Warrior For One Night. Nancy Gideon

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      “Thought you might have lost your sense of humor there for a minute.”

      “Misplaced it, perhaps.” He pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off the tension headache that was building from a distant rumbling to fearsome thunderheads. “I had to pack light for this trip. It wasn’t a must-have item.”

      “Don’t leave home without it, bud. It’s the all-purpose Rx.” Predictably, Kyle shifted into life counselor mode to offer his one prescription for everything. “When was the last time you kicked your shoes off?”

      He wiggled his bare toes. “They’re off right now.”

      “That’s not what I mean and you know it. You need to get a life, bud. All work and no play.”

      “Makes Xander a scary guy. I know.”

      “And I know the remedy. Leave everything to Dr. D’Angelo. What say we just take the weekend off. Zip up to Colorado to your mom’s condo. Hit the clubs, jump in a hot tub with some lonely lovelies, cigars and a fifth of your choice and enjoy a total hedonistic orgy. How does that sound?”

      “Like we were frat boys again.” He was smiling, imagining it. Kyle drew lonely ladies and hedonistic good times like a bacchanalian magnet.

      “Tell me you’re not tempted.”

      Tempted, yes. Because he couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a break. He’d been wound so tight for so long, he wasn’t sure he could loosen up the notch it would take to be a suitable companion for fun. Not because he didn’t need it, but because he didn’t deserve it. Especially now.

      “I’ll have to pass,” he said softly, without true regret. “Maybe when this is over.”

      He heard Kyle’s resigned sigh, knowing his friend hadn’t really expected any other answer. “It’s never over with you.”

      “If this pans out, it will be.”

      Then maybe he could take a breather. Now, it was hard to even think of having a good time when he knew others didn’t have the luxury. For some, there were no breaks, no willing ladies, no hot tubs. That’s why he had to work harder and stay focused. Kyle may not like it, but he did understand it. Because he knew why his friend was a scary guy.

      “Keep in touch, bud. Be careful. We’ll nail this one down for you. Anything I can do, anything, you let me know.”

      A huge knot of gratitude interfered with his immediate response. When he was able to give it, the words came out all rough and raw. “I appreciate it, Kyle. More than you know.”

      Uncomfortable with the thought of his sincerity, D’Angelo shifted back to a light touch. “So Mel Parrish is a woman. And she’s hot. No wonder you’re so grouchy. If I were you, I’d be thinking about on-the-job perks.”

      “Goodbye, Kyle.”

      He was smiling as he flipped the phone shut. Then his mouth narrowed into a thin, hard line. Mel Parrish wasn’t a perk. She was a puzzle piece. And finding out where she fit in was his reason for sitting alone in a hotel room in Reno.

      A monk. A surprisingly apt description. There was a time when he’d never have spent a night in a hotel room alone with only work and late-night television for company. But not being alone didn’t necessarily mean not being lonely. Surrounding himself with a crowd only brought that home with a more painful clarity. So he took a step back from that party-hardy set who had no cares, no worries, no real depth of purpose. All those who had once courted him for his name, his contacts and his fortune, the men who wanted him to buy them drinks and invest in their projects, the women who wanted to hang on his arm to get their pictures in the entertainment news. All those frivolous, fun people who had abandoned him at that first dark whisper of scandal. He’d didn’t miss them. He didn’t need their shallow company. For what he was doing, the isolation served him best. It kept him lean, mean and dangerously determined. But it made for long, lonely nights.

      Perhaps that was why Mel Parrish left him shaken, not stirred.

      Business casual or escort service.

      He grinned wide at the brazenness of that remark. Hooker clothes couldn’t look more enticing than that one-piece zippered distraction. Every curve seemed shaped to fit his hands. And the suddenly damp state of his palms made him aware of just how long he’d been celibate. Too long to remember the circumstance or participant. He told himself that was the reason for his unwise attraction. But he knew he was lying. It was the woman, herself not his reclusive state. It was her eyes, that bold-as-brass-tacks stare that let him know in unblinking terms that he was being an ass. No one, other than Kyle, had dared do that for a very long time. And damned if it didn’t impress him.

      A brisk slap of realization startled him from his half smile and simmering musings. What was he thinking?

      Back to business. Time was short and he had work to do.

      Beneath the official insurance file was a thin folder that held the pain of his past. It contained three meager documents—a fire investigation, an arrest report and a trial transcript. The impossibly weak foundation upon which he’d been struggling to erect the means to escape his shame.

      He didn’t want to be impressed by Mel Parrish.

      He wanted to put her and her family in prison.

      Chapter 3

      “Is this better?”

      She stood in the hall outside his room, her arrogant pose daring him to make some comment about the way she was dressed. Impossible. His tongue had adhered to the roof of his mouth.

      She’d decided to blend both professional and the oldest profession into a look that was in-your-face tough and tempting. Her frizz of red hair was in a ponytail back beneath a ball cap to accentuate the no-nonsense angles of her face warmed by only a trace of makeup. A conservative black jacket that would have been right at home in a realty seminar framed the body that her flight suit had only hinted at. The tiny shirt she wore beneath it with its cutesy cartoon character motif and preteen proportions left acres of Mel Parrish bare. The long tanned line of her throat led his gaze downward to plunge dangerously into a careless offer of cleavage. Then that teensy scrap of snug knit defining the hills and valleys of her breasts the way a man’s hands might above an expanse of taut, toned middle. The sassy wink of jewel-pierced belly button snagged his attention long enough for him to catch a shallow breath before being confronted with the low scoop of her jeans just barely hanging on her hipbones. The negligent crisscross of a studded belt was slung atop denim-skinned legs. In his fantasy, she would be wearing stiletto heels instead of clunky work boots, but those almost absurd contrasts worked upon his no-longer-monkish libido. Kyle’s assessment of “hot” didn’t even come close to the scorch of her boldly flaunted sexuality. And what made the whole package beyond hot was the challenging bristle of look-don’t touch she exuded.

      He had to remind himself to exhale.

      “Fine.” His rough growl rumbled across the agitation he refused to betray. Mel Parrish would never know how much his palms itched to skim around the warm curve of her waist, to pull her up tight against contours not quite so thrilled with his self-denying celibacy. “I’m ready.”

      An incredible understatement.

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