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DEDICATION

To my husband, Donnie.

You are my heart and my very own romance hero.

Thank you for being such a damn good man.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Dedication

Praise for Roni Loren

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Extract: Melt into You

About the Author

Also by Roni Loren

Copyright

About the Publisher

Praise for Roni Loren

“Hot and romantic, with an edge of suspense.”

—Shayla Black, national bestselling author

“With her debut erotic romance Crash Into You, Roni Loren has penned a sexy, sizzling tale that is sure to have readers begging for more! Reid is the dominant hero of Brynn’s BDSM fantasies, she is the only submissive for him, and neither has been able to forget the love and blazing passion they once shared. But these two will have to brave old hurts, painful secrets, and new danger before they can be together. I can’t wait for Roni Loren’s next tantalizing story!”

—Jo Davis, author of I Spy a Dark Obsession

“Revved up and red-hot sexy, Crash Into You delivers a riveting romance!”

—Lorelei James, New York Times bestselling author of the Rough Riders series and the Blacktop Cowboys series

ONE

Don the gas masks and cue the mushroom cloud. Brynn’s date was spiraling toward DEFCON 1—imminent disaster. In the brief time it had taken her to down three hors d’oeuvres, her sexy doctor had tumbled from fantasy fodder to potential therapy ­client.

Dr. Depressed propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward, his brows knitted. “I don’t know what I did wrong. One minute we’re in love and planning the future, the next I catch her in the copy room with her arms wrapped around the pharmaceutical sales rep.”

Brynn frowned as tears gathered behind his glasses. Oh, hell. She couldn’t have another guy cry on her. That’d be the second one this month. She was becoming the Barbara Walters of dating—taking a perfectly put-together person and reducing him to tears without trying. She reached across the table and gave his hand a quick squeeze. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. It sounds like she took advantage of what a nice guy you are.”

He stared at her for a moment, and then released a breath. “God, what am I doing? I’m breaking that cardinal rule, right? No ex talk on dates. I’m sure you didn’t ask me to come to this fund-raiser so you could hear me yammer about my breakup.”

“It’s fine. Breakups can be tough,” she said, giving her therapist half-smile—the one that said I feel your pain and am so not judging you, even though she was already formulating a hypothetical treatment plan in her head. She drew her hand away and sipped the last of her iced tea.

The lines in his face relaxed, and he leaned back in his seat. “I’m sorry I let it come up. You’re just so easy to talk to.”

“Occupational hazard, I guess,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. But the truth of her statement turned the words to sawdust in her mouth. She enjoyed her work, but did that mean she had signed up to heal every guy she dated? For once, she’d love to worry, like other women did, that a guy had asked her out simply to get her in bed. Instead, she had to worry if someone asked her to dinner because it was cheaper than a therapy session.

A waiter stopped by with a tray of champagne flutes. Brynn accepted one of the drinks, but her companion shook his head. “No thanks, I’m on call. Plus, I don’t want to fall asleep on my lovely date before the end of the night.”

He gave her a hopeful smile, his brown eyes still red-rimmed from unshed tears. Brynn fought back the defeated sigh that gathered in her throat. If he was staying awake on her account, he shouldn’t bother. She didn’t care how nice of a guy he was or how hot he probably looked naked. She was not going to be his rebound sex. Nothing like knowing a guy is closing his eyes in bed because he’s picturing someone else beneath him. Brynn took a long gulp from her glass.

“Speaking of which,” he said, reaching into the pocket of his jacket and pulling out his cell phone, “could you excuse me for a minute? I need to check in with the answering service.”

“No problem, take all the time you need.” Really, he could take as much time as he wanted because this date was over—sign the death certificate and slap a toe tag on it. Done.

After he strode off, Brynn pushed her chair away from the table and straightened the hem of her black-and-white shift dress as she stood. She needed something stronger than champagne.

She navigated through the crowd and the steady hum of polite conversation, pausing occasionally to smile and shake hands with donors. The Women’s Crisis Center of Dallas had a fund-raiser twice a year and, thanks to a very active board, had managed to snag a number of high-dollar supporters for this one. Good thing, considering her job was dependent on the generosity of these strangers. She grabbed a mini quiche off a passing waiter’s tray and shoved it in her mouth, hoping her obvious chewing would deter more people from stopping her to chat.

Brynn spotted a familiar face near the bar. Melody, her coworker, flipped her auburn hair over her shoulder and laughed at something the bartender said. Brynn walked over but hovered behind her for a moment, not wanting to interrupt Mel’s flirting. The woman was a master and seemed to have the young ­bartender sufficiently under her spell until another party guest pounded a fist on the counter and demanded a refill. With an apologetic smile, the bartender excused himself and Melody huffed.

Brynn tapped her on the shoulder. “Hey, girl, I haven’t seen you all night. Where’ve you been hiding?”

Melody turned around and grinned.

“Hey, I could say the same to you. Although, I have an idea of what’s keeping you busy.” She nodded toward Brynn’s table. “How’s it going with the yummy doctor? Are you ready to play nurse yet?”

She groaned. “Seriously? That’s the best you can come up with?”

“Look, I’m three drinks into this. My comedy skills ­suffer when I’m tipsy.”

Brynn set her champagne on the bar, and then turned back to her friend. “It’s kind of a disaster. He almost cried already.”

She cringed. “Oh, no.”

Brynn held out her palms and shook her head before her friend could go into pity mode. “I don’t even want to talk about it. I’m apparently cursed to be a thirty-year-old born-again virgin.”

“Oh, screw that. You just need to stop looking for the perfect guy and find a guy to have some fun with. You could ask out that lawyer who’s starting at the crisis center,” she suggested. “I think he’s Cooper’s friend. And believe me, I mentally undressed him a little while ago and liked what I saw.”

“Oh, really, you got to meet him?” Brynn asked, scanning the crowded room to see if she could spot Cooper and her new coworker.

Mel sipped her drink. “Mm-hmm. I ran into Coop a few minutes ago and he introduced us. Apparently, the guy’s ­starting Monday, so you have two nights to get around your I-don’t-date-people-I-work-with policy. Just enough time for a dirty little fling.”

She rolled her eyes. “Right. I think that’d make for an awkward staff meeting on Monday.”

