novels, as well as the ongoing Sofie Metropolis, PI, comedic mystery series with another publisher. Visit www.toricarrington.net and www. sofiemetro.com for more information on the couple and their titles.




Unbridled

Tori Carrington





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


We dedicate this book to the fellow shades-of-gray travelers everywhere: enjoy the journey!



And, as always, to our editor extraordinaire, Brenda Chin, who has a knack for seeing the forest and the trees.




Table of Contents


Cover (#ubcaa95de-5a23-55b8-8a73-b05ff0678253)

About the Author (#u15bb2548-7310-5c29-8873-4b9f31cfe1ec)

Title Page (#u92d34f76-4e1e-5aac-b44c-3478617fb1cc)

Dedication (#u1cbc43f0-ddaa-5db7-863a-6b8513b35312)

Prologue (#uba991ba6-7771-54c4-90cd-6a5bc15e1d97)

Chapter One (#uddeb33bf-a00a-581f-98ac-a132c815555e)

Chapter Two (#u6cef5d3e-3710-5a8f-b2d0-02666bcca09c)

Chapter Three (#u678edf7f-07fc-5c83-a784-d14dc5c52d70)

Chapter Four (#uf7337ade-d2c3-5ce2-af73-b5e8e2071df6)

Chapter Five (#u5d8f98ae-6ab5-54d2-8a64-153376ecfc58)

Chapter Six (#u1c0bcf06-a51f-5272-92ad-b392e90c5624)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




Prologue


FREEDOM WAS JUST a word…until you lost it. After you were put into a steel box and stripped of your personal belongings and your name, owning nothing more than a number and the crime for which you were charged.

“Inmate 55687, collect your things. You’ve been given your wings.”

Carter Southard stared at the guard from where he lay on the hard top bunk in the four-by-nine-foot cell in the San Antonio County Jail. The words couldn’t be meant for anyone else, because his bunk mate had been moved to a different cell the day before. Still, he couldn’t help considering the imagery. He’d just been given his wings.

He closed the Steinbeck novel he was reading and got to his feet. He’d stopped even hoping for his release two days into his incarceration five days ago. Since he’d been wrongfully accused of a crime, there was no reason to believe things would be set right. Not so long as he was locked away, unable to prove his innocence.

And that had been the most difficult part. Not the injustice. Not that he’d been set up to pay for someone else’s crime. But the loss of his freedom. Of his inability to fight back against an unseen enemy. Especially since his career in the Marines had always presented him with an identifiable target.

He gathered his few prison-issue toiletries and put them in the bag the guard provided and then stood Marine straight at the cell door. The guard motioned toward the block controller. The lock buzzed and the bars slid to the left. Carter turned so the guard could slap handcuffs on him and then turned around again.

Nearby inmates hooted and hollered as Carter followed the guard down the cell block. He kept his gaze forward, concentrating on the neat line of the other man’s neck, urging him to speed up his steps. He wanted to get clear of the building before someone realized they’d made a mistake and locked him back in that damned cell.

What seemed like a lifetime later, a door was opened and the guard stepped aside, motioning Carter to precede him in. Carter was only too happy to oblige, keeping his eyes down.

Almost there…almost there…

The first thing he spotted was a pair of shiny beige high heels. Not the kind that strippers wore, but conservative, neat ones that had the height, but none of the zing.

The legs that belonged to the shoes, on the other hand, were nothing short of spectacular.

“Clear a path, inmate,” the guard behind him ordered with a nudge of his nightstick.

Carter hadn’t realized he’d stopped moving. He continued forward, the cuffs chafing his wrists behind his back. When he looked up, the woman was staring at him. And he felt as if the guard had just used that stick to whack him in the stomach.

He’d known women he’d trust at his side in a combat situation, something they were not legally permitted to do. But the woman in front of him was the complete opposite of any he’d find itching for a chance to fight on the front lines. She looked like a Kewpie doll, like the type of pinup girl men who had served in the Second World War might have taped inside their lockers. She had short, wavy blond hair, a perfectly oval face and flawless porcelain skin. Her bright blue eyes were wide, and her lips were shaped as if they were forever in pucker mode, waiting to be kissed.

Okay, it was official: he was losing it. He’d just spent the past five days swearing off all women. And he knew from experience that women like this one were exactly the kind to avoid at all costs. This bird would stick her bloodred talons straight into a man’s chest and rip his heart out with arteries still fully attached.

The guard nudged him to turn and face him. He did, glad when the cuffs were removed. He absently rubbed his wrists and squinted at the woman, positive he was seeing things. Yes. Right now he was back in his cell, the Steinbeck novel in his hands, the woman before him a product of his imagination, an image sprung from the pages onto the blank wall of his unconscious mind.

Only not even his imagination was capable of conjuring the sweet smell of magnolias that engulfed him as she neared.

“Mr. Southard, I’m Laney Cartwright. Your attorney.” She smiled. “I hope they treated you well.”

His attorney? A couple of days ago he’d met with some snot-nosed public defender who’d looked as if he were two days out of grad school.

“I’m sorry—I’ve confused you,” she said as the guard put the bag containing his belongings down on the counter next to the box of the clothes and watch and dog tags he’d been wearing, confiscated upon his arrest. “I’ve been hired by Trace Armstrong and a certain JoEllen Atchison to make sure you were released properly.”

Carter stiffened at the mention of the couple responsible for his incarceration.

Miss June 1942 smiled again. “The real rapist has been caught. You’re a free man, Mr. Southard.”

Oh, yeah? If he was so free, why did he feel as if he’d gladly trade one prison cell for another so long as the leggy blonde was in it with him?

She looked at him a little too long. He tilted his head. She averted her gaze and then reached into her briefcase for something. She handed him what looked like the ring holding the key for his Harley.

“Mr. Armstrong arranged for your transportation to be delivered. It’s outside now.”

Carter raised his brows. If he didn’t know better, Ms. Cartwright was as intrigued by him as he was by her. Which surprised him. While he’d come across his fair share of uptown women happy to slum it for a night or two, the attorney type barely looked twice at a man like him.

“Oh, here,” she said, reaching into her briefcase again. “This is a letter of apology from Mr. Armstrong and Ms. Atchison. And while our business appears complete, should you need anything, this is my card with my office number in Dallas.”

