A Time to Die

“Where are you going with that?” Lucie asked.

“Mr. McNamara has requested lunch in his office,” she replied.

“Too good to eat with the peasants.” Lucie shoved back her chair, stood and held out her hands. “Here, let me take it to him.”

Grinning, Daisy shook her head. “I believe Mr. McNamara wants to eat his lunch, not wear it. Don’t think I’m not aware of what would happen if you served him.”

With that said, Daisy balanced the tray with one hand and opened the door with the other. Just as she crossed the threshold, she stopped abruptly, coming face-to-face with the big boss himself.

“I was on my way to your office with lunch,” Daisy said.

“It’ll have to wait,” Sawyer replied. Not unpleasant, but not friendly. And certainly all business. He eased past her and entered the break room. His gaze traveled to the table where his three available agents had begun devouring Daisy’s delicious chili. “Good, you’re all here.”

Deke knew what that meant. Either a delayed lunch or no lunch at all. Sawyer was about to give one or more of them a new assignment.

“I’m not going anywhere until I’ve eaten lunch,” Lucie said, not even glancing at their boss.

Sawyer bristled. Deke noticed only because he possessed an uncanny ability to read people. That intuitive instinct had given him an advantage as a member of the Delta Force and later as a mercenary. Sawyer’s jaw tightened, his gaze narrowing as he took a deep breath. The guy was reining in his impulse to tell Lucie Evans to go straight to hell.

“Daisy?” Sawyer motioned to the office manager. “Bring that tray in here. We’ll eat lunch while we discuss the new assignment.”

After Daisy placed the tray on the table where the others had congregated, she hurried out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Sawyer glanced from one agent to another, then eyed the meal in front of him. “I just got off the phone with Cara Bedell of Bedell, Inc.,” he told them.

“Someone hasn’t killed that worthless brother-in-law of hers, have they?” Deke asked. He’d met Grayson Perkins when he’d been called in as a backup agent for Domingo Shea the last time Bedell, Inc. had used Dundee’s services.

“As far as I know, Mr. Perkins is alive and well,” Sawyer said. “But it seems there was a bombing at the headquarters of Helping Hands, one of Cara Bedell’s pet charities. The building is in downtown Chattanooga. The bomb exploded on the first floor and seriously injured three employees, one of whom has since died.”

“And Ms. Bedell wants Dundee’s involved because…?” Geoff asked.

“Because the president of Helping Hands received a threatening phone call shortly after the explosion.”

“Was the threat directed at him?” Geoff asked.

“Her,” Sawyer corrected. “Yes, the threat was directed at the president as well as at Ms. Bedell and the organization itself.”

“Why would anyone threaten a charity organization?” Lucie shook her head, bouncing her copper-red curls. “You know, we’re living in a really screwed-up world.”

“How astute of you, Ms. Evans,” Sawyer said sarcastically. “Bronson, I want you and Monday to drive over to Chattanooga as soon as you finish lunch and can go home to pack your bags. I’ll leave it up to the two of you to choose who guards Ms. Bedell and who guards the Helping Hands president.”

“Who’s going to head up the investigation?” Deke asked.

“The Chattanooga PD,” Sawyer replied. “Lieutenant Bain Desmond is in charge. As for who will be Dundee’s investigator—”

“You could send me,” Lucie suggested.

“I could, but won’t. You already have an assignment that starts tomorrow. I’m calling in Ty Garrett to handle the investigation for Dundee’s.” Sawyer looked from Deke to Geoff. “You two have worked with Ty before. You know he’s good at what he does.”

Geoff reached in his pants pocket, pulled out a quarter and grinned at Deke. “Flip you for the heiress. You call it.” He tossed the coin.

“Tails,” Deke said.

Geoff caught the quarter in his palm. Grinning broadly, he said, “Heads. Sorry, old chap, but I get Ms. Bedell.”

Deke shrugged. It didn’t matter to him. One client was the same as the other. One woman no different than any other.

“I’ll have Daisy put together some preliminary info and e-mail it to both of you. You should have the report by the time you arrive in Chattanooga,” Sawyer said.

BAIN DESMOND met the two Dundee agents at three-thirty that afternoon, when they arrived at Helping Hands’ headquarters. The CSI team was working the scene when Geoff and Deke arrived.

“What can you tell us?” Geoff asked as they rode up in the elevator with the police detective.

