There are moments in life that catch a woman off guard. Lying face down on a hospital gurney on her birthday after her lunch date dropped dead mid-sentence topped that list.

“I can’t believe he collapsed.” Ryan buried her face in the pillow. “What if I triggered it?”

“Triggered?” Brenda said. “What did you do? Whined your boyfriend to death?”

“He wasn’t my boyfriend.” Ryan swallowed the get-bent retort. She wasn’t about to start a family war with her cousin in her vulnerable state. “I was on the job.”

Ryan wrinkled her nose as the antiseptic tang clashed with vending machine food, leaving the ER perfumed in disinfected panic.

“Good afternoon,” the doctor interrupted as he walked into the examining room. “I’m Doctor Hemsworth. Nurse Benetti and I will be taking care of you today.” He not only shared the actor’s name, but he could’ve been his body double.

Brenda handed him a chart, and he flipped through it. “Ryan O’Flanagan, thirty-three today. Happy birthday. Dog bite to the left gluteal region.” He placed the chart on the counter. “Not the best way to celebrate.”

“Thank you.” Ryan turned on her side as Brenda lowered the sheet. “And I agree, having a vicious beast bite me is no way to ring in another tour around the sun.”

“How did it happen?”

“While I was working.”

The doctor slipped on a pair of surgical gloves and examined her butt, where the dog had claimed a chunk of skin. “What do you do?”

“I’m a private investigator.” Ryan braced herself, tightening the grip on the bed’s railing. “And owner of R.A.M.B.O. Decoy Agency.”

“Agency?” He sprayed something cold and then dabbed the sore spot with a cloth. “What kind?”

“The kind that lures cheating husbands into hotel rooms.” Brenda smirked, handing him a tube. “Or as Ryan likes to call it, honey trap investigations.”

“Wrong,” Ryan said, keeping her tone light. “We provide irrefutable evidence to prove a spouse’s loyalty.” Her decoys were trained to never make the first move. They simply offered temptation. If the mark took the bait, well, that was on him.

The doctor applied cold gel that stung like hell all over her left cheek. “Rambo?”

“It’s an acronym of my full name.” Ryan bit down on her lower lip as he pressed gauze against the wound. “Ryan Abigail Maria Benetti O’Flanagan.”

He slipped off his gloves and tossed them into a bin. “Interesting.”

The doctor was a hot visual aid and a nice distraction from the pain, but his monosyllabic responses grated on Ryan’s already traumatized nerves.

Brenda tapped Ryan on the shoulder. “You can sit up now.”

Ryan pushed herself up and leaned on her right side. “My family’s eclectic.”

“Eclectic?” Brenda snorted. “Singing Return to Sender at our great-uncle’s funeral—”

Ryan turned toward the doctor. “He was one-hundred-years old and loved Elvis.”

Brenda’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “You named Nonna’s pig and goat Bacon and Feta.”

“At least I didn’t eat them.” Ryan tugged at the hospital gown. “Can I get dressed now?”

Doctor Dashing scribbled on a clipboard. “Yes. We’ll be back shortly.”

Thirty minutes later, fully dressed, they knocked and returned, leaving the door open.

“Thanks, Doctor.” Ryan finished tucking in her blouse and straightened. “You too, Brenda.”

“Not so fast.” Brenda pulled on gloves and tapped on the gurney. “Hop back on.”

“Why? I’m patched up, aren’t I?”

“Ms. O’Flanagan,” the doctor said, flipping through the paperwork on his clipboard, “your tetanus shot isn’t up to date.” He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “This won’t take long.”

Ryan took a deep breath and concentrated on staying upright as she watched Brenda twist a mean-looking syringe, drawing air into it. Ryan decided it was safer to sit.

Brenda swabbed Ryan’s upper arm with alcohol.

Ryan had no problem with needles, but the look of wicked pleasure on Brenda’s face made her queasy.

She grabbed her purse, dug into it, slid the unloaded Smith & Wesson out, and mustered a practiced menacing rasp. “You hurt me.” She paused and narrowed her eyes. “I’ll hurt you.”

“I’ll take that,” a familiar deep voice said, yanking her 9mm out of her hand. For a six-foot-plus guy, Gabe was damn stealthy.

“Oh, look, it’s the dick,” Ryan said to Detective Gabe Marchetti, another nemesis from her past. And the man who made it clear that he disapproved of her agency with a vengeance, as if it were a personal insult to law enforcement.

She forced a breezy, confident tone, though her stomach knotted and her cheeks were in danger of catching on fire. “I didn’t realize Bytown’s finest investigated bites on—”

“Pains in the asses. You’d better have a carry permit for this.” Gabe gave her his default cop glare. “And what the hell were you doing hanging out at Volkov’s Point?”