“Or an interesting one. I’d bet Mr. Dark and Dashing would know exactly how to break you out of your dry spell. You should see the size of his hands,” she said, holding up her palm with a knowing nod.

Brynn snorted. “If he’s so great, why aren’t you weaving your wicked web around him by now?”

“You know I like mine blond—feeds my Leonardo DiCaprio fantasies. Plus,” she said, nudging her shoulder, “you need the action more than me.”

“Good Lord, could you make me sound any more pathetic? It’s not like I’m going to shrivel up and die if I don’t get laid.”

Her expression turned deadpan. “You may. The lawyer may be your only chance before you spontaneously combust from sexual frustration.”

“Oh, please.” Brynn bent down to fiddle with the strap on her shoe. Damn thing was cutting into her ankle like razor wire. She loosened the strap and rubbed her reddened skin. “I’m not going to combust. Who needs the lawyer when I have a perfectly functioning vibrator at home?”

Brynn expected to hear a witty retort, but there was silence. She froze, her gaze still on her shoe. Mel, a former sex therapist, would never stay quiet after a comment like that, especially when her tongue was loose from alcohol. Unless… Shit. She closed her eyes briefly.

“Hey, ladies, hope I’m not interrupting,” Cooper said, her boss’s baritone voice barely concealing amusement.

Brynn straightened, finding Cooper wearing a shit-eating grin and Melody biting her lip like she was three seconds from bursting into laughter. Brynn slapped on a smile and tried to keep her voice light. “Hey, Cooper. Not interrupting a thing.”

“Good, ’cause I wanted to introduce you to the new lawyer.” Cooper nodded at someone behind Brynn. “This is Reid.”

Brynn’s response lodged in her throat, the all-too-familiar name ringing in her ears. No, couldn’t be. But a sinking feeling settled in her gut. She’d only met one Reid in her life, and that Reid was a lawyer. She closed her eyes and took a steadying breath before she turned around to face her new coworker.

Reid’s blue-eyed gaze met her head-on, hitting her like an air bag to the chest. She sucked in a breath and fought the old instinct to lower her eyes in deference. Son of a bitch, where had that urge come from? She ticked up her chin and gave him her best I-hate-you-but-will-be-polite-because-I’m-the-bigger-person glare. “Hello.”

Cooper walked around Brynn and clapped Reid on the shoulder. “Reid, I’d like you to meet our other social worker, Brynn LeBreck.”

Reid nodded, his expression annoyingly unreadable. “Brynn, pleasure to see you again. It’s been a while.”

Not long enough. Three years had passed since she’d last seen him. His inky hair was longer on top and a few lines creased the corners of his eyes, but time hadn’t softened her warring responses to him. The urges to pummel his face and strip naked before him held almost equal weight. Luckily, the venue was too public to give in to either. She feigned an air of indifference. “It has.”

“Still as beautiful as ever, though.”

The warm notes of his voice stirred the dark recesses of her memory, further inciting the old longing. She shifted in her heels as hot tingles crept from deep in her belly and moved downward to settle between her legs. Un-fucking-believable. Her body was a whoring traitor.

Melody stepped next to Brynn as if sensing her need for support, and Cooper’s eyebrows rose. “You two know each other?”

Boy, did they—in just about every way a man and woman could. She searched Reid’s face, and he tipped his head infinitesimally, as if giving her permission to answer the question. Her eyes narrowed. “Used to. Long time ago.”

Cooper smiled, either oblivious or unperturbed by the tension zipping through the air between her and Reid. “Great. Guess introductions weren’t needed then.”

Nope. Not needed. Brynn knew exactly who Reid Jamison was. A first-class bastard.

Reid tucked his hands in his pockets, his relaxed confidence taunting her. “How’ve you been? Weren’t you working with kids the last time I saw you?”

So this is how he was going to play it, like they were old buddies. Fine. She nodded. “I was. But after my mother’s murder, I decided I should work with troubled women. Someone needs to be on their side.”

Reid’s jaw tightened. “Of course.”

She swallowed the scoff that threatened to escape. Of course, her ass. He’d been all too happy to take on her mother’s killer as a client. Who gave a shit about guilt or innocence if the paycheck was good, right? The ridiculous hormonal surge he’d caused turned frigid with the memory. She shot a pointed glance in the direction of her table. “Sorry I don’t have more time to chat, but I can’t leave my date waiting.”

Reid’s mouth curved upward, the effect more predatory than friendly. “No worries. We’ll have all kinds of time to catch up now that we’ll be working together again.”

Together. Every day. With Reid. The words felt like shackles locking around her limbs. She attempted a facsimile of a smile, exchanged good-byes with everyone, and then hurried back to her table. Dealing with a weepy date suddenly seemed like cake compared to spending one more second under the knowing gaze of the guy who, once upon a time, had brought her to her knees with a single, charged glance.

Reid watched the swaying ass of Brynn LeBreck as she hightailed it away from the group and returned to her date. Poor bastard. He’d overheard Brynn say something about her vibrator, so he assumed the guy wasn’t going to be asked in for “drinks” tonight. For some reason, knowing her date didn’t do it for her gave him an odd sort of satisfaction. It’d even been on the tip of his tongue to tell her that if she was in need of a good toe curling, he’d be more than happy to cuff her to his bed tonight—no battery-operated intervention needed.

But he figured the whole hating-his-guts thing would probably get in the way of her accepting his invitation. If time was supposed to heal all, Brynn definitely hadn’t gotten the memo. The fury that had flared in those green irises of hers could’ve set his suit on fire. Unfortunately, sharing air with the sexy blonde again had set other things aflame as well. His dick had jumped to attention like a soldier reporting for duty.

And he wasn’t even going to acknowledge the little flip his heart had performed in his chest. Stupid.

It’d been a few years since he’d seen her, ten since he’d touched her, but he remembered the feel of her curves and the taste of her skin as if he’d been buried inside her luscious body yesterday. He yanked at his collar, his tie suddenly feeling like a noose. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to take Cooper up on his offer of cheap rent in exchange for some pro bono work. He’d hesitated when he’d seen Brynn’s name listed on the brochure for the crisis center, but he’d figured he’d be immune to the woman by now. Plus, the deal had been too good to pass up. But now that he’d seen her again, he couldn’t deny that the residue of his old attraction still clung to his bones. Fuck me.

