And Able. Lucy Monroe

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СКАЧАТЬ sure, Hotwire had a body that rivaled Michelangelo’s David and a southern charm that had the other female guests looking ready to swoon. He was also an inveterate flirt, and his honeyed Georgia drawl made her feel like she would melt in a puddle right at his feet.

      Which was darn embarrassing, even if no one else knew about it.

      But the worst deal was that underneath all that devastating charm, he was every bit as dangerous and aggressive as Nitro. The kind of man a woman knew could keep her safe and who actively made the world a better place. For Claire, that was a lethal combination. She could probably file that reaction under protector-type-struck, which was only marginally better than love struck.

      He was so lethal, he made her feel downright lusty, and that took more doing than the whole protector-type-struck thing. A world-weary twenty-eight years old, she’d been around the block and back again and she did not do lust. It was a total waste of energy as far as she was concerned.

      But darned if when Hotwire got within ten feet of her, she didn’t go and get all shivery. The parts of her body she hadn’t exposed to anyone except her doctor for longer than she wanted to keep track of tingled, for goodness’ sake.

      Standing around in a dress that made her feel half naked did not help.

      She hovered uncertainly outside the bathroom. Did she have the nerve to go out to her car and get her regular clothes to change into? More importantly, would it upset Josette very much to have her maid of honor turn back into a computer geek with no style sense?

      “Sugar, you look ready to bolt.” The familiar Georgia accent went through her like a bolt of lightning.

      Claire whirled around, her heart beating an irregular rat-a-tat-tat in her chest.

      “I was thinking about changing my clothes,” she admitted. “I’m not used to dressing up and don’t really enjoy it.”

      Hotwire’s blue gaze went over her like seeking hands, really talented seeking hands. “That’d be a real shame, Claire. You look beautiful.”

      She couldn’t help it; she laughed. “Yeah, right.”

      Even on her best day, having had a stylist do her hair, a makeup artist do her makeup, and wearing the designer dress Josette had bought her, Claire knew she wasn’t beautiful. Passable, sure—any woman could be passable—but beautiful was not something she’d ever aspired to. Nor was it something she was ever likely to achieve.

      Unlike her mother, who had been broken on the inside but very beautiful on the outside, Claire had average looks and an average figure that was maybe a tad too curvy in places. Her hair was the color of cooked carrots, and what she knew about styling it wouldn’t fill up the back of a cereal box. She was nothing like the women that flocked around Hotwire wherever he went.

      And she really didn’t mind. Beauty wasn’t exactly a blessing for most women cursed with it. Look at her mom…look at half the actresses in Hollywood, for heaven’s sake. Most of them had lives that would make your average family psychologist cringe.

      Giving her a quizzical look, Hotwire reached out and adjusted the chain on her locket.

      An heirloom that had been passed down for five generations in her family, it was the only thing Claire had left of the good times before her dad’s death. She’d almost lost the necklace when the house she shared with Josette was burglarized, but Hotwire had gotten it back for her.

      “Why’d you laugh?” he asked, his voice making her insides do that shivering thing again.

      “No reason.”

      He traced the chain of her necklace until his fingertip rested over the locket, but he might as well have been touching her directly. The feeling was just as electric. “Come on, sugar, tell me why you laughed.”

      “Because it was funny,” she croaked out, her normal insouciance apparently on vacation in the Bahamas at the moment.

      “I didn’t intend it to be.”

      She tried to affect a casual shrug, but ended up brushing her breasts against his forearm. Her, “Sorry,” came out sounding suspiciously like a moan.

      He didn’t look in the least affected by their nearness. His to-die-for good looks were not marred by tension, sexual or otherwise. In fact, he seemed perfectly relaxed, though he wasn’t smiling. He was a magnificent, golden lion at rest, the potential for powerful action there, but momentarily dormant.

      “I’m not used to women dismissing my compliments,” he said with a frown.

      She couldn’t tell if he was really angry with her or teasing. “Um…I’m really sorry.”

      He shook his head. “An apology won’t cut it. You’ve besmirched my sense of honor. We take that seriously where I come from.”

      She laughed, still not sure from his unreadable expression and downright dangerous aura whether he was serious or not. “What do you expect me to say?”

      “Nothing.” Then he just stood there, silent and taking up more space than even his over-six-foot frame should occupy.

      His hands rested against her neck, one thumb now brushing back and forth across her rapidly beating pulse. She began to wonder if her assessment of him as lion at rest was accurate. She realized he was coiled to spring at any moment, and like truly mesmerized prey, she didn’t think she could lift a finger to stop him.

      The heat of the locket warmed by his hand burned against her bare skin. “Thank you,” she blurted out.

      One brow rose. “For the compliment?”

      She shook her head and then realized that might have been a mistake when his blue eyes narrowed.

      “Then why?”

      “For finding my locket and returning it to me. I know it’s just a necklace, but it means a lot to me.” It was her talisman, serving to remind her she did not have to follow in her mother’s footsteps, that she had women in her lineage she could be proud of.

      “Josie said it was your grandmother’s.”

      “Yes, and her grandmother’s before that.”

      “You must have loved her a lot.”

      “I did. She died when I was eight and I’ll never forget her. She was a formidable woman.” Unlike the daughter she’d given birth to.

      “Who is Norene?”

      “She was my mom.”

      “She’s dead?”

      “Yes.”

      “I’m sorry.”

      “Thank you.” She didn’t like talking about that part of her life. There was too much pain wrapped up in the memories, and pain meant a vulnerability she’d long ago rejected. “Josette said you finished installing the security system in the house.”

      “Right.”

      She tried to step back, away from him, but СКАЧАТЬ