“I vanted a shot of vodka vit blinis.” She attempted an authentic Russian accent. “Iz good idea, nyet?” She tried batting her eyelashes, but the burning behind her eyes betrayed her. She waved toward the door. “Now, dasvidaniya, comrade.”

“Smart ass.” He shook his head, and for a fraction of a second, she thought she saw genuine worry flicker in his eyes. But it vanished before she could hold on to it. “Do you have any idea who you were playing decoy with?”

Not until the police arrived.

Ryan swallowed hard, trying to mask the tightness in her chest.

After Boris Petrov dove headfirst into his beef stroganoff, she learned that her client’s husband was rumoured to be the Rideau Ripper, a member of the Siberian Wolves outlaw motorcycle gang.

Her comeback faltered for a moment as a ripple of anxiety coursed through her.

Rideau Ripper.

The name sent a shiver down her spine. This wasn’t just another cheating husband.

“Well,” Gabe said, “were you aware of his reputation?”

Prickling goosebumps raced across her skin as the thought of the Rideau Ripper still clung to her mind, with anxiety clawing at her. “Do I look clueless?”

“Not going to answer that.”

She worked at masking the terror creeping in. “Bite me, Marchetti.”

His mouth twitched a fraction. “From what I hear, another male beat me to it.”

“Very funny.” She mentally exhaled, the tension uncoiling a fraction. Strange how Gabe’s wiseass remark could yank her back from the brink. “Of course, I knew about my client’s husband.”

Acting was part of her job, playing the role of the attentive listener, the sympathetic ear, the woman who just happened to be in the right place at the right time. But at the moment her acting skills weren’t convincing given Gabe’s skeptical expression.

If his dark eyebrows inched any higher, they’d disappear into his hairline.

“I do research all my clients.”

Though not always, especially since her agency was now thriving beyond her expectations, and she hadn’t had time to hire an office assistant.

“And we don’t judge.” She crossed her legs. Damn, that hurt. “We catch cheaters from all walks of life.” She scooted to the edge of the bed. “I’m done with your questions.”

“Hold still,” Brenda said.

“In the name of The Sopranos, The Godfather, and all things Coppola, this better not leave a mark.” She shot her best Nonna Maria death glare. “I know people.”

Yeah, she probably stereotyped the Italian population and earned Gabe’s here-goes-the-drama-queen look. It was her birthright to have one irrational outburst, two on a bad day. Plus, it was her coping mechanism, one of her quirks inherited and honed from surviving family chaos.

Brenda shrugged, unfazed. “Terrifying.” She jabbed Ryan with the needle, then dropped it in the bin.

Gabe leaned against the sink across from her, and it was then she noticed he was either still off work since his shooting incident a few months ago, or he was assigned to an undercover operation.

He wasn’t wearing his standard detective suit and tie. His hair, black as espresso, was longer than usual, curling around the collar of his brown, dog-eared leather jacket.

It hung open over a black T-shirt that stretched across his chest, flattened against his abs.

And damn him. Why did his low-riding Levi’s have to be faded in all the right places and worn as if they were custom made for his thighs?

She shouldn’t be noticing him at all, yet heat pooled in her chest, stubborn and unwelcome. The fact that it came from the dumbass who’d humiliated her on prom night, her sixteenth birthday, made it worse.

Some humiliations lingered. And, apparently against all logic, so did her brain’s stupid habit of noticing how annoyingly hot he was.

They hadn’t hung out since high school, unless she counted the annual Little Italy reunions or the occasional wedding or funeral of mutual acquaintances where they continued their tradition of trading subtle insults wrapped in fake smiles, like it was an Olympic sport.

Still, she’d recognize that default brooding expression anywhere.

What threw her every time were his eyes—deep, navy blue. They were steady, focused and at times even gentle, surprisingly.

Just her luck that she still noticed all that about him.

“What are you doing here?” Ryan asked him.

“They,” he lifted his chin toward the door, “asked me to come down to check things out.”

Ryan turned and saw her parents entering the room, bundled in their matching fall jackets. “Damn it. That’s all I need.”

“Ryan Abigail, don’t swear,” her mother said. “Brenda, nice to see you. You look so pretty in your nurse’s outfit.”

“Who called you?” Ryan asked her mother. “And why would you tell him of all people?” Her parents never liked Gabe.

Her mother unbuttoned her jacket. “Your sister called me because you never tell me anything.”

“I’m going to kill her.”

“Don’t talk like that in front of a detective.” Her mother glanced at Gabe. “Gabriel came into the store when we got the call.”