“Well, boys, I’m off,” Melody said, dragging Reid’s attention back to the two people standing beside him. “These shoes were made for dancing and the night’s almost over.”

Cooper turned to him after Melody traipsed off. “Man, you look like you need a beer.”

Reid’s shoulders relaxed a bit, and he gave his friend a half-smile. “You have no idea.”

Coop got the bartender’s attention, ordered two Shiner Bocks, and handed one to Reid. They moved away from the busy bar, but remained on the fringes of the milling crowd. His friend took a swig of his beer, then nodded in the direction of Brynn’s table. “So what’s the deal with you two?”

Reid shook his head. “Long story. Shitty ending.”

He chuckled. “I’m guessing there was nakedness involved. I’ve never seen her look so horrified to see someone. Although, I’m having trouble imagining the two of you dating. Brynn’s, uh, not exactly into guys like us.”

Reid eyed his friend. “Guys like us?”

Cooper gave him a wry smile. “The bossy type. I know it’s been a while, but I doubt you’ve changed that much since ­college.”

Reid absentmindedly rubbed the spot on his finger where a ring used to be. No, some things couldn’t be changed, no matter how hard he’d tried. Too bad he hadn’t figured that out before he’d married a woman who thought he was some kind of deviant for wanting to take control in the bedroom.

“I guess you’re right.” However, Cooper’s assessment of Brynn confused him. Back when he’d known her, she’d been exactly the kind of girl for his flavor of kink.

Coop pointed his bottle at him. “Well, I don’t know what’s between you two, but I suggest you clear out that old stuff quick. The last thing we need at the crisis center is drama between the employees. Believe me, our clients provide enough of that.”

Reid gave a curt nod. “I’ll take care of it.”

Now he just had to figure out how. This was supposed to be his fresh start, both from his failed marriage and from the stress of working in his family’s high-profile practice. Tiptoeing around Brynn and being on edge at work were not part of the agenda. He’d done enough eggshell walking over the past few years to last him a lifetime. That stopped now.

The way he saw it, she’d ripped his heart out ten years ago and then he’d let her down during her mother’s trial—they should be even. So whether she liked it or not, the two of them were going to dump their ugly history on the table and deal with it.

Based on previous experience, that kind of discussion would either end up in a screaming fight or a screaming fuck. Regardless, he wasn’t waiting until Monday to have it with her. To hell with her date—and her vibrator. There would only be one guy driving Ms. LeBreck home tonight.

TWO

ten years earlier

Brynn fought the urge to roll her eyes as the other girls in the campaign office fawned over the senator-to-be’s nephew. Reid had only been in the building for ten minutes and already her fellow coeds had provided him with cupfuls of coffee and an eyeful of cleavage. Not that Reid looked like he minded. He leaned back in his desk chair and graced the two women with his sly smile, holding court.

Brynn shook her head. Must be nice to have things handed to you without having to work for it. College paid for, a cushy summer job, and designer jeans that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe—all because you were lucky enough to win the family lottery.

She dropped her gaze back to the pink notepad in front of her and scribbled down the message from the phone call she’d taken a few minutes earlier. She tore off the sheet and put it on the growing stack of “while you were out” notes for Davis Ackerman, the campaign manager. Her neck ached from cradling the phone to her ear all morning, but she wasn’t going to complain. This new receptionist gig sure beat running the register at the Chicken Fried Chick down the street. She’d take sore muscles over hair that smelled like fryer grease any day.

The sound of a throat clearing made her raise her head. Reid propped his hip on the edge of her desk and peered down at her, his dark blue eyes analyzing her. “Brynn, right?”

She sat straighter in her chair in an attempt to look more professional. “Yes, sir. Brynn LeBreck.”

His mouth curled at the corner. “I’m hardly old enough to drink. I don’t think you need to call me sir, although it sounds kind of good coming from you. You have a nice voice.”

She groaned inwardly. All these girls tripping over themselves and he was going to turn that southern charm on her? Super. Not that he wasn’t nice to look at, but she didn’t have time for guys right now, especially ones who were related to the man who signed her much-needed paycheck. She forced a polite smile. “Guess that’s why they hired me to answer phones.”

He shook his head. “No, my uncle said he offered you the job because you were giving an unruly customer the what-for when he went in to get lunch one day. Figured you’d be able to handle all the craziness around here just fine.”

She smirked at the memory. The redneck had quickly regretted ogling her and asking if there was an up-charge for large breasts. “Yeah, not my proudest moment, but that customer deserved it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Uncle Patrick said you insulted the dude’s manhood… and his mother.”

She threw up her hands. “Well, the guy was being a dick. What else was I supposed to do?”

He pressed his lips together as if holding back a laugh.

She cringed. “Sorry. Sometimes my mouth opens before my brain gets involved.”

He chuckled, the deep sound so genuine the tension in her shoulders relaxed. “Don’t censor yourself on account of me. I didn’t hire you. I can’t fire you. So no filter necessary. Talk dirty to me anytime you want.”

The corner of her mouth lifted. “If that’s your pick-up line, I’d work on it.”

He frowned, his brows furrowing. “No good?”

She sat her chin on her hand and shook her head.

“Really? Huh.” He looked over his shoulder. “I’d bet Molly or Krista over there would eat that shit up.”

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m sure you could recite the Pledge of Allegiance and the sorority twins would turn cartwheels.”

He nodded, his face serious. “That’s true. They do recognize my innate awesomeness. Too bad having a conversation with them is about as interesting as alphabetizing my CD collection.”

She glanced over at the two girls in question. Both were giving her versions of the stink eye. He followed her gaze, and they hurriedly looked away. “I have a feeling I’m not getting an invite to girls’ night now.”

He turned back to her, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “So, if I were to need a decent pick-up line to entice, let’s say, a smoking-hot blonde who likes to talk dirty to have a burger with me, what would you suggest?”

Her cheeks heated, unable to fend off the effects of his easy charm. No wonder he had girls following him around like ducklings. She glanced down at her desk, wishing she could say yes, but knowing she couldn’t. She and Reid Jamison lived on ­different planets. She didn’t have time for flings or dating. She needed to work, get through the summer, save every penny, and hopefully have enough to afford the move to Austin for school in the fall. She looked up at Reid. “I would suggest you find someone who has time to say yes.”