“The bomb was placed in a storage room. If the maintenance man hadn’t been in there getting some supplies, he’d be alive. The bomb probably wasn’t intended to kill anyone. The area of destruction was limited, so we surmise it was detonated as a warning.”

“A warning to Helping Hands, its president and Ms. Bedell. Is that right?” Deke asked.

“From what the caller said, yeah, that’s right.”

When the elevator doors opened on the fourth floor, Lieutenant Desmond emerged first. “The ladies are pretty shook up. I told Cara…Ms. Bedell, that hiring around-the-clock bodyguards probably wasn’t necessary, but she insisted. And what Ms. Bedell wants, she gets. Money talks,” Desmond grumbled.

“Her money shouts over at Dundee’s,” Geoff said.

Desmond nodded. They followed him down the hall to where one of the office doors stood wide open, revealing three women. When they entered, one woman turned and faced them, one glanced over her shoulder at them, and the other remained seated, partially blocked from Deke’s view by the other two.

He recognized Cara Bedell immediately: tall, statuesque and redheaded. Although not as pretty as Lucie Evans, there was something about Ms. Bedell that reminded him of the Dundee agent. They were approximately the same height and size, but Lucie was a few years older and her hair a deeper, darker shade of red.

Ms. Bedell moved forward, her hand outstretched. “You’re from Dundee Security?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Deke shook her hand. “I’m Deke Bronson.” He hitched his thumb in Geoff’s direction. “This is Geoff Monday.”

“I assume that Sawyer explained the situation, and you understand that I want you two on the job until we find the person behind today’s bombing,” Cara said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Deke replied.

She turned to Desmond. “I expect daily updates from the police department. And I want any information you can legally share with Dundee Security to be shared with Mr. Bronson and Mr. Monday. Understood?”

“Yeah, I understand,” Desmond said, a flash of irritation in his gaze.

Cara Bedell turned to the tall, slender African-American woman with curly black hair and striking hazel eyes. “Take tomorrow off, Toni. I don’t want anyone coming to work here until we get heavier security in place.”

“No problem, Ms. Bedell. After what happened, I’m not eager to come back.” Toni turned to the seated woman. “Jafari is waiting for me downstairs. I’ll call you at home later. Are you’re sure you’re all right? You don’t need to go to the ER or…?”

“The medics checked me out,” the woman said. “I’ve got a bruise on one knee and a slight bump on my forehead. I’m fine. Go home. Call me tomorrow. I should know by then if we can return to work Friday.”

Deke and Geoff watched Toni as she exited the office, both quite aware of how attractive she was. Then Deke faced the seated woman. Beautiful didn’t quite describe her. Exquisite might come close. Blond hair hung below her shoulders in soft, loose curls. Blue eyes were framed by thick, dark lashes. A peaches-and-cream complexion was touched with a fading summer tan. He blinked once, twice and then closed his eyes for a couple of seconds, certain his vision was playing tricks on him.

When he reopened his eyes, his gaze connected with the lady’s. Momentarily robbed of breath, he stared at her. It had been ten years, but seeing her again, he felt as if it had been only yesterday. Hers was the face that had haunted his dreams ever since that bloody day in the capital of Gadi when she had gotten caught in the crossfire between his team and Babu Tum’s guards.

She rose from the chair, leaning heavily on a decorative wooden cane with a bronze handle. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. She took a step toward him, then held out her free hand.

“I’m Lexie Murrough, the president of Helping Hands.”

CHAPTER TWO

LEXIE GAZED at the big, dark man standing in front of her, and an involuntary shiver rippled along her nerve endings. Sexual awareness, plain and simple. Although not actually handsome—he was far too rugged to be good-looking—he possessed a raw, masculine magnetism that overwhelmed her senses. She couldn’t remember ever having had such a strong reaction to a man.

Before Mr. Bronson could shake her hand, the stoutly built blond guy stepped between them and grinned at her. “I’m Geoff Monday. I believe I’m your bodyguard, Ms. Murrough.”

Deke Bronson grasped his co-worker’s shoulder and urged him aside. “No, you’ve got that wrong. I’ll be guarding Ms. Murrough.” He nodded toward Cara. “Ms. Bedell is your assignment.”

“Are you sure about this?” Mr. Monday said.

“Positive,” Mr. Bronson replied, a look of certainty and determination in his dark gray eyes.