Dallas. Exactly where he was going.

Was it him, or did she put special emphasis on the word anything?

He grinned.

“As your attorney, it’s my duty to strongly advise you to stay out of trouble, Mr. Southard.”

She turned to walk away. Carter watched her go. He enjoyed the suggestive sway of her hips in the beige designer suit she wore, the long line of her legs and those naughty heels. He shook his head.

The last thing he needed in his life now was a woman. The most recent one had nearly proved to be the end of him.

“Way out of your league, Southard,” the guard said, mirroring his own thoughts.

Carter slapped Ms. Cartwright’s business card on the desk and swapped it for his personal effects. “Pass that on to someone who is in her league, won’t you?”

And he turned toward the doors on his way to figure out the rest of his life. A life that would never include a woman like Laney Cartwright.




Chapter One


WHAT A DIFFERENCE two months made.

Or, rather, it was noteworthy how much the passage of time had affected Carter Southard’s view of reality. He no longer woke up abruptly looking for a wall of bars that blocked him from the rest of the world. He didn’t tense up when he passed a patrol officer on the road while driving his Harley, checking his rearview mirror to make sure the officer hadn’t turned to follow him.

One thing that hadn’t changed was the image of sexy Laney Cartwright standing in the jail’s property room, handing him the freedom that had been ripped from him through no fault of his own. Her face was what he saw the moment he opened his eyes in the morning, and the last thing he thought about when he nodded off at night. And he wasn’t granted a reprieve even then because his subconscious was given free rein over his unsatisfied desires and tortured him with fantasies involving the straitlaced defense attorney, fueling even more erotic images.

He hadn’t seen her since then. But at least five times a day he thought about reasons he could use to do just that. Partly because he hoped another face-to-face might knock some of the air out of his almost too perfect memory of her. Mostly because he hoped it wouldn’t.

Stupid. He knew it was. His recent experiences aside, inviting a woman into his life just now was probably the worst thing he could do.

Carter rolled over in the narrow bed. An ancient clattering fan doing little to cool the hot air in the small, two-bedroom bungalow outside the city.

Then a rancid smell made him draw back. He opened his eyes to stare into the droopy face of the neighbor’s old hound that sat next to his bed, watching him expectantly.

“Damn.” Carter sat up and grabbed his windup alarm clock. Just after eight-thirty in the morning. “How in the hell did you get in here again, Blue?”

All things being equal, Blue was as much his dog as his neighbor’s, but Carter couldn’t remember letting him in the house last night. He rubbed his face. Probably he’d left the back door open again. While he’d repaired the screen on the outer door a few days ago, it wouldn’t take much for a determined dog to undo his handiwork if he put his mind to it.

Carter pulled on his jeans and walked to the small kitchen. Old Blue had definitely put his mind to it.

The hound’s nails clacked against the wood floor as he followed him. He barked once, a half howl that could wake all the neighbors. Of course, at eight-thirty most were probably already up.

“All right, all right. Hush now. I’ll get your breakfast in a minute.”

The dog’s only response was to tilt his head to the side. Which was about as good as it got with him.

Carter washed his face in the kitchen sink and shook out his hands before pouring the last of the sludge in the coffeemaker into a cup and putting it into the microwave. Then he filled the food and water bowls for Blue and took both out to the back porch, where the puddle of slobber the hound would leave behind wouldn’t be as much of a nuisance as it was inside.

He stood next to the dog, looking around the three acres of land that had been in his family for more than a hundred years. The property had once been a couple of thousand acres, but after four generations, the parcel had been chopped up many times for inheritance purposes, and much of it sold off, so all that remained was the piece of land around him. And he was all that remained in the area of the original family. The brush was overgrown, fences were in disrepair. If he needed any further proof of that, he just had to look at the horse grazing in the distance. Another animal that belonged to one of his neighbors, this time the one to the west.

The microwave dinged. Carter let himself back into the kitchen, considering Blue’s handiwork as he did, and took the cup out, downing half the scalding contents before picking up the single telephone on the wall. He put a call through to the Jacksons to tell them to collect their horse before it wandered off where they wouldn’t find it.

“Thanks, Carter,” Julia Jackson said after a long sigh. “I’ll go right out and collect her. Damn horse. She’ll never learn that the grass doesn’t taste any better on your side of the fence.”

Carter hung up the receiver and downed the rest of the coffee, his gaze drawn to the calendar on the wall. It was one of those given away by insurance companies, the pictures horrible, the paper already yellow although it was only August. But it showed the days and that was all that mattered.

Carter looked to where his right hand still rested on the telephone receiver. Then, before he knew he was going to do it, he picked it back up and dialed a number he’d memorized two months ago.

“Gavin, Ewing and Clairmont, Attorneys,” a receptionist said in a cheery voice that set Carter’s teeth on edge.

“Yeah. Give me Laney Cartwright.”




Chapter Two


LANEY CARTWRIGHT GAZED OUT her tenth-floor office window. It was lunchtime and Bryan Street bustled with life. Life that would vanish after five when everyone scrambled to their homes in the suburbs, leaving Dallas a ghost town dotted with the few tourists and conventioneers who dared peek outside their hotels.

She hadn’t been in the windowed office very long. For the past three years she’d worked in a glorified cubicle on the open floor, one of many associate attorneys competing for a shot at the few offices that went up for grabs. Despite her impeccable résumé, she’d worked long and hard for this promotion to junior firm attorney. Eighty-hour weeks, carrying the load of three, burning the candle at both ends and the middle so that she barely had time to sleep, much less have a personal life.

Maybe that was the reason she’d been preoccupied ever since the legal secretary she shared with two other attorneys told her that a certain Mr. Carter Southard had called that morning to make an appointment. Violet had said there was nothing open, but he’d persisted, saying he needed no more than a couple of minutes and that it was important.

Important.

So Laney had told her to pencil something in during the lunch hour. Seeing Carter would at least keep her from thinking too much about the menacing note she’d received that morning.

Now she swiveled her desk chair away from the window and considered the case file open in front of her. When was the last time she’d had sex?