“You don’t shop in that neighbourhood,” Ryan said.

He crossed his arms across his chest. “And you know where I shop because?”

“I have friends in high places.” One friend who used to live in the apartment above Gabe had kept tabs on him for Ryan. She wasn’t stalking him, just making sure he was okay after the shooting.

She hadn’t pulled the trigger, but guilt stuck to her like glitter on a rug. She’d been a decoy, doing her job, yet somehow… her timing, that one client, had left Gabe exposed, and she guessed indirectly, people could say it was her fault, though she didn’t want to believe it.

Her father approached, looking concerned. “How are you doing, kiddo?”

She managed a grin, despite of the situation. “I’m good, pops. Really. It’s nothing.”

Her mother bombarded the doctor with questions, then went into a spin. “My daughter is obsessed with movies, and I’m sure she got her idea about opening this agency of hers from those shows. Especially that Charlie’s Angel movie.”

“And the GI Jane flick,” Brenda supplied. “She shaved her head one summer.”

Her mother shook her head. “We don’t need to be reminded, Brenda.”

Gabe tipped his chin toward Ryan. “The infamous buzz cut. Classic.”

She narrowed her eyes and shot him what she hoped was a dirty look.

Her father’s hand settled between her shoulder blades, not heavy, not awkward, just his usual quiet support in dad form. “At least she didn’t get tattoos.”

None you can see, Pop.

“Actually, Uncle Tom, Ryan has—”

“Had enough excitement for one day,” Ryan interrupted, glaring at Brenda.

“Doctor, will she need surgery?” Her mother’s words tumbled out faster than Ryan’s racing heartbeat. “I’ll stay the night and take care of her.”

“Ma, it’s not serious, and I’m fine.” Ryan focused on the doctor’s dimples and sweetened her voice. “You can go home. I’ll call you later.”

Her mother turned to Gabe. “Could you put in a good word for Ryan to get a job at the police station?” She swung around and pointed at Ryan. “You’re wearing a vinyl skirt?”

Ryan gritted her teeth. “It’s leather, Ma.”

Her mother turned, facing Brenda. “You’ll keep this between us? We’re family, after all.”

Brenda shrugged. “Sure.”

“We ordered your favourite cupcakes.” Her mother scowled at Gabe. “Ever since your sixteenth birthday was ruined, you’ve refused to celebrate.” She softened her expression. “It’s all in the past. It was all a misunderstanding.”

Gabe’s lips tightened. He looked away, and his stance stiffened for a heartbeat before he smoothed it out. Ryan sensed he knew what her mother meant, and, like her, he wasn’t about to revisit their history either. Not here.

Ryan rushed to change the subject, even though she was reeling from the whiplash her mother gave her. Her mother looked ready to flog Gabe one minute, sweet as sugar the next. But she didn’t have time to untangle that now. “Ma, I’m too busy with work to celebrate. That’s all it is.”

“Work? Honestly, Ryan Abigail.” Her mother wagged a finger at her. “You need a new job.”

“She’s right.” Looking a lot less tense, Gabe walked over to her and leaned in close. She caught the faintest whiff of a citrusy, soapy scent. The birthday ruiner dared to smell good. “Can you say, do you want fries with that?”

Ryan’s grimace and comeback faltered. Her toes screamed from her tight stiletto boots.

“See, even Gabriel agrees.” Her mother interrupted, tucking a strand of Ryan’s hair behind her ears. “You could come back and manage the store. It would be more respectable.”

“My agency is respectable.” With a poise she wasn’t feeling, Ryan lifted her chin with pride. “We handle delicate assignments.”

“Assignments?” Gabe walked back to the counter and leaned against it. “More like entrapment.”

“What the hell? Entrapment?” Ryan had now reverted to her outside voice. “That’s a stretch.”

“Stop cursing.” Her mother sighed. “Call Charles and work things out. Have a baby. It’ll keep you out of trouble. That home wrecker he drags around is too old to give him one.”

“Ma.” Ryan was sure her molars were now ground into enamel dust. “Please. Stop.”

“She’s right, Maria,” her father said. “Not an appropriate discussion.”

“And,” her mother ignored her father and continued as if possessed by the mortifying your daughter devil, “don’t forget to confirm your hair and make-up appointment for the wedding. No blue eyeshadow. It does not complement your green eyes.”

Gabe smiled about as sweet as apple cider vinegar. “Right after your daughter comes down to the House for a statement.”

“What house?” her mother said

“Police station.”

“Dressed like that?” Her mother wiped her forehead with a lace handkerchief. She turned to her husband. “Tom, you go instead. Tell the police she’s been unwell since the divorce.”