Lexie’s heart skipped a beat. Heaven help her! She instinctively understood that Deke Bronson had claimed her, and his possessive attitude felt oddly personal. If this was some sort of one-upmanship between the two Dundee agents, she really didn’t understand why either would consider her the prize. After all, Cara Bedell was the billionaire heiress.

“Look, whichever one of you is my guy, I’m ready to leave,” Cara told them in an authoritarian tone, one she had perfected from years of having underlings jump at her every command. Lexie knew that Cara didn’t realize how extremely bossy she was, how often people misunderstood her aggressive personality, mistaking it for arrogance and rudeness.

The two agents shared a quick, hard glance, then Geoff Monday walked over to Cara, grinned and gestured toward the door. “Whenever you’re ready, Ms. Bedell.”

“Lexie, I’ll be in touch first thing tomorrow. Hopefully, the police—” Cara cast Bain Desmond an imperious glare “—will have some information for us by then and we’ll know how to proceed.” She turned to Deke Bronson. “Take good care of Lexie. She’s one of the few people I know who’s actually worth her weight in gold.”

Deke nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

As soon as Cara and Geoff left, Lexie smiled at the Dundee agent. “If you’ll give me just a minute, I’ll be ready to go.”

He nodded.

“He’ll be staying with you 24/7,” Cara had told her, after she’d made the arrangements—without first consulting Lexie for an opinion—explaining that she had hired a couple of Dundee agents to act as bodyguards for the two of them. “I’d feel better if you moved in with me for the time being, but I know you won’t do that. So do not argue with me about needing around-the-clock protection. Until we know who and what we’re dealing with, we have to work under the assumption that your life is in danger.”

Hours after the explosion, Lexie was still a bit shaky and unnerved. Leaning heavily on her cane, she walked over to Bain. As she placed her hand on his arm, she felt Deke Bronson’s intense stare. In her peripheral vision, she noticed that he was watching her closely. Don’t assume anything, she told herself. It’s nothing personal. It’s his job to watch over you.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” Lexie told Bain. “I was looking forward to the burgers and our getting started on your Christmas shopping.”

“Another time.” Bain patted her hand affectionately, then glanced over at Deke. “Take good care of her. When it comes to Lexie, Ms. Bedell is right. Only I’d say Lexie is priceless.”

“I’ll protect Ms. Murrough with my life,” Deke said.

Bain lifted an eyebrow. Lexie’s breath caught in her throat.

She kissed Bain on the cheek. When she turned to Deke, she noted the scowl on his face and the tension in his jaw. Undoubtedly he was one of those people who didn’t approve of showing affection in public. Well, too bad. She believed in it. She was a touchy-feely person. She hugged and kissed friends without giving her actions a second thought.

“My car or yours?” she asked as they walked out into the hallway, Deke two steps behind her.

“Yours. I drove over from Atlanta in a rental, which is supposed to be picked up later today. I believe someone on Ms. Bedell’s staff will take care of that chore for us.”

He paused just outside the door, picked up a black duffel bag and hoisted it over his shoulder, delaying their departure by half a minute.

When they arrived at the elevator, Deke reached around her and punched the down button. When the doors slid open, he grasped her arm, preventing her from entering. After he gave the interior a visual inspection, he urged her forward and into the car. Only then did he release her arm and hit the lobby-level button

“It’ll take some getting used to, having a bodyguard,” she told him.

“If you’ll remember that everything I do is intended to keep you safe, we shouldn’t have any problems.”

“Hmm…I’ll try to remember that.”

She tried not to stare at him, but that didn’t prevent her from being completely aware of him. He stood almost a foot taller than her own five-five, and he outweighed her by a good seventy-five or eighty pounds. His masculine presence filled the small elevator. Then there was the way he smelled. Clean and musky at the same time. Soap-and-water clean, a slight hint of some mild aftershave, and a male scent that was purely his own.

Neither of them spoke again until they reached the lobby, then he asked, “Where’s your car?”

“In the employees-only parking lot in the back.”

“Which door do we take to reach the parking lot?”

“Normally, we’d take the back.” She glanced in that direction and noted the yellow police tape cordoning off the area.

He grasped her elbow. “Out the front, then.”