She twisted her lips. That was it, wasn’t it? The fact that her love life had been nonexistent for so long was allowing her to daydream about what it might be like to act on that spark of attraction she’d felt two months ago, even though the jail jumpsuit and unshaven appearance of Carter Southard should have been enough to turn her off.

But it hadn’t. Instead, in the first two weeks following their meeting, she found herself drifting off mid-conversation during social dinners and even phone calls, her concentration broken by the brief flash of Carter’s strong hands. The granite set of his jaw. The half grin he’d given her when he apparently realized she returned the interest he displayed, however reluctantly.

What was she talking about? The sensation had taken her so much by surprise, there hadn’t been a chance for her to be reluctant about anything.

Besides, she wouldn’t be seeing him again. So what was the harm in returning his smile, letting him see what she was thinking? Saying without words, “Gee, Carter, another time, another place, you and me might have had a good time together. A very good time, indeed.”

Laney swallowed hard, realizing that this was another time. And another place. And she was actually looking forward to seeing if that potential for a good time still existed. Oh, she didn’t intend to act on it. But that brief interaction with Carter had been enough to fuel some interesting late-night sessions alone up until…well, even last night.

The intercom button buzzed. Laney picked up the phone. “Yes?”

The forty-five-year-old secretary said, “Your father on line one. He wants to know why you canceled lunch.”

“Tell him I have an important meeting.”

Silence.

Laney sighed. “I’ll talk to him.” She pressed the button for the correct line and then leaned back in her chair. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Hi, yourself. So what’s this I hear you’ve canceled our lunch today?”

“Sorry about that. A new development on the Mac-Gregor case came up and I’ve scheduled a strategy lunch to work it out.”

Laney didn’t lie to her father often. Mostly because he knew her better than anyone and immediately spotted an untruth. He would never go so far as to say it, but the few times she had relied on deception to hide her intentions had always ended with them both knowing where they stood.

She supposed that’s what happened when you were so close. After her mother passed away when she was twelve, Laney and her father had formed a bond that transcended parent and child. He was her best friend.

“What’s the development?”

Laney blanched. Exhibit A on why she should never lie to her father.

Of course, he knew everything that was happening with State v. MacGregor, the case that had dominated her life for the past two months. The case that had also dominated the local and statewide news media, what with her young client accused of first-degree murder during an armed robbery.

The crime itself wasn’t so much what garnered interest. Rather it was the fact that Devon MacGregor came from one of the wealthiest families in Texas.

“I received an interesting note this morning,” she said quietly.

“Note?”

Laney hadn’t planned on saying anything about it just then, but she figured she would have told her father sooner or later, so she might as well use it to her benefit now.

“Yes. Plain block letters. ‘Drop MacGregor. Or else.’”

“Or else what?”

Laney sighed and fished out the note she’d placed in a Ziploc bag from the papers on her desk. “Your guess is as good as mine,” she said.

“Have you given it to the police?”

“I have a call in. I was told a detective will stop by sometime this afternoon.”

“Good.”

There was a brief knock on the door. “Your twelve o’clock is here,” Violet said.

Laney felt as if her stomach were full of a thousand butterflies flapping their wings to get out.

“Look, Daddy, people are beginning to arrive for the meeting.”

She quickly said her goodbyes, hoping that she wasn’t being too transparent, then left both hands on the telephone after she’d hung up.

“Hello again,” Carter said from the open doorway.

Laney nearly knocked the receiver from its cradle and she fumbled to right it again.

She looked at the man responsible for her duplicity…and discovered that the hectic sensation she’d experienced two months ago was nothing compared with the one the cleaned-up version of Carter Southard made on her now.

What he wore was nothing special—a denim shirt, jeans and cowboy boots. It was the details that did Laney in. The way his sleeves were rolled up over his corded forearms. The cocky way he stood that pulled his well-worn jeans just so across his groin. The scuffed boots that proved he was a man who didn’t wear them just for show, but had earned every last speck of Texas dust fused to the old leather.

In Carter’s case, he wore the clothes—the clothes didn’t wear him.

She looked up to find him grinning knowingly and the bottom dropped out of her stomach altogether, freeing the butterflies there.

Oh, boy. It looked as though she was going to have to get used to her father’s concerned reaction because she had the feeling that she was going to be doing a whole hell of a lot of lying in the foreseeable future.




Chapter Three


OH, YES. This was exactly what Carter was looking for. Laney Cartwright’s heated reaction to his appearance would stroke any man’s ego; to his, it was a much-needed boost.

It wasn’t often his path crossed with women of her class. Just seeing her sitting behind that expensive desk in her navy blue suit, her white-blond hair slicked back into some kind of neat do, baring her pale, elegant neck and what he suspected were real pearls at her delicate lobes—it all spoke of someone used to the better things in life.

Merely looking at her made him feel as if he’d soiled her somehow.

His grin widened. Oh, how he wanted to get her even dirtier still.

Laney looked as if she’d forgotten something and quickly got to her feet. She edged around the desk to face him, wiping her palms on her pencil-thin skirt before extending her right hand. “Where are my manners?” she said with a smile. “Hello, Mr. Southard.” She gave his hand a quick shake, but Carter held on to hers a heartbeat longer. “It’s good to see you again,” she said.

He cocked a brow. “Is it?”

He watched as her initial surprise melted into something much different. Much more dangerous. Although to whom, he couldn’t say.

She leaned against the edge of her desk and crossed her arms over her chest, drawing his gaze there and down to the long line of her legs in another pair of naughty high heels. She pursed her pink lips and considered him with the same naked suggestion that he knew was in his eyes.

Huh. A woman who liked a challenge.

While Carter could honestly say he’d never dated anyone with so much schooling, he had dated a woman or two who engaged him on more than a physical level. And Laney looked as if she could easily wipe them from his memory, set a new benchmark for those who would come after her.

She obviously enjoyed the sexual game of cat and mouse, where it was never quite clear who was the cat and who the mouse, with each of them easily sliding into either role to achieve some undefined objective.

Undefined? Carter took in the expression on Laney’s beautiful face. Oh, no, there was nothing undefined there. Both of them were in it for the kill.

“Violet said you had something important to discuss?” she asked.