“Pops can’t go for me.” Ryan sucked in a breath. “I’m not twelve.”

Her mother turned to Brenda. “Is there a psychiatrist in the hospital?”

Brenda looked like she was enjoying a live taping of a dramedy. “Maybe two.”

“Maria.” Her dad laid a hand on his wife’s arm. “Let Ryan take a breath.”

“Mrs. O’Flanagan,” Gabe said. “The police need Ryan’s statement.”

“Here. Have a biscotto.” Her mother pulled a container out of her purse and handed one to Ryan. “You young people suffer from low blood sugar.”

“Thanks, Ma.” She tucked it in her purse. Her stomach wasn’t on speaking terms with food. Even her favourite cookie couldn’t fix a day this ridiculous.

Ryan could tell Gabe struggled to maintain his cop poker face while her mother doled out biscotti to them all.

The doctor took the cookie. “I have to check on another patient. I’ll be right back.” He escaped, and Ryan wished she could jump on his back and piggyback the hell out of the Twilight Zone.

“She’s not under arrest,” Gabe said.

Ryan exhaled in relief.

“At least not yet.” Gabe took a bite out of his cookie. “Thanks. Tastes good, Mrs. O.”

“What do you mean, yet?” Her mother’s eyes widened. “Gabriel, fix this. You owe us. If it weren’t for us, you’d be a convicted felon.”

“Really?” Brenda said. “That story never made it to our side of the family.”

“Because we made it go away,” her mother said.

Her father lowered his head, rubbing his forehead. “Maria, not the time.”

“Does this have anything to do with what happened in high school at the Winterfest prom?” Gloat coloured Brenda’s voice.

Leave it to Brenda to mention that out loud.

Gabe shuffled his feet as his gaze hit the walls and then the floor, looking as uncomfortable as Ryan felt, and not meeting her gaze.

Ryan aimed for an unbothered look, but every muscle in her body ached in protest. “What are you talking about?” She rubbed her throbbing temples. “What does Gabe owe you? And felon?”

“Your mother is exaggerating again,” her father said. “Main thing. You’re fine. And not in trouble.” He turned to Gabe. “Right?”

Gabe remained stoic. “The police need her statement.”

“I knew this would happen one day.” Her mother paced across the tiny room. “What will people think?” Her face reddened, and she removed her coat. “This is even worse than when you lived in sin with Maya.”

“What? Sin?” Ryan’s voice spiked. “You need therapy, Ma.”

“Two girls living alone, no supervision. I remember calling and hearing men’s voices.” Her mother sounded out of breath. “Now this agency, the way you dress, a man is dead, and the police want to talk to you?”

Her mother rubbed her forehead. “With your attitude, a judge might send you straight to prison.” She dabbed her neck with the handkerchief. “And your future could all fall apart.”

And people wonder why I’m dramatic at times.

Ryan inhaled a deep breath to ward off the stinging pain. “You’re making way too much of this.”

“Let’s call Charles. He hasn’t sent in his RSVP for the wedding, and we can ask him about that, too,” her mother said. “I’m sure he’ll help. He still loves you, you know.”

“Don’t you dare call him.”

“Like I told you more than once, all marriages have their ups and downs. This can be fixed.”

Of course, every marriage has its peaks and valleys. Only Ryan’s marital bliss had never hit the Himalayas. It had taken up permanent residency in Death Valley.

“You have to work at it, forgive and forget.” Her mother turned to Gabe. “Right, Gabriel?”

“If you say so.” He shrugged. “I’m not a marriage therapist.”

Ryan caught the slight crease between his brows and the quick glare he shot her mother—silent but clear. Cops like Gabe had zero tolerance for men like her ex-husband—sleazy defence lawyers.

That’s when it hit her. Charles? Invited?

“Wait. What?” Ryan held up her hand. “Did you say Charles has to RSVP to Colin’s wedding?” She raised her voice. “Why was he invited?”

“Because Charles’ firm represents Zoey’s parents’ company, and they want him there. I told you about it.”

“No. You never mentioned it.” Ryan’s jaw clenched of its own volition any time she was in her mother’s company. “Ma, I’m begging you. Please fix this. Tell Colin to disinvite him.”

“That wouldn’t be polite, and it’s out of our hands.” Her mother ran her thumb between Ryan’s brows. “Don’t glare. You’ll end up with a deep wrinkle there. I hope this injury heals quickly. We can’t have you limping down the aisle.”

“I didn’t break a leg,” Ryan said, trying to control another outburst. “Never mind.” She dropped her head in her hands and shook it side to side.

Can this day get any more chaotic?

