His Mysterious Ways. Amanda Stevens

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      That little detail was oddly telling to Lassiter, because it was yet one more piece of evidence that Melanie Stark had secrets. Dark ones. And her real hair color was the least of them.

      He stood at the foot of the bed gazing down at her. Light streaming in through the balcony window glimmered off the gold streaks in her hair and made her skin look soft and pale.

      And he could see a great deal of skin. She’d kicked off the covers in her sleep, and she lay on the sheet in nothing but a light-blue tank top and white silk panties.

      Even in her sleep, she looked like trouble.

      There was an air of recklessness about her. A hint of hedonism.

      Lassiter had nothing against hedonism, particularly in a woman who looked like Melanie Stark. Not that she was especially beautiful. Her features were too imperfect—even apart from the telltale dark roots—for that. Eyes that were a little too widely set, a nose that was slightly off center.

      But her lips, easily her best feature, were lush and tempting, and her body…

      He drew a sharp breath as his gaze moved over her. The body, he had to admit, came pretty damn close to perfection. Either she had great genes or she’d been giving her gym membership one hell of a workout. She looked entirely capable of handling herself both in bed and out. Not exactly the type of girl you took home to Mother, but Lassiter’s plans for Melanie Stark didn’t include a trip back home to Mississippi, anyway.