Easy Loving. Sheryl Lynn
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Table of Contents
“We’re good together.”
He plunged his long fingers through her hair. “You know I’m right.”
His fingers slid from beneath her hair and trailed tenderly across her cheeks. Catherine’s belly ached in repressed arousal. Her chest ached with the depth of her emotions. Her eyes and throat ached from holding back tears. Intuition nagged her soul, telling her only Easy held the power to soothe those aches.
She lifted her chin. His mouth, so perfectly shaped and sensual, weakened her resolve.
“I can’t, Easy,” she said, pleading more with herself than with him.
“I need you.” His voice was husky with sincerity. “I’ll never stop wanting you. We belong together and you know it. And I won’t let you marry another man. You’re mine.”
Sheryl Lynn lives in a pine forest atop a hill in Colorado. When not writing, she amuses herself by embarrassing her two teenagers, walking her dogs in a nearby park and feeding peanuts to the dozens of Steller’s jays, scrub jays, blue jays and squirrels who live in her backyard. Her best ideas come from the newspapers, although she admits that a lot of what she reads is way too weird for fiction.
Easy Loving
Sheryl Lynn
This is for John Hawk, wherever he may be.
Easy Martel—This private eye knows investigating a murder is way out of his league, but he also knows he’s the only man who can save Catherine’s life.
Catherine St. Clair—The shy book illustrator has finally gotten her life right where she wants it, until Easy Martel reappears from the past.
Jeffrey Livman—He’s the perfect man, smooth, educated, prosperous and sophisticated. There’s also a good chance his résumé includes murder.
John Tupper—He’ll go to any lengths to bring his sister’s killer to justice.
Trish Martel—Easy’s baby sister will do anything for her family, including tracking down a lost child.
While hurrying across the parking lot, Easy Martel spotted his sister emerging from her Mustang. He lifted his gaze to the heavens and whispered, “Yes.” Dumb luck, his favorite ally, came through for him again.
“Trish!” he shouted and waved her toward his Chevy. She said something to the man who accompanied her. Easy urged them both to hurry. He flung his equipment bag into the back seat of his car. He slid behind the steering wheel.
Trish opened the passenger door and peered suspiciously inside. “What—?”
“Get in, get in. Your timing is perfect. I need your help. Hurry.” He glanced at his watch and prayed the traffic lights were with him. “Come on, Trish! I’m running out of time.”
She told her friend to get in the back. She sat in the front passenger seat. Easy gunned the engine and squealed out of the parking lot.
“Are you crazy?” Trish fumbled with her seat belt. “Don’t bother answering. You are crazy. What are we doing?”
“Going to the airport.” He looked over his shoulder at the stranger. The man was around forty, slim, with thinning blond hair and bulging eyes. Not one of Trish’s boyfriends, Easy surmised. She had a weakness for the tall, dark and stupid type.
“Wait a minute! I’m not helping you.” Trish emphasized the words by clamping her arms over her bosom and jutting her chin. “The last time I helped, that guy sicced a dog on me and chased me with a pipe wrench. He almost killed me!”
Trish was thirteen months younger than he, but they looked so much alike with their dark hair and eyes, people often mistook them for twins. Like him, she had an adventurous streak seven miles wide. He flashed his most winning smile. “I promise, no dogs, no pipe wrenches. I need to shoot some video. My client tipped me off.