“Mmm. Yes. Important.”

He stepped nearer to her, catching the subtle scent of magnolias. She smelled like heaven and he wanted to visit for a while. He reached out and fingered a soft curl that had escaped her do, then met her gaze, moving in closer still. He watched with a mixture of amusement and fascination as her pupils dilated in her blue, blue eyes. He guessed she wasn’t used to such bold moves, and he liked that he’d still managed to knock her slightly off-kilter. Although he didn’t expect her to remain that way for long.

He lowered his chin and then brought it up slowly, making it evident that he was smelling her…and that he liked what he found. The top of his nose brushed against her cheek and she gasped slightly.

He stepped back, holding her gaze captive with his. “I’m a man who always honors his debts and I’ve come to pay mine.”

Laney blinked. “Debt…oh.” She appeared to have momentarily forgotten the circumstances of their first meeting. “All expenses surrounding your release have been taken care of.”

“Too vague. Who took care of the debt, Laney?”

“Mr. Armstrong.”

“And your connection to him would be?”

“Client.”

“Strictly?”

She smiled. “I don’t see how that impacts the situation, Mr. Southard.”

“Carter, please.” He was tempted to press his thigh between her legs, force her skirt up and pin her against that expensive desk of hers right there before the window. But he planned to drag the hot anticipation out as long as he could.

Besides, he wasn’t sure how far he could push her before she picked up the phone and called for security.

“Answer my question,” he insisted. “Brother?”

A corner of her mouth turned up. “Cousin.”

“Judging from your name, I’m guessing your mother’s side?” He cleared his throat. “Unless Cartwright is your married name.”

The other side of her mouth edged up until she was nearly smiling. “My mother’s side.”

He enjoyed the way she answered the question without answering the question.

Was she married? She wore no ring, but he’d met plenty of women who didn’t. Whether it was a barmaid trying to encourage better tips from customers who thought she was single and therefore free game, or a taxi driver who didn’t want to risk losing her ring at gunpoint, there were all sorts of reasons why women chose not to advertise their marital status.

Of course, a woman like Laney Cartwright wouldn’t want to promote it because the less you knew about her, the better leverage she had.

Carter looked forward to compromising that power in every way that he could.

Laney seemed to realize that the scales were tipped a little too heavily in his favor. So he wasn’t surprised when she walked back to the other side of her desk, breaking eye contact with him.

He half expected her to end the meeting. To give up the ghost and realize that indulging in a sexual duel with him benefited her not at all. Instead, she said, “I was about to head for lunch. Would you like to join me?”

He squinted at her.

She pressed the intercom button before he responded. “Violet? Have Raphael’s ready a table for two for lunch, please.”

And just like that the scales tipped back to her.



LANEY GREETED the maître d’ with a kiss to both cheeks, as if seeing an old friend. Which, in essence, she was, since she took so many of her meals at the exclusive French restaurant.

“Miss Laney, how especially beautiful you look today. I was afraid I would not see you after your secretary called earlier to cancel your luncheon plans.”

Pierre darted glances Carter’s way, as if half hoping that during the conversation Carter would disappear.

“I have your favorite table all ready for you, Ms. Cartwright.”

Laney swept her hand toward Carter. “Pierre, this is Mr. Southard. He’ll be dining with me today.”

She didn’t need to say more. Pierre looked as if someone had just hit him in his snobbish head with a two-foot-long salami. And Carter stared back at him as if he didn’t know whether to greet Pierre or hit him. He appeared prepared for both.

Laney hid her smile as Pierre explained to Carter that the restaurant had a dress code and asked if he wouldn’t mind choosing a suitable jacket from an array they had in the cloakroom.

Laney twisted her lips, pretending that she didn’t notice Carter’s discomfort while challenging him to react in the way he’d like to. Namely, storm out of the uptight place.

Instead, he motioned for Pierre to lead the way.

Moments later, he came out wearing a bright green blazer bearing the crest of an exclusive club on the breast pocket and a bright yellow tie. Laney couldn’t help laughing behind her hand. Not just at the garish combination, but at Pierre’s chagrin and Carter’s wide grin.

Pierre appeared exasperated as he led them to a table to the left, away from the kitchen and in front of the window, but he could do nothing as he watched Carter take the seat smack-dab where anyone passing could see him.

“Thank you, Pierre,” Laney said after he pulled out the other chair for her.

He usually thanked her back or at the very least told her to enjoy her lunch. This time, he just gave her a little bow and then scurried away as fast as his fashionably decked feet could carry him.

The waiter came immediately, not indicating one way or another whether Carter’s purposely chosen attire affronted him as he offered the wine list. Carter didn’t bother reading it but handed it back and requested a beer in a frosted glass.

Laney did the same.

“I’m impressed,” she said quietly, fingering the rim of her water glass and ignoring the stares from neighboring tables. “I figured you would have turned and left the instant Pierre informed you that you weren’t dressed properly.”

“Then it takes little to impress you.”

She enjoyed it when people acted contrary to her expectations. So few did. She could usually predict exactly what a person would say. And was disappointed when they did. So when she came across the odd man like Carter, she liked to linger in his company. Just to see what he would do next.

The waiter served their beer and then informed them of the specials. Laney didn’t have to look at the menu he handed her. She already knew every dish listed and what she would have. She was surprised when Carter didn’t bother to open his menu, either, instead holding her gaze as the waiter finished with the specials and looked to her.

She ordered salmon with rice and then raised her brow when it was Carter’s turn. He didn’t even blink as he said, “Give me a strip steak, grilled. Baked potato and salad with vinegar and oil. No gravies, no funny stuff I can’t identify. Just give it to me straight up.”

The waiter bowed slightly, took back the menus and disappeared.

If Laney had hoped to outmaneuver him by bringing him here, she’d failed. And she couldn’t have been happier.

“So,” she said, taking a sip of her water, “how is it that you know my cousin Trace?”

Carter grimaced and looked around the nicely appointed room, giving a small finger salute to an older woman nearby who openly stared at him. “He shot me.”

Laney nearly spewed her water over the table. “Pardon me?”