Once outside on the street, she led and he followed, down the block and up the side street until they reached the alleyway behind the buildings. Sunset came fairly early in November. Shielded by the buildings on either side, the alley was dark and shadowed, even though it wasn’t yet twilight. Deke made two quick, decisive moves. Subtle moves. He unbuttoned his jacket, then clamped his big hand around Lexie’s upper arm. When he touched her, she instinctively glanced at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. His attention was focused on their surroundings, his gaze scanning the alley, the back doors of the buildings and the four cars parked in the lot. Her eyes traveled from his lean, chiseled face down his thick neck to his broad shoulders and wide chest. As he moved, his open jacket shifted, and she caught a glimpse of his shoulder holster.

For half a second, Lexie couldn’t breathe. She hated guns. It was the one thing she disliked about Bain Desmond—that his chosen profession dictated he carry a 9 mm handgun.

She should have realized that a professional bodyguard would carry a gun. If she asked him to remove the weapon and not carry it, he would probably think she was crazy. And he would no doubt refuse.

“Which is yours?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“Which car is yours?”

“The white Subaru SUV.”

She snapped open her purse, rummaged inside and pulled out the keys. He took them from her, marched her to the passenger’s side, unlocked the vehicle and held open the door for her.

“Are you driving?” she asked. “Since I know where we’re going, wouldn’t it be simpler if I—”

“I’ll drive.” No discussion. No compromising.

She nodded.

“Do you need assistance?” He eyed her cane.

She shook her head, grasped the door, propped her cane against the console, then heaved herself up and into the SUV. Once she was inside, he closed her door, walked to the back, opened the hatch and tossed his duffel bag inside.

After he opened the driver’s-side door and got behind the wheel, he asked, “Where do you live?”

“If I were driving, I could take us directly there instead of navigating you through rush-hour traffic.”

“And if you were driving and someone tried to force us off the road, would you know what to do?”

His question surprised her. The thought had never entered her head. “Oh. I’d never thought of that. Is that the reason…?”

“I told you, there will be a reason for everything I do.” He started the engine. “It will make things easier if you simply accept that fact instead of questioning my actions.”

“I’m sorry, but I find it difficult to not ask questions. I’ve always been very inquisitive. I want to know who, what, when, where and why.” Her words held a glimmer of humor; her objective was to lighten the mood. “I used to be a reporter in my former life.”

He didn’t respond. Didn’t smile. Instead his big hands tightened around the steering wheel. Apparently the man didn’t have a sense of humor.

“I don’t live far,” she told him. “It’ll take maybe ten minutes at most. I live in a loft apartment that Bedell, Inc. owned and Cara sold to me dirt cheap when I moved to Chattanooga a couple of years ago.”

He pulled the SUV out of the parking lot to the side street. “Right or left?”

“Take a right.” She gave him her address, then rattled off the directions to her home, assuming she would have to remind him when and where to turn, which streets to take and exactly which building was hers. But without her repeating anything, he drove them directly to her apartment, never having said a word the entire way.

“Where do you park?” he asked as he pulled up in front of the address she’d given him.

“In back,” she replied. “See that narrow street?” She pointed at the just-wide-enough-for-one-vehicle road. “It’s one-way. I drive in there and the lot’s halfway along. It goes straight through to the street on the other side, and I have to go out that way.”

“Is there a back entrance?” he asked.

“To the building? Yes.”

“What type of security does the building have?”

“The tenants have to have a key to enter either the front or the back door.”

“What about your apartment? Do you have a security system?”

“Yes, actually, I do.”

“Good. What’s your code?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What’s your code?” he asked again. “We’ll want to change it. And you won’t give the new code to anyone. Only you and I will know it.”

“Is that necessary?”

“You’re questioning me again.”

She heaved a deep, slightly aggravated sigh. “Sorry.”

He parked the car, got out, retrieved his duffel bag and was at the passenger’s door before the tip of her cane hit the pavement.

When he reached out to help her, she jerked away and gave him a negative glare. He put his hands up, palms out, in the universal hands-off signal, apparently understanding that she didn’t want or need his assistance.

He stepped back and allowed her to maneuver herself out of the vehicle and onto both feet. “There’s a service elevator that I use,” she told him as she headed toward the back door.

He followed her, and when they reached the back door, he held up her keys. “It’s that one.” She reached out and touched the correct key.

He inserted it in the lock and opened the back door. Once inside the dimly lit back hall, he grunted. “A good hard shove and that back door would come open, locked or unlocked.”