Of course, it could.

Her sister Sophia burst in first, followed by her brothers Colin and Joseph.

Sophia rushed to Ryan’s side, looking worried. “Are you okay?”

“I was. Until you called her.”

“I had no choice.” Sophia pulled Ryan in for a hug. “Last time you ended up in the emergency, and I didn’t tell Ma, she threatened never to speak to me again.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Ryan said.

After assuring her siblings she was fine, she crooked her finger. “Colin. We need to talk.”

Colin raised his hands. “I know that look. I’m in deep crapola, right?”

“Correct. Why would you invite that man?”

“Zoey’s dad insisted,” Colin said. “We couldn’t say no.”

“Then, disinvite him.”

“Can’t.” Colin shook his head. “Look, the Rosemont ballroom is massive. We’ll stick him at the far end. He’ll be a speck.”

“We’ll be too busy celebrating to even notice him.” Sophia squeezed Ryan’s arm. “He’ll just fade into the background.”

Ryan opened her mouth to respond, but her mother re-entered the chat. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Colin put his arm around his mother’s shoulder. “It’s all good.”

Ryan swallowed her frustration mixed with embarrassment when she noticed the doctor entering the room, manoeuvring his steps as if walking through a labyrinth.

The whole day crashed over her like a rogue wave, knocking her off her feet. Petrov’s death, her aching butt, her family, Gabe… all of it.

She had to keep her sarcasm intact. It was her lifeboat as it kept the anxiety knotted in her chest from spilling out. Because if she cried in front of this bunch, or him, she’d have to leave town and change her name.

Straightening her shoulders, she waved her hand toward her family. “Doctor, would a blood transfusion release me from their bloodline?”

The doctor grinned and handed her a small tube. “This will last a few days. Fill the prescription and complete the antibiotic course.”

Ryan put the tube in her purse. “Thank you, and I apologize for all the noise.” She slid off the gurney and finger combed her hair. “I’ve had enough. I’m out of here.”

Gabe turned to the doctor and extended his hand. “I’ll make sure her prescription gets filled.”

The doctor handed Gabe the paperwork. “I’ve included the instructions for caring for the infected area.”

“My bite.” Ryan took the paper from Gabe’s fingers. “My instructions. Thank you all.” She pinned Gabe with a stern glare. “And now I’m off like a prom dress.”

Gabe hiked his eyebrows. “Pun intended?”

“Sure. Why not?” She waved and headed toward the door. “Ciao, everyone.”

Gabe dangled steel handcuffs before her eyes. “Not leaving without me.” He snapped them onto her wrists.

“Oh, dear,” her mother said. “She’ll be back by tomorrow, won’t she? Zoey’ll panic if she misses one more dress fitting.”

“Ma, I’m handcuffed. And you’re worried about a bridesmaid dress?”

“Gabriel’s teasing you.” Her mother waved. “It’s a joke, right?”

“Nope.” He guided Ryan toward the door with a hand on her lower back. The heat of his nearness shouldn’t have mattered. Especially at a time like this, with everything going on. “Time to get serious.” He lowered his voice. “You’re in way over your head.”

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Jason pointed toward the tree. “Turn around.”

“Why?”

“Do you ever take orders?”

“Not often.”

“Shocker.” He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders. “Try it this once.”

Sabrina faced the tree. “Now what?”

“I’m going to get rid of your headache.” He touched the clip in her hair. “I’ll have to undo this first. That okay?”

“Sure.”

He unclasped the clip that held her hair in a ponytail, admiring how her hair tumbled in thick waves past her shoulders.

Exquisite.

She tipped her head back and looked up at him. “Cook, knit, and a hairstylist?”

He slipped the hair clip into his jacket pocket. “Relax and let me work my magic.”

“Magic as in twisting my hair into an updo?”

He shook his head. “Do you think you can stay quiet for ten minutes? I guarantee your headache will go away if you do.”

“Ten minutes, huh?”        

“I’m that good.”

“And modest,” she said.

“Are you going to be quiet now?”

He noticed a slight wince before she tipped her head forward. Her headache was more painful than she’d admitted.

He smoothed a few strands of hair away from her face, exposing her neck—smooth, long, and looked so damn stroke-able, lick-able, kissable—all the above. He’d always been a sucker for a woman’s neck. The anticipation of exploring it with his hands and mouth and the satisfaction of hitting a woman’s erogenous zone.

Lifting his gaze skyward, taking quiet, deep breaths to compose himself, he moved his hands up to her forehead and gently massaged each side of her head with his fingertips.

Her pleasurable sigh added pleasurable pressure below his belt.