Carter’s grin returned. “I said he shot me.” He formed a gun with his fingers and pulled the trigger. “I have to say that if our positions had been reversed, I’d have done the same thing to him. But I would have hit him so he wouldn’t get back up.”

Laney had heard stories about her mother’s side of the family. “A bunch of rowdy cowboys,” her father would say before launching into a story about rustled cattle or gunfights or land feuds involving the branch of her family that came from the southwest part of the state.

Blake Cartwright was never flippant when telling the tales that had undoubtedly grown longer and longer over the years. Rather, he usually looked envious of a way of life so different from his own upbringing chasing oil with his father. Although occasionally guns had been involved, there had been no real honor in any of the clashes. All the disputes had revolved around money and who would be walking away with it. And it was usually Laney’s grandfather.

Which explained why Laney had never had to worry about anything. She could have attended the best Ivy League colleges in the world, but had instead chosen to go to the University of Texas. Her father had been proud of the move, when she had expected him to argue with her.

Then again, her father had never acted the way she anticipated, either. Much like the man across from her.

Their salads arrived.

“To be honest with you, Ms. Cartwright—”

“Laney, please.”

“Any outstanding debt is only part of the reason why I requested to see you today.”

She folded a few spinach leaves onto her fork with the aid of her knife. “Oh?”

Carter took a bite of his salad, and then wiped his mouth with his napkin, resting his elbow on the table as he chased the greens with water. “Christ, they’re feeding me cow food. I feel like I should be grazing.”

She laughed.

He pushed his plate away and took a bread roll instead, slathering it with butter. Laney found her gaze riveted as he put the extra large bite into his mouth, chewing without much regard for etiquette. A man who was obviously hungry for more than what was on the table in front of him.

“I want you to help get me reinstated into the Corps.”




Chapter Four


“I DON’T NORMALLY HANDLE military cases,” Laney had told him when they’d walked back to her office building a couple of blocks away from the restaurant.

“Define ‘normally.’”

“Never.”

Carter had figured as much. He was already working with a JAG attorney and understood the way the military worked. Especially in his case, after he’d been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, essentially a rubber stamp they used to cover every personnel problem they encountered. Mouth off to a rookie captain who couldn’t tell his ass from an IED—improvised explosive device—and find yourself suspended for an amount of time to be determined by other glorified civilians who were even more clueless than the ones who had diagnosed him in the first place. Men who had no idea what it was to spend days on end in a shit-ridden sandbox without supplies and adequate protection, where everyone and no one could be your enemy, where ultimately your only friends were your weapon and your balls.

Things were just going far too slow for his liking.

Still, Laney had agreed to look into his case. See if there was something she could do to help expedite matters.

Sweat dripped from Carter’s forehead, landing on the tile of his kitchen floor where he was on this second set of one hundred push-ups. Old Blue lay nearby, his head on his paws, his droopy eyes shifting up and then down as he followed Carter’s movements.

It was after dark and outside the cicadas were kicking up a ruckus as they claimed the night.

This was Carter’s least favorite time of day. Darkness yawned in front of him like a murky, endless ditch that no amount of dirt in the world could fill in, no matter how hard he shoveled. Shadows claimed the corners of the small, old house and lengthened, the few lamps and lightbulbs stopping them from swallowing the rooms altogether.

Carter usually did one of two things right about now. Either he sat in front of the old television set with a twelve-pack next to one ankle while Blue rested against the other. Or he hit a nearby roadhouse, seeking temporary companionship and ultimately escape in a welcoming woman’s arms.

Neither option seemed palatable to him just now. Mostly because the only arms he could seem to concentrate on belonged to Laney Cartwright.

His muscles trembled as he pushed them beyond their limits. He finally collapsed to the floor, his cheek resting against the cool tile, his lungs on fire. But he paid attention to nothing outside the image of Laney’s surprised and happy smile earlier at the restaurant when she realized he wasn’t going anywhere.

The closest he’d come to meeting his match in a woman was JoEllen Atchison. He winced. At least that’s what he liked to tell himself. It turned out JoEllen must not have returned the sentiment or else she would never have believed him capable of trying to rape her two months ago. Still, before then, he’d been convinced that they had been simpatico, two jarheads who didn’t require foreplay but went straight to the deed when the need hit, their only real relationship being with the U.S. Marine Corps.

Carter rolled over and stared at the ceiling. Now with the wisdom that came with hindsight, he realized that what he and JoEllen had had was nothing but a handful of one-night stands that had occasionally included a weekend locked away in a seedy motel room with a box of pizza and a case of beer. And that somewhere down the line he had mistaken that for a relationship.

Of course, it was hard to understand the difference, because he had never really had a steady relationship with a woman. When he was younger, he’d been too busy being a Marine commander’s son. There had been no real time for the usual teenage stuff outside his positions as varsity football cornerback and team captain, the roles nothing more to him than warm-up for what he would do once he enlisted in the Marines when he was eighteen.

Girls…oh, they’d been there. Lifting up their pretty skirts and kissing him with their cherry-flavored lip gloss. But he’d never seen one of them more than three times, and even then not necessarily in a row, since he went out with other girls in between. He hadn’t fooled himself into thinking that the reason he got away with such bad behavior had to do with his good looks. As his father had liked to tell him, he looked two licks shy of a full tongue bath.

No, he knew his status as football captain allowed him certain privileges. Liberties he hadn’t been extended in the Corps, where one Marine was treated no different than a hundred others.

His mother…well, his mother lived down in Austin with another family. One she’d started after leaving Carter with his father when he was five, marrying another man and going on to have four more children that were no more like Carter than the sun was like the moon.

Heaving himself up from the floor, he opened the refrigerator, staring at the half-dozen bottles of beer in there, and reached for the water bottle instead. Unscrewing the top, he went to stand at the back doorway, staring out at the dark sky as he guzzled a good portion of cold water.

It wasn’t often that he wondered how life would have turned out for him had his mother taken him with her instead of leaving him with his father. Only every now and again when he found himself drifting in a sea of uncertainty. As he was now.

Would he have been a lawyer like Laney? A doctor? All four of his half siblings either boasted advanced degrees or were in the process of earning them.

Instead, the reason his mother had left his father had become a way of life for Carter, as well: the Corps.

And he had holes in his stomach knowing that they no longer wanted him.