“Not even enough time for a simple burger?” he asked.

She tapped her desk calendar. “I’m in high demand these days. Gotta book months ahead.”

He snorted. “Good thing I wasn’t talking about you then.”

She fought a smile. “Good thing.”

He rose from his perch and gave her a quick grin. “Just know that I’m a pretty thick-headed guy. Takes me a while to get the point.”

She straightened the papers he had mussed on her desk. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He gave her a mock salute. “Nice to meet you, Brynn LeBreck. Be seeing you.”

Reid bumped a shoulder against the entrance to the guesthouse and tried to get the humidity-swollen door unstuck. When it didn’t budge, he gave it another hard shove and it released, banging against the inside wall. “Piece of shit.”

“If it’s such a hardship, you could always move back into the main house,” said a female voice.

Reid startled and nearly dropped the sack of groceries he’d been carrying. “Jesus, Aunt Roslyn, what are you doing in here?”

His aunt rose from his couch and crossed her arms over her chest, her face as tight as the bun in her dark hair. “You got a package today.”

He set the bag of food on the counter of his efficiency kitchen and stared at the large cardboard box in front of her. “Okay. I appreciate the heads-up, but no need to personally deliver it.”

She picked up the box and flipped it over, dumping the contents onto the coffee table. A slew of items spilled across the surface and Reid groaned. Handcuffs. Floggers. A blindfold. A few brightly colored vibrators and a number of other things even he couldn’t identify. Son of a bitch.

She turned her angry-parent death stare on him. “What the hell is going on, Reid? Do I need to call Dr. Leonard? I know he only sees patients until eighteen, but he may make an exception for us.”

His jaw clenched, the ridiculous suggestion making his blood curdle. “Back off, Aunt Ros. This isn’t even my stuff. Jace must’ve had it sent here since he’s staying with his sister right now. And what are you doing opening my packages anyway?”

Her stern expression didn’t soften. “The label said R. Jamison. And I have the right to open anything that’s put on my doorstep.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. He was going to kill Jace. Beyond the embarrassment factor of being in the same room with his aunt and box of sex toys, he knew where this was headed. “I’m sorry. He should’ve never sent this here.”

She eyed him with her trial lawyer shrewdness. “Reid, I don’t have to remind you how important it is that you do nothing to bring attention to yourself during this campaign. Your uncle is running on a family values platform and I refuse to let your… issues put that at risk.” She sighed and shook her head. “I thought we were past this.”

“My issues?” he bit out. “What the hell? I haven’t gotten in any trouble since high school. And even then, it was just stupid shit. You act like I’m a goddamned criminal.”

She walked around the coffee table and came to stand in front of him, her diminutive stature doing nothing to diminish her power­ful presence.

“But your father was. And this”—she cocked her head toward the emptied box—“was his specialty.”

Like he needed a reminder. “It’s not my stuff. And even if it were, I would never hurt a woman. I’m not him.”

“Genes are a powerful thing, Reid. Don’t underestimate them.” She touched his shoulder, her tone gentling. “I know you can overcome them, but don’t put yourself in bad situations. I’m only looking out for you.”

And the campaign. She didn’t say it, but he knew that’s what she meant. “Right.”

“Get rid of this stuff. I can’t even imagine what poor Vanessa would think if she saw you with this filth. Don’t mess things up with her—she’s a fine young lady.”

Vanessa. He hadn’t thought about her all day. Hell, he hadn’t thought about any woman since the new receptionist had started at work. He didn’t know what it was, but something about Brynn held him captive. He’d barely gotten a lick of work done in three days.

But he definitely couldn’t tell his aunt about Brynn. He knew Ros had heard wedding bells the minute he and Vanessa had started to see each other a few months ago. Both she and his uncle tag-teamed him regularly, pushing for him to make the relationship with the mayor’s daughter exclusive. He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you.” Ros gave his shoulder a quick squeeze, and then headed past him. He didn’t unclench his teeth until she’d clicked his door shut behind her.

Stalking to the couch, he pulled his phone from his pocket and hit speed dial.

His best friend answered on the first ring. “Hey, brother.”

“Jace, not only am I going to kill you, I’m going to do it slowly and painfully.” Reid sank onto the couch.

Jace laughed. “You must’ve gotten my present.”

“What were you thinking, sending this crap over here?” He lifted the handcuffs and examined them, heat rising in his gut as an image of him sliding the cool metal over the narrow wrists of a certain blonde receptionist filled his mind. He dropped them on the table. “My aunt opened it before I got home.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, now she’s ready to sign me up with the kiddie shrink again, because I’m apparently a rapist-in-training.”

Jace groaned. “Dude, I’m sorry. I just wanted to make sure

my sister didn’t see it. I told them to have it delivered to the guesthouse.”

Reid didn’t even want to ask what Jace could possibly need with all that stuff. He had enough crap to throw a goddamned orgy. “Just come and pick it up. I don’t need her bringing my uncle over here to see it.”

“Hey, look, take whatever you want from the box to keep,” he suggested. “It’s top-quality stuff. Consider it my apology for getting you in trouble.”

He eyed the different items that had tumbled out of the box—things meant to restrain a woman, to cause pain, to bring ­pleasure. He wet his lips. “It’s not my thing.”

“Uh-huh,” Jace said, his tone sly. “So you wouldn’t want to try some of that stuff out on that pretty receptionist you were drooling over today?”

He coughed, his throat threatening to close as erotic images crowded his brain. “It’s not for me.”

Liar. Imagining Brynn bound and naked had his cock straining against his pants. Hell, talking to her that afternoon had done as much. But he couldn’t tell Jace that—couldn’t tell anyone. He’d kept those urges in check for as long as he could remember, and he definitely wouldn’t risk screwing that up, especially with someone like Brynn. He liked her. Liked her enough not to inflict his darkest desires on her. No, with Brynn, he’d have to be extra careful.

THREE

now

Brynn waved as her date drove out of the dark parking lot. He’d received an emergency call and had to head to the hospital, saving Brynn the awkward end of night, this-ain’t-gonna-happen conversation. She leaned against the brick wall outside the banquet hall and rubbed her hands over her face. What a disaster of a night.