He stared straight ahead, focusing on helping her alleviate her headache and ignoring his mounting desire to explore the back of her neck with his mouth. Then, mentally shaking that thought out of his head, he slid his hands to her scalp, kneading tender, circular movements.

The sound of her low, soft moans conjured up sexy images in his head. He clenched his jaw tight and calculated the square root of a non-perfect square.

He pressed his palms on each of her temples, applying moderate pressure, triggering her moan zone again. If that soft sound wasn’t enough to drive him to distraction, he had to endure her delicate touch as she placed her hands over his.

She rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb.

Killing me here.

It was going to take a helluva lot of financial equations to tamp down the desire coursing through him.

Business. Think. Business.

He focused on the tree trunk and mentally computed how much it would cost to renovate the inn when his glance took a detour from the tree to her face, now gazing up at him.

Her eyes sparkled like sapphires under the moonlight.

He opened his mouth to ask if her headache was gone, which would then be his cue to disentangle their hands and step away.

The logical part of his brain disconnected his voice, and nothing came out except for a low groan, which he hoped wasn’t loud enough for her to hear.

Who could blame him? He was out in the moonlight with an attractive woman who wasn’t backing away from him.

He removed her hands from his and turned her around to face him.

She held his gaze and bit the corner of her lip.

He leaned in close to her. Their faces were less than an inch away from each other.

She parted her lips, desire flickering in her gaze.

Mesmerized, he ran his fingers through her hair, and she moved her head from side to side. He slid his hands down and applied light pressure to her shoulders, hoping to massage the tightness away.

Her shoulders and expression softened, and he felt her relax.

She batted her lashes, unknowingly using them as an instrument of torture against his apparent fragile resilience.

I’m toast.

She wet her lips, creating an even sexier appeal, disabling any and all rational thought.

Make that burnt toast.

“I want to kiss you,” he said, not taking his eyes off her pretty face. “And I know you want to kiss me too.”

She leaned into him. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

He lifted her chin, bent, and brushed his lips across her mouth.

The heady taste of the brandy still lingered on her delectable mouth. The flavor mingled with the sweetness of her lips, riling up his insides in a damn good way.

She wound her arms around his neck, responding to his kiss with enthusiasm.

Sweet mother of all mothers.

She cinched herself so close to him they were practically sharing the sweater.

His lips tingled.

Tingled.

The leaves on the trees stopped rustling, and even though it was long after sunset, it felt as if sunshine warmed his neck where her fingers grazed him, and he forgot why he was even in Vermont.

Her teeth lightly scraped his lower lip as her hands slid to his leather jacket’s collar, tugging it and pulling him even closer to her.

His adrenaline-addled heart pumped as if he’d run a marathon.

This is one holy shit fantastic moment.

She slid her hands inside his jacket, digging her nails into his shoulders.

They deepened the kiss with a sensual intensity that almost buckled his knees.

Hungry to taste more of her silky skin, he reluctantly pulled away from her delicious mouth and kissed the side of her neck. She raked her fingers through his hair, sending the real good kind of shivers up his spine.

He continued exploring the sides of her neck, pushing away the sweater, and peppering the top of her shoulder with light kisses.

Her hands slid inside his jacket and roamed down his back. If the zipper on his pants was uncomfortable before, it was downright unbearable now. He didn’t care. The pain was worth it.

She guided his head back to her lips for another deep, breath-stealing kiss.

If he passed out, it would be worth it, and from her response, she didn’t seem to care about the lack of oxygen.

Nothing existed except for the two of them as a powerful surge of electricity singed the tips of his fingers where he relished running his hands through her soft hair.

He had no concept of time, but it felt way too soon when she broke off the kiss and mouthed against his lips, “This is not a great idea.”

Catching his breath, he kissed both sides of her mouth. “Bad ideas are the most fun.”

Still pressed against his lips, she cupped her hands behind his head. “I’m your employer.”

He returned to her neck. “Technically,” he said, between grazing her delightful neck, “the agency is my employer.” He lifted his head and pressed his lips firmly against the space between her expressive eyes, trailing his thumb up and down her soft jawline. “If this is what heaven feels like, I would have made sure to have been a good boy.”

“You’re good. Very good.”

He tipped her head back and kissed her chin. “Right now, I want to be bad.” For a few seconds, he averted his attention to their surroundings. It was still quiet, with no wind and light except the moon’s beams. “Very bad.”

“Where did you learn how to kiss like that?” She leaned her forehead into his chest. “Uhm…I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

He breathed out a quiet chuckle into her hair. Hooking his arm around her waist, he pulled her closer. “I sold kisses for five bucks a pop in a kissing booth.”

