Hot Night. Shannon McKenna
was just enough light to make out the silent question in his eyes. She exhaled slowly. “Are you going to invite me up, or what?”
“You know damn well that you’re invited,” he said. “More than invited. I’ll get down on my knees and beg, if you want me to.”
The full moon appeared in a window of scudding clouds, then disappeared again. “It wouldn’t be smart,” she said. “I don’t know you.”
“I’ll teach you,” he offered. “Crash course in Zan Duncan. What do you want to know? Hobbies, pet peeves, favorite leisure activities?”
She would put it to the test of her preliminary checklist, and make her decision based on that. “Don’t tell me,” she said. “Let me guess. You’re a martial arts expert, right?”
“Uh, yeah. Aikido is my favorite discipline. I like kung fu, too.”
She nodded, stomach clenching. There it was, the first black mark on the no-nos checklist. Though it was hardly fair to disqualify him for that, since he’d saved her butt with those skills the night before.
So that one didn’t count. On to the next no-no. “Do you have a motorcycle?”
He looked puzzled. “Several of them. Why? Want to go for a ride?”
Abby’s heart sank. “No. One last question. Do you own guns?”
Zan’s face stiffened. “Wait. Are these trick questions?”
“You do, don’t you?” she persisted.
“My late father was a cop.” His voice had gone hard. “I have his service Beretta. And I have a hunting rifle. Why? Are you going to talk yourself out of being with me because of superficial shit like that?”
Abby’s laugh felt brittle. “Superficial. That’s Abby Maitland.”
“No, it is not,” he said. “That’s not Abby Maitland at all.”
“You don’t know the first thing about me, Zan.”
“Yes, I do.” His dimple quivered. “I know first things, second things, third things. You’ve got piss-poor taste in boyfriends, to start.”
Abby was stung. “Those guys were not my boyfriends! I didn’t even know them! I’ve just had a run of bad luck lately!”
“Your luck is about to change, Abby.” His voice was low and velvety. “I know a lot about you. I know how to get into your apartment. How to turn your cat into a noodle. The magnets on your fridge, the view from your window. Your perfume. I could find you blindfolded in a room full of strangers.” His fingers penetrated the veil of her hair, his forefinger stroking the back of her neck with controlled gentleness. “And I learn fast. Give me ten minutes, and I’d know lots more.”
“Oh,” she breathed. His hand slid through her hair, settled on her shoulder. The delicious heat burned her, right through his jacket.
“I know you’ve got at least two of those expensive dresses that drive guys nuts. And I bet you’ve got more than two. You’ve got a whole closet full of hot little outfits like that. Right?” He cupped her jaw, turning her head until she was looking into his fathomless eyes.
Her heart hammered. “I’ve got a…a pretty nice wardrobe, yes.”
“I’d like to see them.” His voice was sensual. “Someday maybe you can model them all for me. In the privacy of your bedroom.”
“Zan—”
“I love it when you say my name,” he said. “I love your voice. Your accent. Based on your taste in dresses, I’m willing to bet that you like fancy, expensive lingerie, too. Am I right? Tell me I’m right.”
“Time out,” she said, breathless. “Let’s not go there.”
“Oh, but we’ve already arrived.” His breath was warm against her throat. “Locksmiths are detail maniacs. Look at the palm of your hand, for instance. Here, let me see.” He lifted her hand into the light from the nearest of the streetlamps. “Behold your destiny.”
It was silly and irrational, but it made her self-conscious to have him look at the lines on her hand. As if he actually could look right into her mind. Past, future, fears, mistakes, desires, all laid out for anyone smart and sensitive enough to decode it. “Zan. Give me my hand back.”
“Not yet. Oh…wow. Check this out,” he whispered.
“What?” she demanded.
He shook his head with mock gravity and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “It’s too soon to say what I see. I don’t want to scare you off.”
“Oh, please,” she said unsteadily. “You are so full of it.”
“And you’re so scared. Why? I’m a righteous dude. Good as gold.” He stroked her wrist. “Ever try cracking a safe without drilling it? It’s a string of numbers that never ends. Hour after hour, detail after detail. That’s concentration.” He pressed his lips against her knuckles.
“What does concentration have to do with anything?”
“It has everything to do with everything. That’s what I want to do to you, Abby. Concentrate, intensely, minutely. Hour after hour, detail after detail. Until I crack all the codes, find all the keys to all your secret places. Until I’m so deep inside you…” his lips kissed their way up her wrist, “…that we’re a single being.”
She leaned against him and let him cradle her in his strong arms. His warm lips coaxed her into opening to the gentle, sensual exploration of his tongue. “Come up with me,” he whispered. “Please.”
She nodded. Zan’s arm circled her waist, fitting her body against his. It felt so right. No awkwardness, no stumbling, all smooth. Perfect.
She was undone by his gentleness, his teasing humor, his big, gorgeous, yummy body. She couldn’t wait to peel that T-shirt off him and take a good look at those hard, ropy muscles.
Her hands tingled, thinking of touching his hot skin, running her fingers through the cool silk of his hair and over the rasp of his beard stubble. She was so dazed, she didn’t even register the sounds from behind the building.
Zan stopped, stiffening. Those were bad sounds. She heard blows, gasps, shouts. A bloodcurdling screech, choked ominously off.
Zan shoved her back. “Wait. I’ll see what the hell is going on.”
Abby grabbed his arm. “Forget it. I’m sticking with you.”
He started to object, but she just hung on to his arm and peered over his shoulder as he rounded the corner.
It was a scene from a nightmare. A crowd of guys circled around two men who were fighting. The onlookers jeered and howled. The two men waved broken bottles at each other. They were drenched with blood. One feinted to one side, tripped the other when he fell for it, and lunged, slashing at his throat. Blood spurted. Abby shrieked.
Zan sucked in a harsh breath. “Holy fuck, that’s…Jamie!”
He hurtled into the melee, breaking through the ring of onlookers, and dove at the two men locked in a bloody embrace on the ground.
Everyone started yelling. Five guys leaped onto Zan. Abby backed away, hand clamped over her mouth to choke off the terrified mewling sounds. Don’t panic, you stupid bimbo ditz.
She wanted to wade into the fray like that chick from Alias, save Zan with a few kicks and karate chops. But there were over fifteen guys in that heaving clump of men, and she was no TV ninja babe. Zan was on his own. The best she could do for him was run for the cops.
She kicked off her sandals and sprinted for the boardwalk while she fumbled for her phone. Her feet barely touched the ground.
Chapter