From Friends To Lovers To...Parents?

Claire DeAngelo’s fantasy was the white picket fence and a husband and babies. She thought she’d found it, but now she’s getting a divorce. Her ex’s behavior is bordering on harassment, so it’s lucky Claire runs into her college buddy—now undercover cop—Luke Devlin.

Luke can’t believe his luck. He’s investigating a smuggling ring, and Claire lives in the building he has under surveillance. What better way to keep an eye on the criminals than to move in! When Claire’s ex becomes hostile, Luke’s protective instincts take over and the attraction between old friends heats up.

Back in college, Luke was a carefree playboy. So when Claire discovers she’s pregnant, she knows better than to expect Luke to be family material. She’s finally getting that white picket fence and a baby…even if there’s a piece missing!

“We were both drinking,” Luke said about his ex. “A lot.”

Claire gave him an anxious look.

“One night she went out, with a blood-alcohol reading that was something like three times the legal limit, and plowed into a tree.”

“Oh, Luke. Was she hurt? Was anyone else?”

Aside from that night at the ER, he’d never talked about the baby. Not with anyone.

“She wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, so she was pretty badly banged up. And...she was pregnant, and she lost the baby.”

“Oh, my God. Luke, I’m so sorry.”

“I accused her of being careless and irresponsible, trying to trap me into marrying her, forcing me to have a baby I didn’t want.”

Claire snatched her hand away, averting her eyes.

He hated that she pulled away, mostly because he had no clue what it meant. Had he said too much? Sounded too harsh?

“She knew I didn’t want a family. There’s no way I’ll bring another Devlin child into the world and have it grow up the way I did.”

“But you’re not your father, Luke!”

Dear Reader,

There’s something about a reformed bad boy that grabs our interest, don’t you agree? Give him a badge and a gun, and he’s really got our attention! Luke Devlin, the hero of this book, is one of those men, and I have to confess to being a tiny bit jealous of the heroine, Claire DeAngelo. These two have both suffered some major disappointments since they were study buddies back in college, so when they run into each other years later, they both have trust issues to overcome.

Readers who’ve been following my Ready Set Sold series—the stories of three entrepreneurial young women who run a real-estate business in Seattle—have told me they’re looking forward to Claire’s story, and I hope all of you will have as much fun reading it as I had writing it. To be honest, it never really felt as though I was writing this story; it was more like Luke and Claire were telling it to me, and all I had to do was get it on paper. That doesn’t always happen with a book, but I love it when it does!

Samantha from The Christmas Secret and Kristi, who you met in the The Daddy Project, are both back, offering their friend Claire a shoulder to lean on in Daddy, Unexpectedly. Since we have a bad boy cop, there has to be a villain; and as always for the animal lovers among us, there’s a dog, and this time I’ve added a cat for good measure. And because this is the third and final book in the series, it was especially fun for me to bring all these characters together one last time and share their happy-ever-afters with you.

I always enjoy hearing from readers, so I invite you to visit my website at www.LeeMcKenzie.com and drop me a line.

Happy reading!

Lee McKenzie

Daddy, Unexpectedly

Lee McKenzie

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

From the time she was ten years old and read Anne of Green Gables and Little Women, Lee McKenzie knew she wanted to be a writer, just like Anne and Jo. In the intervening years, she has written everything from advertising copy to an honors thesis in paleontology, but becoming a four-time Golden Heart finalist and a Harlequin author are among her proudest accomplishments. Lee and her artist/teacher husband live on an island along Canada’s west coast, and she loves to spend time with two of her best friends—her grown-up children.

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For my two proudest accomplishments,

Joe and Michaela

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Excerpt

Chapter One

Claire DeAngelo stabbed her fork into the last piece of lettuce on her plate. Two hours ago it was barely appetizing. Now warm and wilted, it was just plain gross. She dumped it into the trash can under the sink and put her lunch dishes in the dishwasher.

“Forget about food. You have more important things to think about.” She walked purposefully back to the dining table, sat and opened the calendar on her laptop.

This had been a busy week. She had closed the sale of a home in Seattle’s Victory Heights neighborhood and listed two others. She’d lined up three showings tomorrow morning for some prospective home buyers—newlyweds in search of their dream home. She would be tempted to tell them it was all downhill once the honeymoon was over, but she was a real estate agent, not a marriage counsellor.

The company she’d launched several years ago was really taking off and her two business partners were as busy as she was. Busier, given their family commitments. Claire was happy for Samantha and Kristi, she really was, but more than a little envious, too. Since she’d been a little girl, crisscrossing the country from one military base to another, she’d dreamed of a real home with a white picket fence and a big backyard, where she and the man of her dreams could watch their children chase the dog and play with their friends. Technically neither Sam nor Kristi had a white picket fence, but they had everything else Claire wanted.

