Finders Keepers. Shirl Henke

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      He cocked his head and grinned, tsking. “With you watching, Ms. Ballanger? You adding voyeurism to bondage?”

      “I’m a trained medical professional,” she said coolly. A little bit too coolly. Her indifference to the visions of Matt Granger’s naked body was pure bravado. Sam tightened her grip on the weapon as she tossed the pj’s at him. She was finding that pimply kids spaced out on cosmic visions were a lot easier to handle than one smart-mouthed newsman with a body to die for.

      He caught the pajamas deftly, then extended the upper garment back to her. “I’ve always been a bottoms guy myself. Want the top?”

      She could feel his eyes on her suddenly hardened nipples as surely as if he had X-ray vision. “No thanks. Never liked The Pajama Game. Just put on both pieces,” she said with satisfaction when readily visible evidence of his reaction started to grow in his jeans.

      “Well, what the hell, Ms. Medical Professional, you like ‘The Bondage Game’ well enough. And apparently the Chippendales.”

      He gave her another of those infuriating grins and kicked off the slippers, then pulled his shirt over his head…very slowly. She could see every muscle flexing. Tossing it carelessly to the floor between the beds, he started to remove his jeans. She was pleased when he paid careful attention to unzipping his fly. It must have been uncomfortable as hell, she thought smugly, but when he dropped the jeans to his ankles and kicked them away, her mouth was dry. Other places on her body weren’t.

      According to her cover story, his attic floorboards were supposed to be warped, but all the timbers below were in great shape. Bloody Architectural Digest quality, dammit! The most interesting one at the moment was the structural beam jutting straight out as he met her eyes and dared her.

      “Gonna zap me?” he whispered.

      She pointed the stun gun at the strategic place and replied, “If I do, we’ll have a wiener roast, so don’t tempt me.” More like a kielbasa roast. “Just be a good boy and put on the pajamas,” she managed to say with a level voice. He turned around and reached casually for the pj’s, giving her a full view of that great set of buns. Fits with the sausage.

      Looking over his shoulder as he slipped the bottoms on, he said, “Didn’t mean to moon you, but I imagine a trained medical professional’s seen it all, hasn’t she?”

      “Pretty much.” She managed to leash her libido by reminding herself about the cool ten K plus expenses she’d collect from dear old Aunt Claudia. Right now that road was looking really long, hard and rocky. Don’t think long. Don’t think hard. Don’t think rocks, dammit!

      “Good night, Mr. Moonie.” She motioned for him to lie down on the bed.

      He stretched out and then folded his hands as if to pray with the open cuff still dangling from his right wrist. “Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray—”

      “You’ll have to do your nightly devotions hands unfolded. Reach down and click the cuff to the bed frame.” She pointed at the exposed steel bar beneath the box spring.

      “I work much better with both hands free, darlin’,” he said, grinning again as he patted the mattress.

      “You’ll only need one hand free to do what you need to do tonight.” Sam couldn’t help the snide tone any more than she could keep her eyes away from the tent pole under the sheet.

      Muttering about feminine perversity, he clicked the cuff to the bed frame and closed his eyes. Sam flipped off the lights, undressed and slipped into her own bed. After a few moments, she heard him whisper.

      “You know, a few times today, I thought I heard Cole Porter tunes.”

      She rolled on her side and stared across the darkness separating them. “I was playing an Ella Fitzgerald CD of Cole Porter’s hits. I like his music.” The minute she replied, she could’ve kicked herself. Not smart to get involved, especially in a snatch as unorthodox as this one.

      “Me, too. My favorite’s ‘Night and Day.’”

      Too late now. She replied, “Hmm. I’d never have taken you for a romantic. Mine’s ‘Love for Sale.’” His soft chuckle caught her by surprise.

      “Certainly it is.”

      Damn the man. So she was mercenary. So what? A girl from South Boston didn’t have all that many options, unless she considered driving over the road with Uncle Declan. But Sam would be damned if she explained herself to a preppy-turned-reporter like Matt Granger. In a few minutes she could hear the sound of soft male snoring blending with the wheeze of the air conditioner.

      She lay in her bed staring at the ceiling, wide-awake.

      Chapter 2

      “Rise and shine, Prince Charming. It’s time to hit the road for Boston.”

      Matt opened one eye and blinked at Sam, then pulled the pillow over his head, muttering through the feathers, “Go away, Fairy Godmother.”

      “My, aren’t we testy this morning. You had a good night’s sleep.” She tried to sound self-satisfied but knew it ended up coming out with too much edge.

      He tossed the pillow to the foot of the bed and stared balefully at her. Sam Ballanger looked like she hadn’t gotten one wink last night. Maybe the advantage he needed? Matt decided to push the envelope. “Cranky as hell, huh? I offered to help, but nooo, Ms. Medical Professional, you had to stand on principle…or should I say lie on it?” He grinned at her and watched her seethe.

      “Your snoring carried all the way to the Continental Divide. That’s what kept me awake,” she shot back. “Believe it or not, you’re not that irresistible. In my book, no man that badly in need of rhinoplasty is.”

      “Liar. I snore soft like a baby.”

      She tossed the key onto his bed and shrugged casually. “Just get up and head for the bathroom.”

      He shoved the sheet down to his waist and rubbed his hand over his right deltoid muscle. “You should try sleeping with one arm cuffed to a bed frame sometime. I probably have a dislocated shoulder. Now, if you were really a trained medical professional, you’d know how to kiss it and make it well…”

      “Very funny, Mr. Granger. Now please move it,” she said in what she hoped was a bored voice. “While you take care of necessities, I’ll get us some breakfast from the vending machines in the motel office.”

      “Sounds yummy,” he groused, still lying flat on the lumpy mattress.

      “Beggars can’t be choosers,” she replied cheerfully.

      “I thought I was a ‘patient,’ not a beggar.”

      “Quit stalling. We need to be on the road within half an hour if we’re going to make it anywhere near Denver by tonight.” She waved the stun gun just to emphasize her point. She could see him glance away from it to the table where she’d laid out the sleep mask, bandages and a roll of medical tape.

      Matt could also see that the jim-dandy custom straitjacket was draped over the back of the chair. One more day’s ride locked in solitaire and his reflexes would be so shot that he’d never СКАЧАТЬ