She Who Dares, Wins. Candace Havens

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      If he can do that with a look, imagine what it would be like if he touched me.

      Her body quivered with the very thought of it.

      When his right eyebrow rose, she realized she was supposed to say something. His words finally penetrated her sex-addled brain. “Wh-what? Oh—I…” she stammered. “I was only—” she checked her watch “—a half hour late. It took me forever to get through customs. So you know the professor?”

      The hottie leaned an elbow against the bar. “I know of him.”

      Katie chewed on her lip. “Hmm. Well, I guess I’ll have to find him at the university.”

      “I wouldn’t bother. I’m sure he’s headed home to bed. It is almost eight,” he said as he looked at his watch.

      The bartender grunted at that.

      Katie deflated as she sat down on the stool next to the man. “I’m not surprised. It’s been that kind of day for me.” She’d almost missed her flight because of car trouble, her phone wasn’t working right and she’d missed the meeting with the professor.

      “Sounds to me like you could use one of these.” The bartender set a pint in front of her.

      “He’s right, you know.” The handsome man waved a hand toward the beer. “Nothing like a good pint to set the world right again.”

      Katie worried about the professor’s safety, but she didn’t have any private contact info for him or the dean. All she had were the numbers for the university. Hopefully the old man had made it home safely.

      She might as well have a drink and then head to the hotel so she could start fresh in the morning. She was already feeling the jet lag Mariska had warned her about. Her boss had insisted Katie try to sleep on the plane, but she could never get comfortable. A beer would help her relax and then she could get a good night’s rest.

      “What the heck.” She held up her glass. “Cheers.”

      THE SMOKY VOICE and New York accent were at odds with the petite brunette at Macon’s side. He had a difficult time believing this woman was Katie McClure, the bodyguard sent to protect him. He was an ass for not confessing his identity, but he wanted to have a little fun. If she were as good at her job as the dean said, she’d figure it out eventually.

      “I must be tired.” She laughed. “I just realized you’re American. I’d say somewhere on the West Coast.”

      He liked the deep throaty laugh, and she had the most beautiful chocolate eyes framed by long lashes. There was something in those eyes, a slight hardness, that told him she’d seen more than most people, but she looked far too young for that.

      “You’re right. That’s quite an ear you have,” he said.

      “I don’t know about that. I’m having the toughest time understanding people here, which makes me feel like an idiot, since we speak the same language.”

      Macon laughed. “You get used to it eventually. I’m a surfer boy from Laguna, and I even picked up a few of the phrases. Caught myself saying ‘bloody hell’ the other day. And like America there are different types of accents. Some are easier to understand than others.”

      “The Bronx where I grew up is a melting pot of accents and you never know what you might get when you say hello to someone.”

      He liked this woman. Beyond the fact that she was gorgeous, her no-nonsense attitude and directness were refreshing.

      “Well, fellow American. Don’t suppose you’d let me buy you dinner?” Macon surprised himself with the question. The words had burst out of his mouth before he could stop them. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d asked a woman out.

      Her eyes flashed with surprise, and he expected a quick no.

      She gave him the once-over. “I could eat.” She sniffed the air. “And if the food is half as good as it smells, I’m in.”

      “Timothy, looks like we’ll need some menus. And perhaps a table,” Macon told the bartender.

      Mac had rolled up his sleeves earlier in the evening, and when Katie put a hand on his arm, the skin-to-skin contact sent his libido into overdrive.

      “Nah, I’m good sitting here at the bar.” She gave him a quick smile. “Done it most of my life.”

      “Oh, really. I didn’t take you for the AA type.”

      “You’re a funny one.” She smirked. “GJ, my grandpa, and my parents own a pub in the Bronx populated by their friends who are all cops. So I spent a lot of time there doing my homework at the bar or at one of the tables in the back.”

      That explained why she’d gone into law enforcement. She still didn’t fit the big Amazon image he had in his head of the security agent sent to protect him. She was more ballerina than bodyguard.

      Timothy handed them each a menu. Macon didn’t need to look at it, as he’d been eating there most nights for the past four years. It was close to his apartment and he was a big fan of the food.

      She slipped off her jacket and he glimpsed her nearly perfect figure—a petite goddess in one amazing package. His body tightened with need and he had to think of nice cold showers in order to avoid her seeing just how happy he was to meet her.

      He watched as she perused the menu. “If you like a good steak, they know how to do it right and the Caesar salad is one of my favorites,” he offered.

      “That’ll work for me.” She handed the menu back to the bartender as he took their order.

      “This place was pretty crowded earlier. Where did everyone go?” She twirled around on the bar stool, their knees rubbing together for a second, and again his body reacted. What was it about her? The scientist in him wondered about pheromones, but he forced himself to push those thoughts aside so he could answer her questions.

      “Most of them work at the high court—barristers and clerks, and maybe a few judges. Everybody will have gone home to their families. In about an hour there will be an influx of partiers out for a good time. The crowd changes and it gets louder as the night goes on.”

      She shook her head. “It really does feel like home—almost makes me miss it.”

      “Almost?” From the way she said it, he could tell she had mixed feelings.

      “Like most people, I have some family baggage.” She blew out a breath. “I’m Katie, by the way.” She stuck out a hand for him to shake.

      “I’m M—” He’d almost said Macon. “Mac, that’s what my friends call me.”

      The bartender grunted again as he put their salads on the bar.

      “Wow! Now, that’s a salad.” She laughed at the sight of the large bowl filled to the brim with vegetables. The sound of her laugh was like a warm blanket wrapped around him—a warm sexy blanket.

      He cleared his throat. “Roxy, the chef here, likes to make sure her customers are well fed.”

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