Blue whined at his feet. Carter looked down at the old hound licking his drooping chops.

“What is it, boy?” He lifted the water bottle. “You want some of this?”

He opened the back door and led the way out onto the porch, where he poured a good portion into the dog’s bowl. The hound lapped it up.

Carter dropped to sit on the edge of the small landing, letting his feet dangle over the side. On the kitchen table his M16 assault rifle lay partially disassembled where he’d been cleaning it, next to a half-eaten burger he’d picked up from a nearby diner earlier.

He spotted the waxing quarter moon rising from the other side of the trees and thought again of Laney Cartwright. Wondered what she was doing right about then.

Wondered if she was thinking about him.



LANEY LAY BACK against the down pillows piled up against her headboard, her feet tucked under the soft Egyptian cotton sheets because they always got cold with the air conditioner on. The grandfather clock her father had bought her a couple of years ago chimed the hour in the front room of her two-bedroom penthouse apartment as she leafed through the MacGregor case file, trying to figure out who might want to threaten her. Laughter caught her attention and she looked up to try to catch the joke she’d just missed on her DVD of the third season of Sex and the City. It wasn’t long before her wandering attention wandered farther still and she was thinking about Carter Southard and the time they’d spent together earlier in the day.

So Carter Southard was a Marine.

She didn’t know why she was surprised. He fit all the physical requirements of the job. And certainly the mental criteria, as well.

Still, somehow she imagined him doing something else. Say, drilling for oil. Or running a cattle ranch. Something that required him to be out in the sun all day toiling away.

Of course, he could do that as a Marine, but…

She sighed. Okay, her thoughts were veering toward the ridiculous. All because she was trying to ignore the fact that she was so enormously attracted to him she’d nearly blown off her afternoon agenda on the MacGregor case and called him. Not for social reasons. But to get the name of his JAG attorney, which he’d promised to supply.

Not for social reasons, indeed.

Although that wasn’t far off the mark. She didn’t want to take him to a garden party or a symphony benefit. She wanted to share her bed with him.

Laughter caught her attention again and she forced herself to look down at the file resting against the easel formed by her knees. She should be thinking about the brief meeting she’d had with a police detective after lunch. About his questions on the MacGregor case and who might want to send her the threatening note. But she hadn’t been able to help him. MacGregor hadn’t had an accomplice. He was being charged as the lone gunman in a convenience store robbery that had left a male clerk dead.

So who would want to warn her off the case?

Well, she certainly wasn’t going to solve the mystery tonight. Not with her mind wandering to Carter every two seconds.

She closed the file and put it on the bedside table, then reached for the bottle of lotion there, smoothing a good squirt over her arms and knees before sliding farther down under the sheets.

“Do you make a habit of picking up strays?” Carter had asked her as they’d walked back to the office after lunch.

“What?”

He’d shrugged. “I can’t help wondering if taking on strange cases is something you do on a regular basis, or if I’m the exception.”

She’d stopped in front of the building and faced him, watching the way he squinted against the midday sun, causing fine lines to fan out from his granite eyes.

“Oh, you’re definitely an exception, Carter Southard,” she’d said. “And I have the feeling that this isn’t the only rule you’re going to inspire me to break.”

Laney found herself smiling faintly at the memory. It was more than Carter’s unpredictability that engaged her; it was also the way she felt when she was around him. In a life full of dull days, he’d lit a fire she couldn’t help being drawn to.

But if he’d been strictly fantasy material before, now he was very real.

She found that her hand had made its way down the silk of her nightgown, sliding over her hip bone and then back up again. Just thinking about him made her feel sexy, alive. Merely knowing that all she had to do was pick up the phone and make what her friends termed a “booty call” and he’d be over made her feel naughty for even considering it.

She bit her bottom lip. God, the way she was reacting to him, you’d think she was a virgin locked away from the world for the first twenty-eight years of her life. Not a woman who’d experienced her share of orgasms, although not as often as she’d like. Sue her, but she’d yet to find a man capable of supplying her with more than one or two. Usually after a couple of dates, the men either wanted to start staying over or wanted her to sleep at their place. And she hadn’t been interested in either.

That, or they’d expected her to fawn over them, turning from a no-nonsense, ambitious attorney to a woman who could think of nothing else but making them happy, a woman with nothing but wedding dates and dinner parties on her mind.

It didn’t take long for them to figure out that she didn’t fit into the normal Southern girl mold. At least not yet, her father occasionally liked to joke, reminding her that time had a way of changing even the strongest, career-minded women.

She couldn’t imagine herself changing, ever.

Still, even she admitted to pain when she’d spot her most recent ex with another woman. He’d make sure to introduce her to his latest conquest, who appeared to be just up his alley.

Carrie Bradshaw made a quip about men that normally would have amused her. Now she reached for the remote and shut off the television, then turned off the light, wondering if the rest of the world was out of sync with her. Or if she was out of sync with the world.




Chapter Five


“SO, TELL ME. Who is he?” Blake Cartwright asked.

Laney was suddenly incapable of swallowing the thinly sliced beef in her mouth. It had been two days since she’d lunched at Raphael’s with Carter. Still, that didn’t stop her from glancing toward the table she had sat at with him, barely seeing the older couple now lunching there.

She drank deeply from her water glass to help the food go down. “Pardon me?”

Blake pointed at her with his fork. “No pardon granted.” He took a bite of his trout and then put his utensils down and dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. Her father was so different from Carter in that he’d eaten at this and similar restaurants hundreds of times and proper protocol was second nature to him. His suit was tailored, his shirt snow-white and freshly starched, his tie silk and pierced with a clip, his hair neatly trimmed. But his question and follow-up response proved that he had more in common with Carter when it came to seeing through her.

He narrowed his gaze. “You’ve been distracted ever since you came in. By now I usually know as many details about your latest case as your associates do, as well as what you’ve had for dinner the night before.”

Laney’s mouth dropped open. Thankfully there was nothing in it to fall out. “I can’t possibly talk all that much.”

Her father’s grin warmed her. “Maybe not all that much. But enough for me to know today’s quiet is out of character.”