Thank God tomorrow was Sunday. At least she could sleep in and pretend the outside world didn’t exist for a little while. Maybe a day of pajamas, HGTV, and massive amounts of junk food could make her temporarily forget about facing Reid on Monday… and every workday after that. She groaned and tapped the back of her head against the wall, hoping maybe this was all some nightmare and she’d wake up.

“Sent him packing, huh?” The deep drawl caused her eyes to snap open. Reid leaned his shoulder against the wall, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

She crossed her arms over her chest and straightened. “He got called into work. Not that it’s any of your business.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the half-empty parking lot. “Let me give you a ride home. It’ll give us some time to catch up.”

She couldn’t help the derisive laugh that bubbled to her lips. “No thanks, I have my car, and please tell me you’re not suggesting we need to catch up like old friends. Even you can’t be that dense.”

He angled toward her and planted a hand against the wall, right next to her head. His face moved to within inches of hers. “You really hate me that much, sugar?”

His calm, commanding tone and the old nickname sent goose bumps along her skin. She pressed her back against the wall, her heartbeat switching to double-time. Here it comes. She sucked in a ragged breath, and the smell of his cologne wrapped around her like a familiar blanket. Her muscles stiffened, bracing for the panic attack she knew would hit her at any moment. Being cornered sent all her fear triggers firing.

But the terror never came.

Instead, she couldn’t take her eyes off the sensual curve of his mouth. She remembered all too well the things he could do with those lips, that tongue—how he could tease her body without mercy and then when she’d thought she’d go mad with need, send her rocketing into oblivion. A heated shudder rumbled through her and a sharp ache settled between her thighs.

His finger slipped under her chin and tilted it upward, so that she had to meet his eyes. “Well?”

His voice was so close it was as if he’d climbed inside her head. She wet her lips. “I—”

The blaring ring of her cell phone jolted her from her haze. Reid frowned down at her purse and shoved away from the wall.

She dug through her bag with shaking hands and grabbed the phone. “Hello?”

“Brynn, it’s me.”

She sighed. Late-night calls from her sister usually meant one of two things: she needed money or she was in some kind of trouble. “Hey, Kelsey. What’s going on?”

“Are you busy? I know it’s late, I’m sorry, I just… I need to talk with you and I couldn’t wait until morning, and I… Can you talk?”

Shit. A rambling Kelsey—never a good sign. Brynn glanced at Reid, who was now sitting on the railing of the handicap ramp, watching her intently. She turned her back to him and faced the wall. “I have a minute, what’s up?”

“No, I mean, like, talk in person. Something’s going on, and I… well, I may need to get out of town for a while. But I want to talk to you first.”

“Hold up. Leave town? What are you talking about?” She lowered her voice. “Kels, are you on something?”

“No. It’s, I… Can you just meet me at my apartment? It’s important.”

Brynn pinched the bridge of her nose to ward off the sudden pounding in her head. The last thing she felt like doing was traipsing across town at midnight to go deal with what would surely be unfounded drama, but what else could she do? Her sister had been making slow progress toward bettering her life. If she was having a bout of paranoia or had slipped up and gotten high again, Brynn had to help her through that. Plus, Kelsey had no one else to go to—never had. “Sure, I can be there in half an hour.”

Kelsey breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, B. Hurry, okay?”

“Will do. Just hold tight.” Brynn clicked her phone shut and tucked it back in her bag. She didn’t want to turn around. She could feel Reid’s stare burning into her back. God, why had she let him get so close before? She needed to institute a five-foot rule with him—anything closer than that and her hormones could not be trusted. He’d probably seen the arousal written all over her flushed face.

“Your sister okay?” he asked.

She straightened her shoulders and turned around. ­“Eavesdrop much?”

He shrugged, unapologetic as usual.

“She’s fine. She just wants me to stop by,” Brynn said, rummaging through her purse for her keys.

“Right now?” He looked down at his watch.

She threw him a what’s-it-to-you look, grabbed her keys, and headed in the direction of her car. His hand caught her upper arm when she passed him. “We need to talk.”

She wiggled out of his grip, the skin-to-skin contact too much for her frazzled nervous system to handle. “I don’t have time for this tonight. My sister needs me and it’s not a short drive to Quincy Heights. So this little come-to-Jesus is going to have to wait.”

His frown dipped deeper. “Quincy Heights? You can’t go there at this hour. That neighborhood’s a war zone.”

She snorted. “I grew up in neighborhoods like that. I’ll be fine.”

She started walking again, but he hopped off the railing and caught up with her. “I’ll drive you. I promise not to speak… much.”

“Yes, because a hotshot lawyer in a Brooks Brothers suit is really going to scare off the bad guys.” She halted her step and turned to face him. “Look, Reid. The last time I asked for help, you told me no. I don’t plan on asking again. So, go home. Stop acting like there is some discussion we need to have. There isn’t. Everything’s been said. Just come to work on Monday and pretend like we’ve never met. ’Cause that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

He eyed her, his jaw visibly flexing, but didn’t say anything else.

Good. She’d take his broody silence as agreement. She spun on her heel and didn’t bother to look back. Reid Jamison might’ve been able to bend her to his will when she was twenty, but if he thought his sexy smile and whispered commands would get him anywhere with her now, he was more delusional than her clients.

Brynn turned her car onto her sister’s street. The apartment complex was the last residential holdout on a street littered with pawnshops, bail bondsmen, and strip clubs. Reid hadn’t been off base in his assessment of the neighborhood. The Quincy Heights area probably had more hookers, drug addicts, and shootings than any other part of the city. Unfortunately, that type of area was more familiar to Brynn than the middle-class suburb she now called home. The part of Fort Worth she’d grown up in hadn’t looked much different than this.

She parked along the curb, then opened her glove compartment to grab her mace. She may have told Reid she could handle it alone, but she wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t going to go out on these streets this late at night with only a few self-defense training classes under her belt. Weapons were better. She tucked the mace in her purse and climbed out of the car.

Besides a woman in stilettos and spandex standing on the corner a few yards away, the sidewalk was empty. Brynn clicked the alarm on her car and hurried to the stairwell of the three-story apartment complex. She had tried to convince her sister to move closer to her—even offered to help with the costs—but Kelsey had been dancing at the club down the street and said she was perfectly fine here.

