Out Of Control. Shannon McKenna
An uppity, hip-swaying walk that could hypnotize a man into driving up onto the sidewalk and into a parking meter.
Which he had nearly done the first day he’d caught sight of her.
The sports bra top that went with the thong contained big, soft-looking tits. One of these days he would have to stroll through the gym next door under the guise of a neighborly visit and look in on one of her aerobics classes, just to monitor that bra’s performance. But he would have to see those breasts bare and unbound to truly believe them. Until then, he would remain skeptical about God’s existence.
Wrong. No. Wouldn’t be going there, wouldn’t be doing that. He’d slammed the door on that possibility weeks ago, but still the images spun through his mind, and now the heaviness in his crotch was solidifying into an official hard-on. The thin cotton trousers that he wore to practice kung fu would be no help in preserving his male dignity. He was so screwed.
Her eyes were a ragbag of bright colors; irises rimmed with indigo that faded to bluish green and then to gold around the pupil. They met his so directly, he had to fight the impulse to drop his gaze and stare at his own feet. Jesus. Next he was going to start to stammer and blush.
The charged silence was driving him nuts.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded. Embarrassment made his voice harsher than he’d intended.
She sucked her full, rosy bottom lip between her teeth and chewed on it. “I’m…I’m, uh, sorry to have interrupted you.”
He shrugged. Waited.
“Your kata looks great,” she offered. “You’ve got amazing technique. I’m no expert, but…well, wow. It’s just beautiful.”
Courtesy demanded some polite acknowledgment of this remark, but all he could manage was a grunt and a nod. She waited in vain for him to pick up his cue. He clenched his teeth and concentrated on clamping down on his body’s physiological response. The biofeedback equivalent of trying not to think about a pink elephant.
Her cheeks flushed pinker. “I, ah…I had a couple questions for you, actually. I heard you’re a private investigator, and—”
“Who’d you hear it from?”
She looked taken aback at his curt tone. “That blond guy who teaches the kickboxing classes here. He told me that you—”
“Sean,” he said. “My brother. Never could keep his mouth shut.”
A perplexed crease appeared between her straight dark brows. Probably wondering how he could possibly be related to Sean, the quintessential calendar pinup male with the flirtatious charm to match. There wasn’t much resemblance between the two of them, other than the dirt-blond shade of their hair and their bizarre background.
“Oh.” Her voice was cautious. “Is it some big secret, then?”
The thought of Sean chatting Margot up made his jaw clench. The fact that his reaction was stupid and irrational made him even angrier, like an endless feedback loop. “I’m phasing that business out. I’m still licensed, but I’m not taking on any new clients. As Sean knows damn good and well.”
“Oh.” Her voice was subdued. “Why are you phasing it out?”
He crossed his arms over his bare chest and longed for his jacket, which was draped over the weight rack all the way across the room.
“Boredom. Burn-out.” He made his voice curt and dismissive. “I’m moving on to other things.”
Her eyes dropped. She took a step back, chilled.
It was working. He’d put her off. She wouldn’t be back. Exactly what he’d intended. All according to plan.
So why did he feel like such an asshole?
“I see. Sorry I bothered you, then,” she mumbled as she turned away. “I won’t take up any more of your time—”
“Wait,” he heard himself say.
She turned back slowly. Her face looked pale in the fading twilight. Her hair was cinched into a clip, a wild explosion of spiky wisps up top. Those hollows beneath her high cheekbones were new. She’d lost weight in the last few days, and her pallor confirmed what he’d suspected the minute he saw her. That dull, dark brown hair color was false, like her name, her driver’s license, everything about her.
She looked different tonight. Fragile. An image of Kevin flashed through his mind, triggering a dull ache of pain. His younger brother, killed years ago when he ran his truck off a cliff. Davy had been in the Persian Gulf at the time, but he’d dreamed of his brother the night before he got the news. He’d seen a shadow lying over Kevin’s face.
Margot Vetter had a shadow like that hanging over her tonight.
He was deviating from his script. The woman was trouble he did not need. A walking, breathing question mark. He had enough to deal with, with the new business he was starting up.
Margot Vetter’s checkered past was not his business, no matter how curious he was. He didn’t need to know what she was running from, what responsibilities she was evading. With his constant efforts at self-mastery, he’d be damned if he would let his dick drag him into the snakepit of somebody else’s bad decisions and rotten judgment.
No more rescue missions, either. He’d tried the hero routine years ago, with Fleur, and had fuck-all to show for it.
Unless you counted the scars.
Margot jerked her shoulders, impatient with the long silence. “So?” she demanded. “Wait for what? Why are you staring at me?”
He played for time. “Why do you need a detective?”
Her full lips tightened. “What do you care? It’s irrelevant, since you’re no longer in the business. And I would hate to bore you.”
“I’m not bored. And I’ll decide what’s relevant.”
She grew three inches in a breath. “Will you? Gee, that’s arrogant.”
Arrogant. Huh. Women had thrown that at him before, but he just shrugged it off. There were worse things a woman could call a guy.
“Just tell me.” He concentrated on his command stare, which he’d used to great effect as the sole authority figure for three unruly younger brothers. He’d developed it further in the army, and honed it to perfection as a martial arts master. All the force of his will, blazing out through the eyes. Legend held that a true master of the dragon form could terrify his enemies into submission with a single glance. He hadn’t made it to that point yet, but he did all right, for the most part.
Didn’t work worth a damn on Margot Vetter, though. She just wrapped her arms over her tits and glared right back at him. “I don’t have time for idle curiosity, buddy. I’ve got a body sculpture class to teach in”—she consulted her watch—“three minutes. So go on back to your karate moves, and don’t stress yourself about—”
“Kung fu,” he said.
She gave him a death ray stare. “Excuse me?”
“I was practicing kung fu, not karate,” he clarified.
She rolled her eyes, turned her back and marched for the door.
He lunged ahead of her to block the exit, without thinking, and she shrank back, startled. “Hey! How’d you do that?” she said sharply.
The sheer variety of colors in her eyes was distracting. “Do what?”
“I didn’t even hear you move, and whoosh. You appeared right in front of me.” She stabbed his solar plexus with her finger and yanked her hand back at the shock of contact with his skin. “You scared me!”
“Uh…” He groped for any kind of response. “Dragon spirit, maybe.”
Aw, shit. He regretted the words the instant they left his