With This Fling. Jeanie London

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      “I heard you had to be carried out of Harrah’s.”

      The fuzzy memory of Mac Gerard vied for attention in her pounding head, and she rolled onto her back and groaned when her head swam sickeningly. She closed her eyes. “Who narced on me?”

      “The Gooch. He said he saw you playing faro and drinking. I had to come find out for myself.”

      “You came to check on the chopper.”

      “No, princess. I was worried.”

      “About your bike.”

      “About you.” The mattress sank as he sat on the edge of the bed and she braced herself against the motion. “Look, I brought caffeine.”

      “Venti?” She wasn’t offering reassurances or even sitting up for anything less.

      “With five shots of leaded.”

      “The chopper is fine.”

      “I know. I checked the garage before I came in.”

      She exhaled a sound that made Anthony laugh. So much for being the number-one concern in this man’s mind.

      “Come on, princess. Sit up and drink. You’ll feel better.”

      He gave her a shoulder to hang on to while she eased herself up and he stuffed pillows behind her to keep her upright. Then he handed her the cup.

      Anthony was right, one sip of high-test brew slowed the rapid-fire pounding in her head. She sighed appreciatively.

      “Went that bad with the exterminator yesterday?” he asked.

      “The Gooch tell you that, too?”

      “He didn’t need to. This is the third time I’ve seen you drink in twenty-two years. I don’t need a P.I. license to know what that means.”

      “Ten-thousand dollars worth of bad.”

      The amusement fade from his face. “Ouch.”

      Ouch, indeed. Where the hell was she coming up with that kind of money? She’d had an idea last night and had taken her paycheck to Harrah’s in a desperate attempt to change her fortune. The drinking hadn’t started until she’d realized that Lady Luck had moved her to the bad luck list.

      Now she was going to be behind on her mortgage, too.

      She simply couldn’t think about this right now or her head would explode. Closing her eyes, Harley leaned her head back against the pillows and staved off a renewed burst of pounding.

      She felt Anthony’s mouth brush against her forehead, a gesture of reassurance she appreciated, even if she didn’t feel reassured. “Don’t worry. Something will break.”

      Most likely she’d break before her financial troubles did, but she couldn’t even manage sarcasm right now.

      “Ah-hem.”

      The deep-throated sound of a man wanting attention jarred the moment and she spun toward the sound to find…Gerard standing in her bathroom doorway.

      Wrapped in a towel?

      “Great bike,” he said to Anthony in a voice as calm as a breeze off Lake Ponchartrain. “You got a brother named Dominic with the police department?”

      Obviously he’d decided not to leave last night. Harley supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that he’d make himself at home without an invitation. Arrogant man. She also shouldn’t be surprised that he’d pegged Anthony as Dominic DiLeo’s brother. The man was a former assistant district attorney who would naturally be acquainted with the New Orleans Police Department where Dominic was a lieutenant. Given the strong family resemblance between all the DiLeo boys…

      Swallowing hard, Harley dragged her gaze from the sight of all that bare tanned skin, the definition of a muscular chest, the rippled stomach and narrow waist, the toned legs arrowing down from beneath the hem of the towel.

      Her hand shook, and Anthony must have noticed because he plucked the cup away and set it on the bedside table.

      “Yeah, I do. Is this the knight in shining armor, princess?” He didn’t wait for her reply, just got to his feet, his expression suddenly closed.

      She knew he was gauging the situation and wondering what she’d done while under the influence last night. And whether or not he’d need to kick some ass this morning.

      Harley hadn’t done too much—thank goodness!—but she’d never appreciated how small her bedroom was until seeing two big men square off in the middle of it. Anthony was about an inch shy of Gerard, which put her co-worker at an easy six-two. He was as dark as Anthony was light, his near nakedness contrasting sharply with Anthony’s fully dressed self. Gerard was attractive in a polished, sculpted sort of way, while Anthony was more rugged, earthy. That was where the differences ended—they were both virile men radiating testosterone.

      To Gerard’s credit though, he looked completely unfazed to be caught standing in a towel, facing what might have been an angry boyfriend or a protective older brother.

      “Who are you?” Anthony asked.

      “Mac Gerard.”

      Anthony knew that name. “So you’re the co-worker from hell.”

      He made a dramatic show of dropping his gaze to Gerard’s towel. He didn’t extend his hand in greeting or introduce himself. He didn’t need to. His work shirt had a name badge that read Anthony on the front with his company logo on the back.

      “Do I thank this guy for getting you and the chopper home, princess, or do I start swinging?”

      “Say thanks.”

      Anthony inclined his head and the tension dissolved, just like that. But the standoff wasn’t quite over. Anthony waited for Gerard to back down and disappear into the bathroom.

      Gerard didn’t. He folded those strong arms across his chest, leaned casually against the doorjamb and said, “Don’t let me disturb you.”

      Harley reached for the coffee, needing another sip to fortify her for what she sensed was coming next.

      The Anthony DiLeo show.

      True, they were in an off-again phase of their relationship and true, they’d dated other people through the years. But they didn’t double-date. They didn’t even bring dates to the DiLeo family home so they couldn’t chance running into each other. Anthony didn’t like any reminders that she wasn’t sitting around waiting for him to come back to her. He was so Italian that way.

      Unfortunately, Gerard had just reminded him.

      Heading toward her, Anthony took the cup from her hand and helped himself—even though he didn’t like what she drank. Black coffee, fine. Add five shots of espresso and you could walk on it. He tossed back a swallow as if he drank the stuff every day.

      “Did you pick up my suit from the cleaners, СКАЧАТЬ