Brynn suspected Kelsey’s reluctance had more to do with her fear of being under Brynn’s watchful eye than commuting convenience, but Brynn hadn’t pushed. Her sister was making baby steps in the right direction, and she didn’t want to scare her off by being overbearing.

Her feet ached by the time she reached the top floor. Strappy black pumps were not meant for hiking up three flights of stairs. The 3B label on her sister’s door was peeling off around the corners. She smoothed her fingers over it, but the ends curled back up again. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever state her sister was in, and knocked on the door.

No answer.

She knocked again, but got the same response. With a huff, she pulled out her cell phone and called her. It went straight to voice mail. Terrific. Kelsey had probably gotten over whatever crisis she had called her about and now had gone out.

Or.

Anxiety crawled up her spine. She’d had nightmares of getting that call in the middle of the night—the one that would say something had happened to her sister. She’d received a call like that about her mother three years ago, and she’d sworn to herself at the time that she would do all she could to make sure she never got that kind of call about Kelsey. Unfortunately, Kels hadn’t always been so cooperative in helping Brynn keep that promise.

Brynn sorted through the keys on her key chain and found the one for her sister’s apartment. If nothing was wrong, Kelsey would be pissed that she’d gone in without asking, but Brynn wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if she didn’t make sure everything was okay. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer she wasn’t walking into a real-life version of one of her nightmares. But when she swung open the door, the only thing that greeted her was an empty apartment.

She hadn’t been to her sister’s place in over a month, but her mouth dropped open over the change. The last time, everything had been in disarray—empty cans and take-out boxes littering the counters in the tiny kitchen, dirty clothes piled on one side of the couch, and a layer of dust coating the few remaining surfaces. Now the only things that seemed out of place were a few cardboard boxes on the kitchen table. Everything else looked neat and freshly cleaned. Her sister had even draped bright afghan blankets over the shoddy brown couches, giving the room an almost cheery vibe.

“Kels,” she called out. “You here?”

Brynn stepped inside and closed the door behind her. When she received no answer, she made her way across the small living room and tapped on the slightly ajar bedroom door. “Kelsey?”

She opened the door a bit and peeked inside. The bed was unmade, and a shirt and pair of jeans were strewn across the flower-print comforter, as if her sister had stripped them off in a hurry. Her mirrored closet door was open, revealing more empty hangers inside than clothes. Hell, had Kelsey been serious about leaving town? She barely had enough money to make rent each month, how was she going to afford a road trip?

Uneasiness settled over her. After another failed phone call to her sister, she headed back to the front door. Maybe Kelsey had gone by the club where she worked. Or, at the very least, maybe someone there would know where she was. Brynn locked up behind her and made her way down the stairs, her brain swirling.

The stench of stale alcohol hit her too late. A sweaty hand clamped over her forearm as she stepped off the last stair. “Hey, sweetheart, where ya going so fast?”

Brynn sucked in a breath, her heart stuttering in her chest. “Let go of me.”

She tried to yank away from the man’s grip, but he dug his fingers in tighter. A smile edged his thin lips. He couldn’t have been older than his mid-twenties, but his face had the hardened look of a longtime drug user. “It’s okay, I wouldn’t hurt a pretty thing like you.”

Yeah right, and she was the queen of England. She jammed the pointy heel of her shoe into the top of his foot, putting every ounce of her strength behind it. “I said, let go, asshole.”

A slew of curses flew from his cracked lips, and his green eyes turned feral. Instead of releasing his grip like she’d hoped, he shoved her back into the darkened stairwell and slammed her against the wall, knocking the wind out of her. He leaned in close, his sour breath making her gag. “Well, I was just going to ask if you could spare a little cash, but now you’ve gone and pissed me off.”

She swallowed hard, trying to ward off the oncoming panic attack, but it was too late. She gasped for breath, her lungs’ capacity seeming to shrink in her chest. Sweat dampened her skin, and her head spun. She squeezed her eyes shut. Breathe, Brynn. Think.

The man’s hand grasped the strap of her dress and yanked, tearing the thin piece of material.

Her knees went weak beneath her. She tried to think of the self-defense moves she’d learned, but she couldn’t focus on anything except the fact that she was trapped. That this was happening again. She wouldn’t survive a second rape. Her mind had barely survived the first. Her words tumbled out at a frantic pace. “You can have my purse, I have cash in my wallet. Please don’t do this.”

“Should’ve thought of that before you broke my fucking toe,” he growled. His hand pulled harder on the torn strap, exposing her bra. She opened her mouth to scream, but he smacked her hard across the face, her ears ringing from the blow.

“Don’t even think about it, or I’ll make this much worse.”

The image of his face blurred as tears pricked her eyes. Then, it disappeared from view.

“What the—” the man started, but was interrupted by a sharp crunching sound.

Brynn swiped at her eyes to find the guy on the ground, holding his bloodied nose, six feet of suit-clad lawyer standing over him with rage on his face. The man jumped up and started swinging at Reid, landing a fist to his chin. He was much smaller than Reid, but Brynn knew drugs could make a person pretty powerful.

“Shit.” She pulled herself out of her shocked state and plunged her hand into her purse. Her fingers curled around the can of mace, and she ran toward the fray. The two men were punching and swinging at each other in a violent dance. She didn’t know how to help. The wild-eyed man noticed her standing there and lunged at her. She reacted without thought, emptying the can of mace in his general direction.

“Motherfucker,” he cried, grabbing at his eyes.

She almost smiled, but then heard a deep groan from Reid. “Son of a bitch!”

Brynn glanced at Reid and cringed when she saw he was also reaching for his eyes. The would-be rapist stumbled past her, out of the stairwell, and onto the street, apparently admitting defeat. She hurried to Reid’s side, her throat itching and eyes watering from the residual spray. “Oh, God, are you okay?”

His face was red and tears streamed out the corners of his closed lids. He opened his mouth to respond, but went into a coughing fit instead.

She wiped at his face and patted his back, not sure what to do. “I’m so sorry. I panicked. I didn’t mean to get you.”

“Where’d he go?” he asked between coughs.

She looked back to the street. “He ran—he’s gone. What can I do to help you?”

He moaned. “Water? Fire hose? Something to flush it out.”