“Wiseass.”

He tucked her loose strands behind her ears. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you.” Her dimples hooked themselves to his chest, causing his pulse to pick up speed. “My headache’s gone.”

He kissed her temple, inhaling the fruity scent of her hair, intending to go back in for another bone-melting round with her delectable, now swollen lips. His cell phone buzzed.

He ignored it.

The hypnotic atmosphere seemed to have disappeared, and he felt her stiffen in his arm as a gust of wind whirled around them, so strong a lower branch swatted him behind the head.

The glare of bright lights from a car parked by the inn’s entrance beamed in their direction.

She stepped out of his embrace.

The car’s headlights flashed off and on. A car door opened, and a woman waved. “Sabrina, is that you, dear?”

###

“Maddie, pay attention to my instructions this time.” He must have heard her click her tongue. “C’mon, this can be a lot of fun.”

“You’re obsessive about everything. Does it matter how I hold this woody?”

Alex nudged her. “Wood. I told you, it’s called a wood.”

She smiled. “Woody sounds better.”

“You would say that.”

She glanced down at his hands wrapped over hers, showing her how to grip the golf club. The night before those same hands had stroked her breasts with tenderness. From meeting some of Alex’s past dates, it was obvious his taste ran to gravity defying busts. It had almost brought tears to her eyes when he hadn’t cringed at her C cups. Okay, B’s, but with a padded bra they were easily C’s.

“Let’s practice your swing,” he said. “Follow my lead.”

She leaned into his lower body and wriggled her bottom against him. Hmmm, the man with the steel self-control lost it faster than a football team at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

“Play nice,” he said.

His refreshing citrus scent combined with the outdoor aroma sent naughty vibrations through her body, deliciously landing on her breasts.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” she said.

He backed away and stood to the side. “You know what I’m talking about.”

She bent over at the waist, swayed her hips back and forth and swung the club. “It didn’t go far.” She shielded her eyes, looking for the golf ball. “I’d rather throw it. My softball team tells me I’m a good pitcher.”

He slipped a black glove on his hand and touched his temple. “I remember.”

She had pitched the softball at his head at the last media charity tournament—he was wearing a helmet, and it was an accident.

Well, okay, not exactly an accident.

It was his fault for bringing an obnoxious bottled blonde to the tournament. The Baywatch wannabe not only patronized Maddie by calling her a “cutie patooty”, but the way she’d paraded those super-sized boobs had bugged the PMS right out of Maddie.

She rolled her eyes. “Do you always remember everything that happens to you?”

His eyes traveled up and down her body and another droplet of perspiration joined the others on her damp forehead.

“I have a photographic memory.”

She mentally handcuffed her hands to stop them from ripping off his golf shirt. The man could bring ice cubes to a rapid boil.

Deep breaths.

“It would help if you forgot to load the film in your brain once in awhile. Let me take another swing. I’ll even let you stand behind me again.” She burst out laughing at his obvious attempt to hide a smile. His stubborn streak wouldn’t allow him to admit he enjoyed her sexual banter.

He shook his head and pointed to his left. “Stand over there so I can take my shot.”

She raked her eyes over his toned, lean body and parked her gaze on his behind as he swung.

“Did it go in the hole?” she asked when he was done.

“Nope. It’d be a hole in one. Hard to do.”

“Some stud you are.” She walked to the cart and dug out her tape recorder from her pocketbook. “Would you mind getting the balls while I brainstorm?”

“Need my help with any golf terms?”

“No thanks. Just trying to get the island’s sights and sounds.”

“I’ll leave you to boost our circulation.”

“It’s your Pulitzer that does that.”

“Hey, if it wasn’t for you, no one would even know what I do in the Middle East.” He winked at her, took two bottles of water from the cooler and tossed her one. “I’ll leave the cart here and walk over. That should give you enough time. If not, I’ll sit and wait for you.”

She nodded, clicked the record button on her machine and dictated in a low voice. “My adventure continues. I’m striking a ball on a luxurious golf course. You’re probably wondering how golf relates to romance at a tropical getaway.” She paused and inhaled the essence of grass mixed with the salty scent wafting in from the sea and noted the fairway’s isolation.

“For one thing, you’re afforded privacy. In between teeing-off, you can steal a few kisses amidst the sound of exotic birds.” She closed her eyes and replayed Alex’s lips on hers. She hoped to experience the incredible sensation again soon.

She exhaled and wiped the beaded perspiration streaming down her face. “To continue. Are you game for some daytime fantasy? No golf widows on this trip. You’ll want to be together to experience a sensual adventure in the lush bushes and tree-lined, private fairways.”