“In the two years I’ve lived here, there’s never been a break-in.”

“You’re lucky.”

“Are you always so negative?” She punched the up button on the old service elevator. It was the only operable elevator in the building. The other tenants used the staircase most of the time; only she and Mr. Rafferty, the elderly gentleman who lived on the fourth floor of the five-story building, used the elevator on a regular basis.

Deke didn’t respond to her question and remained silent as they ascended to the top floor of the 1920s structure. The fifth level of the building was a loft that had been used for storage in years gone by. Before she moved to Chattanooga, Bedell, Inc. had purchased the building and renovated it, turning it into a small condo complex, with one condo on each level. When she’d moved in two years ago, the loft had been a wide-open space, a blank canvas for her to decorate as she wished.

“The door key is the shiny brass one next to the back-door key,” Lexie told him. “The security keypad is on the right-hand side as you enter. My code is thirty-four, thirty-four.”

He frowned.

“Before you tell me that it’s stupid to repeat numbers in a code—don’t. I change my code every year on my birthday. I’m thirty-four years old, so—”

“I’ll change it tonight,” he said, then unlocked the door, entered the apartment and disarmed the security system.

Feeling slightly disoriented because she was unaccustomed to having anyone else in control of her life in any way, Lexie crossed the threshold. Since she had ended her physical therapy sessions five years ago, she had prided herself on taking care of all her own needs and being dependent on no one. How could she explain to this man—this high-priced security agent—that his presence in her life disturbed her on more than one level? First and foremost, she hated that she needed him to protect her. Second, she didn’t like being sexually attracted to a man she didn’t even know.

DEKE WASN’T SURE what he’d been expecting. He’d been in numerous loft apartments over the years, and although each had been different, the basic style had been the same. Modern and minimalist. But there was nothing modern or bare bones about the sight that met him upon entering the vast expanse of Lexie’s place. He dropped his duffel bag on the wooden floor, which had mellowed with age to a dark patina and glistened with the sheen of fresh polish. The huge open room encompassed the kitchen—bright, white and airy, with stainless-steel appliances; a living room in varying shades of beige, brown and taupe and boasting a black baby grand piano near one of three sets of French doors; and last but not least, a formal dining room with a crystal chandelier and a mahogany table that seated six.

“Impressive,” Deke said. “It must have cost a fortune to decorate.”

“Most of the furniture was my grandmother’s. I was her only grandchild, and she left an entire houseful of furniture to me,” Lexie told him. “As for the cost of fixing this place up—I have a small fortune. Nothing to compare to Cara Bedell’s, but more than I’ll ever need.”

He knew how she had acquired her small fortune, but unless he wanted to explain to her how he knew, he figured he’d better at least act as if he were curious. “What did you do, win the lottery?”

She shook her head. “I was involved in a work-related accident—” she tapped her cane on the floor “—and my mother and stepfather sued my employer. We settled out of court to the tune of three million dollars.”

Deke faked a surprised expression, then walked farther into the loft and looked around. “How many bedrooms?”

She followed him toward the living room. “Two bedrooms, and two and a half baths.”

He studied the layout of the apartment. “The bedrooms are side by side, there on the left.”

“That’s right. I didn’t want the bedrooms or baths open, so when we closed them off, my contractor and I thought it best to partition off one side of the loft for them.”

“No connecting door between the bedrooms.” It was a statement, not a question.

“No, there isn’t. Why?”

“How many windows in your bedroom?”

“Two.”

“Does either open up onto a balcony?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“You’re thinking about security, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am, that’s my job.”

“The fire escape connects to the balcony, which is accessible only through those three sets of French doors there.” She indicated the doors in the living room. “The only way someone could reach the windows in the bedrooms would be if they could climb walls or had a five-story ladder.”

He nodded but didn’t speak. As he walked through one room and into another, studying the layout and grunting now and then, Lexie watched him with those big blue eyes of hers. He tried his best not to look directly at her unless it was absolutely necessary. Logically, he understood that she had no idea who he was, but on a primal gut level, he feared she might somehow know him, know what he’d done to her.

Stop worrying. She doesn’t know who you are, he told himself.

She had no idea that the Dundee agent assigned to protect her was the man whose bullet had crippled her ten years ago.