Laney readjusted her napkin in her lap. “I’m just a little distracted, is all. I went to see MacGregor at the county jail this morning before today’s hearing.” She gave a slight shiver, always uncomfortable with her visits to places where iron bars were the dominant décor. “He has no idea who might have sent me that note.”

“Have you heard from the detective you gave it to?”

“Yes. No fingerprints. No unique characteristics.”

“No reason to further pursue the matter.”

“His words exactly.”

Her father folded his hands on the edge of the table. “Would you like me to look into it?”

Blake Cartwright had had big shoes to fill, following Laney’s legendary grandfather. But he had never really looked at it that way. Perhaps once he might have, but that would have been long before Laney was old enough to notice. Most men with inherited wealth were happy to accept a token role in the family business, allowing their money to make money for them. Not her father. He wanted to leave his own unique mark. And he was doing just that by establishing himself as a very successful venture capitalist.

In the past ten years alone, Laney could count fifteen of his schemes that had taken off, adding significantly to his wealth, most of them in green technology. Of course, he’d had to invest in a hundred to score on those fifteen, and she’d enjoyed hearing about every one of them, including the wacky idea of a hat that allowed advertisers to buy space on it when the owner registered with the mother Web site.

Laney realized her father was waiting for an answer, so she shook her head. “Thanks, but no. I don’t feel I’m at any great risk.”

“Sounds like famous last words to me.”

She smiled. “God, I hope not. I didn’t get into this line of work to put my life at risk. If I had wanted to do that, I would have become a police officer.”

“Honest work.”

“Honest work that gets you shot in the ass.”

Blake laughed loudly and sat back, oblivious to the looks he got. “You know, you never did answer my question.”

“What question?” She pretended an interest in finishing her meal.

“You know very well what question. I heard you were in here with another man the other day. You know, the one when you canceled your luncheon date with me so you could conduct an emergency meeting on the MacGregor case.”

Laney frowned. “How could I forget how small this big city can be?”

How stupid! She should have known that word would get back to her father. Especially considering the interest that Carter had garnered. There were probably people in the room even now whom she might not know personally but who knew her father. And while none of them would openly gossip about Carter’s questionable appearance (it wasn’t the Texan thing to do), they would politely ask after him in a way that would get their unspoken meaning across.

“So are you planning to tell me?” her father asked again.

Laney shook her head. “No. Because he’s of no concern.”

And he wasn’t, was he? At least not to her father. She hadn’t heard from Carter since that day and was beginning to accept the fact that she might not. Which meant that there was zero chance that she’d ever introduce him to her father.

She caught herself wistfully fingering the hair at the nape of her neck and stopped, smiling at her father, who watched her curiously.

“I see,” he said.

She opened her mouth to ask him what he saw, then thought better of it. She knew not to ask her father anything she wasn’t ready to hear the answer to.

“Anyway, my love life is dismally boring compared to yours,” she said, lobbing the conversation back in his direction.

His expression shifted as if to say, “That’s more like it,” and he chuckled. “At least you’re admitting to having a love life.”

She didn’t. But despite Carter’s silence, she held out a slim hope that might change.



LANEY USUALLY TOOK the McKinney Avenue tram back and forth to work. It was convenient and fast. But in this heat, it also meant that she’d be soaked with sweat before she got to the office. So she’d taken to driving.

If her new habit had anything to do with the threatening note she’d received, she wasn’t saying.

Besides, if she didn’t drive to work, when else would she get to enjoy her Infiniti hybrid? The luxury vehicle was designed to please, and she liked being behind the wheel, feeling in control of her world as the city buildings loomed outside her windows.

She pressed the elevator button to take her to the garage level and then looked at her watch. After seven. Most everyone else in the company had gone home for the day. As usual, she’d let time get away from her while working out the MacGregor defense, and when she’d finally looked up, the sun was a huge, orange ball on the western horizon.

The bell dinged and the elevator doors opened. She stepped out, her footsteps echoing in the nearly empty chamber. She slowed, giving a little shiver and gripping her briefcase more tightly. If need be, she could use it as a weapon.

She rolled her eyes and took a deep breath. And just who, exactly, was she expecting to accost her? The janitor with a broom demanding she hand over her thousand-dollar Jimmy Choos?

She was tired, that’s all. And the lack of sleep was amplifying the fear that lingered in the wake of that threatening note. She didn’t have anything to worry about. She hadn’t committed any crime. Wronged anyone else. She was merely defending her innocent client.

And she did believe that Devon MacGregor was innocent, didn’t she? While she didn’t think she was an expert, she considered herself a pretty good judge of human behavior. And Devon MacGregor’s pleas for her to believe him and the supporting, if meager, evidence told her that her client had been wrongfully accused.

Which meant that the real culprit was still out there somewhere.

God. Of course. That was it. Whoever had committed the crimes was probably very interested in letting Devon serve the time for them.

The thought had crossed her mind before, but she’d dismissed it. She wasn’t interested in pointing the finger at anyone else, merely turning the fingers pointing at her client away from him.

The elevator dinged and she jumped.

Okay, she really needed to get a grip.

Still, she looked over her shoulder, watching to see who got out.

No one did.

The elevator doors slid shut again.

Now, that wasn’t a figment of her imagination. That was just downright creepy.

Palming her key ring, she picked up her pace. Only a hundred feet separated her from her car. She kept to the middle of the floor, away from shadowy pillars, her gaze darting around for any activity. At this time of day there was none. Her quickened footsteps seemed to taunt her. She considered lightening her footfalls so she could hear if there were others. At this rate, she wouldn’t hear a car engine above the sound of her own heartbeat.

She turned the corner and someone stepped out of the shadows. She cried out and swung her briefcase, simultaneously trying to figure out the safest escape route. The stranger was between her and her car, so that was out. It was a long way back to the elevator and the stairs. The closest route was the spiraling ramp leading out onto the street.

“Whoa.”

A man’s voice. A familiar man’s voice.

She stared into Carter Southard’s handsomely surprised face when he righted himself after ducking.

“Jesus,” Laney said, leaning her hand against the trunk of her car. “What are you trying to do? Scare the spirits out of me?”

He reached out and took her briefcase from her other hand, setting it closer to the car door. “Was that the best you could do? Swing your bag?”