Her imagination took over as she saw herself crushed in Alex’s naked embrace by the concealed thicket of trees. The vivid image was so realistic, a rush of heat shot right through her.

She sagged against the cart and fixed her gaze on Alex as he strode toward her.

A moan escaped her throat. “Oh, gawd.”

Alex’s warm hand touched her arm. “You okay?”

She jolted back. “Huh? Yes. Yes, of course.”

“You looked like you were in a trance. Do you need more time to brainstorm, or my help with anything?”

Yes, take your damn clothes off and do me here. Now. “No thanks. I’m done.” She clicked her recorder off and threw it in her purse. “I’ll ask Tim to come back with me for a few pictures.”

His dark eyes caressed her under the glare of the sun, making the inside of her mouth burn as hot as jalapeno pepper seeds. She drained the bottle of water to douse her internal furnace.

It didn’t work.

The sound of water spraying caught her attention. “Can I drive the cart?” she asked.

“Sure, hop in.”

She sat in the driver’s seat, slammed her foot on the pedal and drove toward the sprinklers.

“What the–? Maddie?” He shouted over the whir of the cart. “Watch it…”

Her sense of humor took over, and she laughed in answer. She steered the cart straight toward and right through the water.

She parked the cart and jumped out. The fresh water flew over her body like a thousand butterfly wings. She twirled around, threw her head back and squealed in delight.

“C’mon, join me.” She waved. “This is a treat. We can’t do this in February back home.”

 “Yup, a real treat. Rice Krispies come to mind. You’ve snapped, crackled and finally popped.”

“I never got to do this as a kid.” Her internal blaze cooled and her skin broke out in goosebumps. “This is fun.”

Alex sat with his arms crossed in front of his chest, smiling. “Once again, you’ve created chaos. Your work here is done.”

He shifted over to the driver’s side and gestured for her to get in.

Sliding into the passenger seat, she bent over and squeezed the excess water from her hair. “Whew. That cooled me¾”

She stopped talking when she noted his flushed face. He turned and grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler. Beads of sweat poured down the side of his face.

“Wow, you’re hot.” She smoothed one hand across his forehead and placed her other hand on his shoulder. He stiffened beneath her touch. “Hope it’s not heat stroke.”

“It’s not heat stroke.” He took a long pull from his water bottle and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve had enough golfing.”

“Me too.” She sat straight. “Do you still want to help me with my piece?”

He leaned his head outside of the cart and poured water over his hair. “How?”

“Drive down to those trees, go through that path, turn off the ignition, and we’ll try out—we can discuss the theme for my article.” She wanted to ensure her making-out-in-the-woods idea worked before suggesting it to her readers.

“You know,” he rubbed the hand towel vigorously over his face, “occasionally, not often, mind you, I can actually get inside your head and figure out what you’re thinking.”

“Oh, now that’s a scary thought.”

He grabbed another bottle of water and stared long and hard at her. “Don’t I know it.”

His gaze moved downward and rested on her short-sleeved blouse plastered to her braless chest. She glanced down where her nipples had tightened like two small marbles against the wet material.

Excitement tugged at her heartstrings. This was the second time he had looked at her chest with approval and, dare she think, desire?

He shook his head. Damp hair clung to his neck, and wet curls framed his hooded eyes. “Aw, hell.” A myriad of expressions danced across his handsome features. Confusion? Frustration? Passion?

She was ready. And willing. Sizzling liquid melted between her thighs.

He stretched his arm across the back of her seat and bent his head close to her ear.

The man could bring a mannequin to life.

“You,” he said, “look so damn good in water.”

She turned her head and faced him, a mere breath away from his lips. “You too.”

“I know I said it wasn’t a good idea, but…” He leaned in closer and caressed her cheek. “I want.” His minted breath hit her face. “You.”

Exhilaration ran through her and she nodded her response.

Yes, yes, yes.

She wanted him to go crazy with lust as she pressed her wet shirt next to his scorching body, and experience their passion explode like a lit match tossed into a barrel of gasoline.

As quick as a wink, he drew back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He rammed his foot on the pedal and sped away with the determination of a Nascar driver.

Soaked with desire, her pulse kept pace with the velocity of the cart.

Dammit. They’d been so close.

What the hell was wrong with this man? Did she have to be the one to take the lead again?

Oh, the hell with it.

She whipped off her blouse, flung her arms around his neck and smothered his lips with a hard kiss.

Unfortunately, they drove onto an incline. Her foot accidentally hit the pedal and the cart veered off its course.

At least the breeze cooled her off as they zoomed down the hill, before the golf cart unceremoniously swerved into a copse of bushes.

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