Not long after the assassination of Babu Tum, Deke had resigned from the army, leaving the Delta Force and his career behind him. Less than three months later, Geoff Monday had parted company with the SAS, and joined Deke and several other former Special-Ops warriors to form their own team of mercenaries. During those renegade years, he’d kept track of Lexie Murrough’s slow, painful recovery. The bullet she’d taken in the back had not been fatal, and the paralysis it had caused hadn’t been permanent. But because of the delay in getting her to a hospital and starting her on steroids to control the swelling in her spinal cord, the injury had worsened. It had taken over a year before she could walk again, and then four more years of physical and psychiatric therapy had followed.

Once she’d resumed a normal life, he had lost track of her—over five years ago.

“This is my bedroom,” Lexie said.

She swung open the door to reveal a pristine blue-and-cream room. A king-size bed with a blue-and-white checkered cloth headboard and matching stool at the foot dominated the large space. A photograph of the sky—blue and white and pale gray—hung over the fireplace mantel. Floor-to-ceiling blue-gray silk curtains hung from the two windows, and two blue-and-white print chairs flanked a small decorative table. Although the room was not excessively feminine, the bouquet of blue violets on the nightstand and the crystal candy dish on the table, as well as the blue-and-white floral room-size rug, indicated that this was a lady’s bedroom.

“You should be comfortable in the guest room. It’s not as large as this one, but there’s a queen bed, and I believe it’ll be long enough for you.”

She led him to the next door, opened it and gestured for him to enter first. The walls were cream, the windows bare except for dark-brown wooden blinds. Two dark-walnut bedside tables flanked the bronze metal bed, and a Craftsman-style walnut bench rested at the foot. A quilt in a rusty-red and beige color scheme had been folded across the back of the bench. Clean lines. Not fussy. Pretty much unisex in decoration.

The lone sepia-toned photograph hanging over the bed caught Deke’s attention. The bronze frame held a landscape that he recognized immediately. A serene pool surrounded by towering trees. An oasis in the desert a few miles outside Gadi’s capital city.

A tight knot formed in the pit of his stomach.

“Do you like the photograph?” she asked.

He swallowed hard.

“Who took the photo?”

“A man named Marty Bearn.” Her voice lowered to a mere whisper, the tone reverent and slightly melancholy. “He was a cameraman for UBC. He died in Gadi ten years ago.”

“And he was a friend of yours?” God, how could he act as if he had no idea who Marty Bearn was or what his connection to Lexie was? With every breath Deke took, every moment he was with her, he was lying to her.

“Yes, he was. I’m godmother to his daughter.” Lexie sucked in a deep breath. “She was born six months after Marty was killed.”

What could he say? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

He shouldn’t be here. When Geoff had given him the chance to escape from this hell he was now in, he should have taken it. He should have gone with Cara Bedell and let Geoff guard Lexie. But instead of doing the sensible thing, he had demanded this assignment. And why? Because something deep inside him had given him no choice.

For ten years he had lived with the guilt and remorse, although after Lexie had resumed a normal life, he had tried to stop punishing himself. He and Geoff, both of them heading into middle age, had gotten out of the mercenary business. Geoff first, and after he’d gotten a job with Dundee, he’d talked Deke into joining him.

“We’re overqualified,” Geoff had said. “But it’s the perfect job for a couple of old warriors. And the pay is damn good.”

Standing here, alone with Lexie Murrough, Deke felt as if his life had come full circle. Maybe fate had thrown him and Lexie together again so that this time he could take care of her instead of nearly kill her.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“I’ve asked you twice if you’d prefer soup and sandwiches or soup and salad for supper.”

“Sorry,” he replied. “I was thinking about something.”

“Why don’t you get your bag and settle in?” Lexie suggested. “I want to freshen up, change into my jeans, and then I’ll get supper started. Sandwich or salad?”

“You don’t have to fix anything,” he said. “We could order in.”

“I don’t mind at all.”

“You’re sure?”

She nodded.

“Sandwich. And I like a lot of meat. More meat than bread.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

When she smiled at him, so pretty and feminine and sweet, he wanted to grab her and kiss her. Hell, who was he kidding? He wanted to drag her over to the bed, strip off her clothes and screw her.

“Ham or roast beef?” she asked. “Or both?”

“Both.”

When she left the bedroom, he heaved a deep breath in and out, glad she had gone before noticing his hard-on. Damn it, he had to take control of his body. He hadn’t been this easily aroused since he’d been a teenager, when just about any female had turned him on.