Laney managed to get her breathing under control and stood straight. “You mean you were deliberately trying to frighten me? To see what I would do?”

He grinned. “No. I wasn’t. But in hindsight, I suppose my stepping out like that probably wasn’t the smartest move.”

“You can say that again.”

“I think once is enough.”

“Funny. Very funny.” Laney rubbed her arms. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

He tucked his hands into his front jeans pockets. “I wanted to get you that information I promised. Sorry it’s so late. But I told my neighbor that I’d help him repair his fence. Turned into a two-day job and I just finally knocked off.” He glanced toward the elevator. “I figured you as the workaholic type, so I thought it was a pretty good bet you’d still be here. And since the lobby was closed, this was my best chance for entry.”

“Yes, well,” she said, looking around at shadows that didn’t seem as sinister with Carter at her side. “I’ll have to have a talk with management about this.”

“Might be a good idea. At least they could make sure the parking attendant doesn’t think sleeping with his feet up on the counter is part of his job description.”

“How did you know this was my car?”

“Educated guess.” He gestured toward the luxury vehicle. “But that’s not what drew me over this way. I’d planned to come up to the office.”

She grimaced at him as he stepped to the side, revealing the flat front tire.

“Great,” she said, exasperated, wondering if her auto service could gain access to the garage.

“That wouldn’t be so bad,” Carter said, “if the other tire wasn’t flat, too. One flat tire, fate. Two? Someone wanted to make it difficult for you to get home tonight.”

Laney slowly walked toward the front of the car, considering the damage.

“See that,” Carter said, pointing to the sidewall. “Looks like a knife slash.”

Laney shuddered, feeling as if a knife-wielding stranger was in front of her instead of long gone.

“What’s this?” she said.

She leaned forward, spotting a note under the wiper, not unlike the one she’d received in the mail a couple of days ago. She pulled it out.

“Drop the MacGregor case. Now.” Next to the words was the number two.

“That doesn’t look good to me,” Carter said, his voice low and gravelly. “That doesn’t look good to me at all.”




Chapter Six


AN HOUR LATER, the police had come and gone, assuring her that the detective who had taken her earlier report would be informed of the latest development; Laney’s tires had been replaced by her auto service, and Carter stood facing her once again, blessedly alone. And without a briefcase being swung at his head.

He resisted the desire to reach out and push back a few strands of errant hair. Aw, hell, who was he kidding? He’d never been the best at restraint, and he saw no real benefit in starting now. She appeared shaken, in need of protection. Yet just under the surface shone hard steel, telling him that she was much stronger than she looked. It would take more, much more, than a couple of threatening notes to knock her over.

Laney looked down but didn’t pull away as he rubbed the baby-soft strands of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. Then he brushed them away from her milky cheek and tucked them behind her ear, wondering at the delicate shell and the sight of his dark hand against her light skin.

“Thanks for staying,” she said quietly. “I really appreciate it.” She briefly bit the side of her bottom lip and looked around, apparently still seeing ghosts. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer not to spend another minute more than I have to in this garage.”

Carter smiled. “I understand.” He gestured to his bike. “Let me follow you home.”

“That’s not necessary,” she said a little too quickly, then her gaze lingered on his. “Really, it isn’t. I don’t think I’ll be finding another note tonight.” She looked into the cavernous depths of the garage. “At least I hope not.”

“I’d feel better if I saw you home. Where do you live?”

She told him. He raised a brow at the downtown address. He’d expected something in one of the swanky Texas subdivisions. Not that Dallas didn’t boast more than a few high-rent condos downtown, but somehow he figured her for an estate development.

“Apartment building?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Front doorman?”

“Yes. And closed-circuit cameras and the latest in security.”

That made him feel better. At least marginally. “Good. But let’s get you there first. Have you had anything to eat?”

“What? Um, no.”

He opened the driver’s door of her car, indicating that she should climb in.

“Lead the way,” he said.

WOULD HE WANT to come in? Laney wondered. Did she dare invite him up?

Her palms grew damp against the steering wheel. The classical station her car radio was tuned in to was failing to capture her attention. She drifted into the opposite lane twice since she was more focused on watching Carter in her rearview mirror than on the road in front of her.

Only an hour ago, she had thought he was gone from her life, that he had no plan to follow up on his request for help. Then he’d appeared out of nowhere, nearly scaring the socks off her.

Now he was following her on his Harley, looking particularly hot in his snug black T-shirt and sunglasses, his longish dark hair blowing in the wind. Knowing a bit about his military background, he could have been out for a ride or on his way to the front line.

The thought of him looking after her like this made her hot, and she squeezed her thighs together.

When was the last time she’d felt this way? Had she ever felt this way? She couldn’t say. What she did know was that none of the suited, professional men she’d briefly dated over the past couple of years had made her mouth go this dry. And her heart beat in an uneven rhythm in her chest at the thought that the man on the motorcycle wanted her.

Of course, part of her response could be attributed to her tires being slashed. The violent act had opened her eyes to the seriousness of the threat in a way the first note had not.

Still, she couldn’t think about that now. She seemed utterly incapable of thinking about anything but the man behind her.

She pulled in front of her apartment building and began to roll down her window. To thank him or invite him up—she wasn’t sure which. Instead, he took the decision out of her hands by offering a brief wave and roaring down the street.

Interesting…

Okay, maybe this unpredictability wasn’t as attractive as she’d first thought. She’d never considered he would merely drive off.

Laney watched the back of his bike. Despite her disappointment, she couldn’t help thinking he looked as good going as he did coming. She reluctantly got out of her car, deciding to ask the doorman to arrange for the Infiniti to be parked in the underground garage. She didn’t have the stomach right now to do it herself.

A short time later, she’d showered and was in her robe in her penthouse apartment, considering the contents of her refrigerator, when the apartment intercom buzzed.

“Yes, Roger?” she asked the front doorman.

There was a pause, making her wonder if something else had happened.

“Sorry to bother you, Ms. Cartwright, but there’s a Mr. Southard here to see you.”

Roger’s pause hadn’t been reluctance to share bad news, but grudging acceptance that he’d have to introduce a man who must look incredibly out of place in the upscale lobby.




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