She stood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling wall of glass that overlooked Puget Sound. She had a pricey penthouse with a million-dollar view, an imperialistic cat who slept most of the time, no children and a soon-to-be-ex husband. She checked her watch. It was two-thirty and it was Friday afternoon and all her work was done, so why was she feeling so out of sorts?

“Because I’m starving.” The salad she’d eaten for lunch had worn off, as had the sense of virtuousness for eating something healthy and almost calorie-free. She went back into the kitchen and looked in the fridge. The makings of another salad, four eggs, a tub of fat-free yogurt and a quart of skim milk. She took out a Tupperware container filled with carrots and celery sticks, then opened a cupboard. A box of breakfast cereal with a measly hundred calories per serving and a package of rice cakes.

What were you thinking? she asked herself.

That you’re supposed to be on a diet.

She set the rodent food on the polished granite countertop. Ugh.

“La Cucaracha” started playing on her cell phone. Double ugh. Only one incoming caller was assigned to that ring tone. Her can’t-be-ex-soon-enough husband. She’d been hearing it a lot lately, and he was really starting to bug her. She was tempted to let the call go to voice mail, but then he’d leave a long-winded message. And then he’d call back in twenty minutes to find out if she’d listened to it.

“I told you to stop calling me,” she said, forgoing the usual pleasantries when she answered.

“This is important.”

It always was. “What do you want?”

“My lawyer has drawn up the divorce papers and we’re sending them to your lawyer this afternoon for you to sign.”

Typical Donald. He assumed she would agree to the terms, just as she had agreed to everything he’d wanted while they were married. They’d bought the luxury condo he’d chosen, postponed having a family because he wasn’t ready. Getting divorced would damn well be on her terms.

“I’ll discuss them with my lawyer and see what she thinks.” She was suddenly overcome by the feeling that lunch had been two days ago instead of two hours, and a carrot stick wasn’t going to do it for her. She was craving something rich and sweet and chocolaty. A candy bar, maybe. Or a double-chocolate donut. Or a quart of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Therapy.

No, make that all three.

“It’s a straightforward agreement,” he said. “Everything will be divided equally, and we’ll split the proceeds from the penthouse...although that can’t happen if we don’t get it on the market.”

Claire picked up one of the rice cakes and pictured a Belgian waffle heaped with fresh strawberries and a mountain of whipped cream, all liberally sprinkled with shaved chocolate. “I still have to find a place to live,” she reminded him.

“You own a real estate company, Claire. You’ve had months to find a new place. It’s not that difficult.”

It sure hadn’t been for him. He had moved out of their home and straight into his new girlfriend’s condominium. Deirdre. Claire had never met her, but she imagined the woman was a lot like Cruella de Vil, only meaner.

“My lawyer will call your lawyer,” she said.

“One more thing.”

With you, there always is. “What?” she asked. She dipped an imaginary spoon into a chocolate-bottomed crème brûlée and pretended to swirl it across her tongue. Heaven.

“We’ve come up with an equitable division of assets, and I want that book my grandmother gave you.”

Claire practically dropped the phone. We who? Donald and his lawyer? Donald and Deirdre? “Absolutely not. That was a gift to me, and that makes it mine.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “It was given to you by one of my family members and I want it back.”

His mother had given her a butt-ugly red vinyl purse for her birthday last year. Did he want that, too? “It’s a children’s book,” she reminded him. “Why would you want it?” Unless...was Deirdre pregnant? After insisting he wasn’t ready to start a family with Claire, that would be the ultimate insult.

“Apparently it’s a collector’s item and it belonged...belongs...to my family.”

Of course. This had nothing to do with sentimental feelings about families or children, or even literature. Claire still had all of her favorite books from childhood and over the years she’d added to the collection. When she finally had kids of her own, they would spend many happy hours reading those books together. Donald’s grandmother had loved books, too, and had looked forward to a great-grandchild someday. Just before she died, she’d given the book to Claire and made her promise to share it with her children.

Donald probably didn’t even remember it was a first edition Beatrix Potter. With him it was only about the money. Always about the money. Well, too bad. If he thought he was getting that book, he could think again.

No, he could go straight to hell. In a handbasket.

“It’s been a busy week and I have to get back to work. My lawyer will call your lawyer after we’ve looked at the papers.”

He was still blustering when she hung up.

Her hands were shaking and her stomach felt like a deflated balloon. Screw the diet. She dumped the raw veggies and rice cakes into the trash, snagged her purse off the counter and headed for the door. She debated whether to leave her phone at home and quickly ruled it out. The only thing worse than getting another call from the cockroach was missing a call from a client.