“Right, okay.” She grasped his elbow. “Come on, I have a key to my sister’s apartment. Let me get you up there.”

Reid leaned his head sideways over the kitchen sink as Brynn poured another cup of cool water over his eyes. They still burned like the fires of hell, but at least his vision had returned and he could speak again. She brushed her hand over his ­forehead, pushing his hair out of the way. “Any better?”

“I think I’ll live,” he said, straightening. She handed him a clean dish towel, and he patted his face with it. “Next time aim for the bad guy, okay?”

“Which one was that, again?”

He shot her a withering look.

She gave a sheepish smile. “Kidding. I got him, too.”

“Good, I hope he stumbled into the street and got hit by a goddamned truck,” he said, his anger firing up again in his belly. Fucking bastard. The guy was lucky Brynn had sprayed her mace. Otherwise, Reid might not have been able to stop himself from beating the man into an early grave. The way Brynn had been shaking. Jesus. From wildcat to kitten with the flip of a switch. “We need to call the police. Report him.”

She rubbed her bare arms and nodded. “Yeah, although I’m sure he’s long gone by now.”

“He may have to go to the hospital for the nose. They could check for him there.”

She sank into one of the dining chairs, her cheek still scarlet from where the jerk had struck her. “What were you doing there anyway?”

He smirked and propped a hip against the kitchen counter. “Because a hotshot lawyer can take care of the bad guys in a pinch, so I followed you. I wasn’t going to let you come out here alone at night… looking like that.”

She glanced down at her dress. “Like what?”

His gaze traced the delicate line of her neck, the deep V-cut of her dress, and the swell of her breasts. His mouth watered at the memories of how that ivory skin tasted—like sugared strawberries. He cleared his throat and looked down at the now bloodied dishtowel clenched in his fist. “Never mind. It’s just not a place you should come to by yourself.”

“Hell,” she said, getting to her feet again, “I didn’t even notice your hand. You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine.”

She grabbed his biceps and guided him back to the sink. “Rinse it with soap and water. I’ll go and see if Kelsey keeps any first aid stuff around.”

She disappeared into the bathroom, and he turned on the faucet. The soap stung, but the cuts seemed minor, although his knuckles were already starting to swell. He shook his head. That’d be great for first impressions with clients on Monday. Yes, let me help you with your domestic violence case. Oh, yeah, don’t mind the black-and-blue knuckles. I’m really a good, responsible professional.

Brynn emerged from the bathroom with a handful of Band-Aids and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. She pointed to the dining room table. “Sit.”

He dried his hands with a paper towel and fought a smile. She always had been a bossy little thing. But he knew the truth. Under­neath all that tight control was a woman who, at least when he’d known her, loved handing over the reins. He swallowed hard, tamping down memories he didn’t need to rehash at the moment.

He dropped into one of the chairs, and Brynn sat across from him, her knees bumping against his. He widened his legs, and after the briefest of hesitations, she scooted forward, allowing his thighs to frame the outsides of hers as she reached for his injured hand. She circled her fingers around his right wrist, his pulse jumping at her touch, and brought his hand up to her face to examine it. His fingers itched to reach out and trace the bow of her lips.

Dammit. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his desire to touch her in check, but the citrus scent of her shampoo drifted to his nose and sent a bolt of carnal need straight to his groin.

He stared down at her. One quick grasp of her waist and he could lift her to straddle his lap, bunch up that dress, and slide his cock right into her sweet heat—kiss away all the tension furrowing her brow, drive her to that place of wild abandon he knew she could reach.

Without thinking, he lifted his other hand and twined her broken dress strap between his fingers, brushing the backs of his sore knuckles across her collarbone in the process. The small catch of breath in the back of her throat made his balls tighten. Such a feminine sound, so close to the noise she would make as he entered her.

But she didn’t raise her eyes to him and beg him to take her like he secretly hoped she would. She simply took the slip of material from him and tucked it under her bra strap to hold it in place, sending her message loud and clear. Not yours.

Not anymore.

“This may hurt a little,” she said, her voice tighter than it had been. She laid his hand on the table, moved her chair back a notch, and dampened a cotton ball with disinfectant.

He winced when the cotton touched his open skin, the sting helping to drag his mind back from the depths. He shifted in his seat. “So where is your sister anyway? Isn’t she the whole reason you rushed out here?”

She glanced up, her green eyes glinting with worry before she dropped her focus back to her task. “She wasn’t here when I arrived, and I can’t get her on her phone.”

He frowned. “Is it standard MO for her?”

She shrugged, but the motion seemed tense instead of casual.

“Is she still…” He paused, not knowing how to phrase it politely.

Brynn smirked at him. “Fucked up?”

Looking at this refined blonde in her elegant outfit, he’d forgotten where Brynn had come from. She’d never been one to mince words. He nodded.

She rose and returned to the adjoining kitchen, turning her back to him as she opened the freezer. “After the murder, she

really took a turn for the worse, blamed herself. And she was still convinced the asshole you defended was innocent.”

The muscles in his neck bunched. Hank Caldwell was ­innocent—is innocent. Unfortunately, Reid had failed to prove that to the jury, which was the first in the trifecta of lost cases that had led to his demotion from lead attorney. Now Hank sat rotting away in prison with a life sentence, waiting for Reid to pull a miracle out of his ass for an appeal.

However, he knew better than to preach Hank’s innocence to Brynn and throw a match on that powder keg. The one time he’d approached her during the trial to see if he could interview Kelsey for the defense, Brynn had jumped his shit like he was the devil asking for her soul. She’d wanted him to drop the case entirely, but of course he couldn’t do that. Not when he knew in his gut that Hank wasn’t the guy.

The stark betrayal that had flashed in Brynn’s eyes that day had sliced right through him. He’d seen the switch flip—the look of total dismissal. You no longer exist to me. So if she had any clue he was actively working on Hank’s appeal now, she’d probably shove him out of Kelsey’s third-floor window.

Luckily, Brynn continued on without waiting for his input. “But the last few months, she’s been making some progress. I got her to go to a detox program and a few therapy sessions. And she’s been sober—at least she was the last couple of times I saw her. But tonight, she sounded a little freaked out, paranoid.”

He flexed his fingers, which were quickly stiffening. “Any idea where she could be?”

