Worth The Risk. Melinda Di Lorenzo
he wasn’t a quitter. So instead of heading to the ground, she was climbing the two stories to the roof. Once there, she’d cross to the vine-covered rear of the building and make her way down, then follow through with her original plan to get to Tamara’s house and figure out exactly what was going on.
Meredith reached the top rung of the last ladder and pulled herself over the lip of the roof. She landed on the gravelly surface with a grunt, then sat there for a minute, staring up at the cloudy sky. She was unpleasantly sweaty and panting and her body hurt from the exertion. And she still had the residual wine-induced headache, too.
“I swear to God, Tami,” she said to the air, “if that guy down there is your secret lover and you were calling me to help you with him... I’m going to shave your head in your sleep.”
But her gut twisted a little. An affair—even one with a man who made Meredith’s own heart pound inexplicably—would be preferable to the other things running through her mind.
Don’t dwell, and don’t assume, she told herself as she stood and brushed off the dirt from her knees. Just get to Tamara and get some answers.
She wiped her forehead, shouldered her purse, strode to the other end of the roof and swung a determined foot over the side.
* * *
Sam slammed open the front door of the apartment building, ignoring the startled look on the gorilla-sized doorman’s face as he barreled by. He’d slipped the guy fifty bucks to get in; he sure as hell didn’t owe him an explanation for his mode of exit.
Without looking back, Sam rounded the building with the intention of positioning himself in the bushes just below Meredith’s apartment. Out of sight, but not out of reach. But as he approached his intended hiding spot, a flash of movement made him stop short. He spun to follow it, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up as every alarm bell in his well-seasoned body went off.
What the hell?
A man stood on the edge of the yard, binoculars pressed to his face and pointed straight up at Meredith’s apartment. At Sam’s sudden appearance, he dropped the binoculars to his chest and spun. In the heartbeat he had to do it, Sam catalogued the other man’s features. Red hair. Craggy skin. Thick stubble covering his cheeks and chin. Unkempt clothes.
Bad news.
Then the other man took off at a run. Automatically, Sam followed. They tore around the building in a back alley, where a nondescript sedan sat waiting. Before Sam could catch up, the redhead leaped into a vehicle and peeled out.
Sam’s PI instincts battled with his protective ones, the former demanding he run to his Bronco and follow the car and its surly-looking driver, the latter insisting he stay behind and make sure Meredith Jamison was all right. He didn’t get a chance to find out which part of himself would’ve won the internal battle. A snap from above sent his gaze heavenward, and what he saw made him still.
“I’ll be damned.” He craned his neck up as far as it would go.
Right above him, just in view, was Meredith Jamison.
Sam’s body tensed.
For the love of all that is holy. If she falls, I’ll...
His thought trailed off as his eyes landed on her curved, jeans-covered rear end, reminding him of why he’d found her so distracting in the first place. For a minute, protectiveness took a backseat to desire. Her form-fitting T-shirt rose up, exposing a tantalizing amount of creamy skin.
She placed her feet on an elaborate piece of vine-covered metalwork on the side of the building. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. Not even when he acknowledged she’d risked her life just to avoid talking to him. He even had to admit to a grudging amount of admiration for her temerity.
Beauty, brains and guts. A deadly, tempting combination.
A little squeal from above brought Sam’s attention back to the truly dangerous situation she’d put herself in. She was halfway down the six-story building now, and one of her Converse-clad feet had come loose.
Sam’s gut churned.
He stepped to position himself under Meredith. He figured that, best-case scenario, she made it down and landed—probably angrily, definitely reluctantly—at his feet. Worst-case scenario, she came crashing down and he took the brunt of the fall. Maybe he’d break a bone or two, but at least she’d be safe.
She grumbled something loud but incomprehensible as her foot regained its hold, then she began to inch down again.
Sam kept his gaze on her, thankful for each yard that brought her closer to him and to safety. He wondered what, specifically, had prompted the rooftop escape attempt. Had she got ahold of her sister? Or was she just that opposed to speaking to Sam? Either way, he was going to get his hands on her and tell her how insane she was for putting herself at risk simply to avoid him and his questions.
She’d reached the one-story mark now, and she finally paused. She was close enough that Sam could hear her labored breathing and see that she was shaking with effort.
Almost there. Don’t stop now.
Meredith still hadn’t looked down, and Sam tensed as her head tipped in his direction. She looked back up quickly, though, and started moving again.
Good.
She hit the home stretch, and just as Sam was about to reach up and grab one of her ankles, she lost her grip on the metalwork and tumbled backward. Heading straight for Sam.
* * *
A shriek escaped from Meredith’s lips as she fell, then the sound died abruptly as her back smacked against something that was just the right amount of firm.
Not something, her mind corrected. Someone. A good-smelling, solidly male someone.
Vaguely, Meredith thought she should be embarrassed about falling into some poor passerby’s arms. But she didn’t have time. The impact sent whoever it was stumbling backward, and as her savior tried to keep himself on his feet, he propelled them both forward instead. Hard.
Too hard.
Together, they flew toward the wall. The man slipped one hand to her waist and slammed the other out in front of them, just barely stopping their momentum before they hit.
Meredith inhaled a shaky breath, and as her rescuer loosened his hold, she turned to face him.
“Thank you!” she gasped. “I thought I was going to—”
She cut herself off. Too-blue eyes—mildly amused but no less intense than they had been when he’d darkened her door frame—stared down at her.
Dammit. I should’ve known.
“You thought you were going to what?” he asked almost teasingly. “Get away? Fall to your doom? Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m glad to stop you from doing either.”
“I’m sure you are,” Meredith retorted.
She feinted to the left and ducked to the right, trying to slip away, but the dark-haired stranger shot out an arm, stopping her movement. She moved in the other direction, and once again, he blocked her in. No part of him touched her, but she could somehow still feel every bit of him. The rise and fall of his chest. The corded muscles of his forearms. All of it made her tingle. She took a breath. It only made things worse. She could smell his light, masculine scent, and it begged her to drink it in even more.
“Let me go.” Her command came out as a whisper.
“Not until you answer my questions.”
“I’ll scream.”
“I’ll find a way to keep you quiet,” he countered.
Involuntarily, her gaze landed on his lips. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“There isn’t much I won’t do to get the job done.”
He leaned forward, and