“Here, this will help with the swelling.” She handed him a plastic baggy full of ice. “I honestly have no clue. It’s not like her to ignore her phone. I was headed over to the club where she works to see if anyone knew anything when that asshole attacked me.”

“Speaking of which, we need to put in a call to the police.” He dug in his pocket, but she waved him off.

“I got it. I saw him up close and personal. I’ll be able to give a better description.” She walked into the tiny living room and pulled out her phone, putting as much distance between the two of them as possible.

Her voice didn’t waver as she relayed the information to the police, but she paced around the room, wearing a track into the already threadbare carpet. Occasionally, she would stop to peek through the blinds of the front window as if to will her sister to appear.

Reid stood and tossed the bag of ice onto the counter, Brynn’s nerves setting him on edge. Why would her sister drag her out here then bail without even calling her back? He eyed the boxes on the dining room table, then flicked a quick glance at Brynn to make sure she was sufficiently absorbed in the conversation. He hooked a finger into one of the boxes and slid it closer so he could peek at the contents.

Papers, envelopes, a small notebook—all shoved in there in no apparent order. He rifled through some of the papers, then picked up the notebook and flipped through a few pages. There were a couple of initials and random phone numbers, one of which was for Cowgirls, the strip club down the street. He set the notebook to the side and rifled through another stack of papers.

As he reached the bottom, he froze, a familiar company name catching his eye. Grant Waters, Inc. To the rest of Dallas—the wealthy vineyard owner and producer of Water’s Edge Wines. But to those in the know—someone completely different. The yellow paper was the carbon copy of a background check form Kelsey had filled out.

A sinking feeling settled in his stomach. Last he’d checked, Kelsey was no farmhand. He set the form aside and grabbed the notebook again, flipping back to the number for Cowgirls. Maybe the strip club would have some information. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed the number.

“Cowgirls, this is Nina,” a cigarette-roughened voice said over the blaring background music.

“Hey, is Kelsey performing tonight?” he asked.

“Oh, honey, Kiki isn’t here,” she said, smacking her gum loudly. “But if you like blondes with d-cups, Alexis is going on in about half an hour. She’ll get you going as well as Kiki could’ve.”

He sighed in mock disappointment, making sure the girl continued to believe he was a customer. “Is Kel—I mean, Kiki, on vacation or something?”

She laughed. “What is it with that girl? You’re, like, the third call I’ve gotten asking about her. I’m sorry, but she quit a few days ago. Said she got a better-paying gig.”

“Do you know where?”

“Ooh, you got it bad, huh? She didn’t say, but I know it’s not one of the clubs around here. I would’ve heard.”

“All right, Nina. Thanks for your help.”

“No problem, sweet thing.”

He clicked the phone shut and turned back toward the living room. Brynn was leaning on the back edge of the couch watching him, her lips pressed into a grim line. “She’s not there.”

He shook his head. “Quit a few days ago. The girl said Kelsey took another job.”

Brynn’s threw her hands out to her sides. “Why the hell wouldn’t she tell me she’d changed jobs?”

“I may have some idea,” Reid said, glancing at the background form again. “Do you know if Kelsey is into anything kinky?”

She glanced at the table, then back to him, a little crease between her brows. “Well, stripping isn’t exactly run-of-the-mill.”

He shook his head and met her confused gaze. “No, I mean, like the D/s scene.”

Her eyes shifted away and he could almost visualize porcupine quills popping out of her skin. “How the hell would I know that? ‘Do you let a guy use you like a whore?’ is not exactly a question that comes up in sisterly conversation.”

He cringed, the words wrenching his gut. “Is that what you think it was? You think I used you?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “What exactly would you call it, Reid? I bet you weren’t tying up and ordering around that debutante girlfriend of yours—you know, the one you forgot to tell me about.”

She was right. He hadn’t been topping Vanessa. She would’ve sent her father after him with a shotgun if he’d done so much as copped a feel. But he’d had to toe the line—parade around with the girl he was expected to date. He blew out a breath and raked a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t like that.”

“No, I get it. Do the depraved stuff with the chick whose mother is a hooker, do the respectable things with the girl you want everyone to see on your arm. It’s an old story,” she said, sounding tired. “I was just too naive to see what role I was playing in the game.”

His jaw clenched. “I don’t know how I ended up the bad guy in all this. I seem to recall I wasn’t the only one you were playing with.”

She sighed and all the fight seemed to leave her stance. “Look, it doesn’t matter, okay. What’s done is done. I just want to know what all this has to do with my sister.”

He stared at her for a moment, part of him wanting to hash out their past, drag everything out in the open, and deal with it head-on, but the lines of worry in her face stopped him. He crooked a thumb at the boxes. “I looked through some of your sister’s stuff. She filled out a background check form for Grant ­Waters’ ­company.”

Her forehead scrunched. “Who the hell is that?”

“He owns two big vineyards outside of town. And he runs The Ranch.”

“Is that another strip club?”

He shook his head, tension taking root in his shoulders. “No, and I’m not sure on the details. But what I do know is that it’s

a BDSM retreat. Elite, exclusive, and if someone wants to disappear for a while—a good place to hide.”

She chewed her lip, as if mulling over the information. “But if it’s so exclusive, how would Kels get in?”

He shrugged. “Your sister’s a beautiful girl who’s not afraid to show her body. My guess is that they probably hired her on as a server or attendant of some kind.”

She crossed the few steps to the counter and grabbed her purse and keys. “Well, then, what are we hanging around for? Let’s go to this stupid place and get her.”

“Brynn.” He grabbed her wrist before she reached the door.

She glanced back over her shoulder, urgency rolling off her. “What’s wrong?”

“I have no idea where this place is. And even if I did, you’re not going to be able to get in without an invitation… or a master.”

All the blood drained from her face. She glanced down at his fingers circling her wrist and jerked her arm free. “What? I can’t—”

“Look, calm down,” he said, frowning down at her. “We can’t do anything tonight, but I know someone who may have a connection there. Let me see if I can get any information—find out if your sister is even there. In the meantime, you can go home and call anyone you can think of—her friends, boyfriends, whoever. Someone has to know where she is.”

Brynn chewed her lip, considering him, then nodded. “Okay. I guess that’s the best we can do tonight.”