* * *

ON THE WAY BACK TO HER building, Claire navigated around a cluster of pylons on the sidewalk. A window-washing platform was suspended a few feet above the ground and a crew of workers was loading equipment onto a truck.

“Claire? Claire DeAngelo? Is that you?”

She whirled around, clutching a paper bag filled with guilty pleasure. Who on earth...?

She looked up at the man on the platform and stopped breathing. She’d recognize that devilish grin anywhere. “Luke!”

He vaulted over the safety railing, landed lightly on his feet in front of her and swept her into an enthusiastic embrace. “I knew it had to be you. What are you doing here?”

“Just taking a break.” She waved at the main doors of her condominium complex. “I’m on my way home, and back to work. I mean, I work at home sometimes.”

He planted a kiss on her forehead. “How long has it been?”

“I’m not sure. Since college, I guess.”

“Wow. Fancy digs,” he said. “Good for you. And you look great.”

So did he. Back in college he’d had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen and a smile that had melted a lot of girls’ hearts. She could see that hadn’t changed. The rest of him had. He’d always been athletic but Adonis himself would envy this body. He still had his arms around her and the biceps alone were enough to make a woman feel light-headed. His black T-shirt was streaked with water and dust, and he smelled like hard work and testosterone. When he finally released her, she felt slightly chilled.

“Are you married? Kids?”

She shook her head, still somewhat confounded by this unexpected encounter. “Separated. Almost divorced, actually. No kids. What about you?”

She asked because she felt she had to, but she knew his answer would be negative. Luke Devlin still didn’t look like the kind of man who’d ever be caged behind a white picket fence.

“Nope. Single and free as the breeze.”

That was Luke, all right. The college friend she’d known and loved, and he could still make her laugh. They had met in first-year American History when they’d been paired up to work on a Civil War assignment. Claire had gone on to major in English literature and Luke had settled for being a major babe magnet. She had occasionally played the role of platonic place-holder, hanging out with him after one of his many breakups, letting the old girlfriend think she was the new one. She had always been surprised they fell for it because, let’s face it, serious, studious and slightly overweight Claire DeAngelo was not Luke’s type.

A number of years ago she’d run into one of his old college roommates and he’d told her that Luke had joined the Seattle Police Department. Finding out he’d become a cop had been a shocker but finding him here, working as a window washer, of all things, was a complete bombshell.

“Free as the breeze, huh? Sounds just like the old days,” she said.

“Not quite. I had a pretty serious girlfriend for a while, but it didn’t work out.” His smile faded by a few watts.

What was this? Luke Devlin with a broken heart? Not possible. “Welcome to the club.”

“Seriously? Any guy who’d dump you would have to be crazy.”

“That’s one adjective that works.”

Luke grinned at her. “Misery loves company, isn’t that what they say? We should grab a bite to eat when I get off duty. Off work. We can catch up on however many years it’s been.”

After the insanely busy week she’d had, and especially after that last phone call from her ex, why not? She hadn’t been on a date since Donald left, which meant she technically hadn’t been on a date since before she got married. Not that a casual, off-the-cuff invitation to “grab a bite” constituted a date, but it would be more fun than sitting down to a salad, alone.

“Dinner would great,” she said. “What time?”

“I’m off at five. How does six o’clock sound?”

“Six will work. I’ll meet you downstairs at my front door.”

He kissed her again, on the cheek this time. As she walked away, she half expected him to swat her rear end the way he used to, but it seemed that even a guy like Luke grew up, at least a little. She looked back when she reached the entrance, but he’d already climbed onto the window-washing platform. That’s when she noticed the red lettering on his black T-shirt. Lucky Devil, with three prongs on the tail end of the letter y. She was still laughing when she let herself into the lobby and pushed the elevator button. Back in college she would have given almost anything to go on a date with Luke Devlin, even though he’d had a campus-wide reputation for getting lucky. Now she knew better than to give herself to a bad-boy-cop-turned-window-washer, but for the first Friday night in forever, she had dinner plans.

* * *

LUKE TOSSED THE LAST couple of pylons into the back of the truck. I’ll be damned, he thought. After all these years, he kinda sorta had a date with Claire DeAngelo, and he had just enough time to run this load over to the shop and get back here to meet her. Before he climbed into the cab, he reached up and yanked on the ropes to make sure the platform was secure on the roof rack. Better change your shirt while you’re at it.

He was back at Claire’s condominium complex at five minutes to six. He’d made it home in time to take his dog, Rex, out for a run and grab a shower and a change of clothes, and still made it here with enough time to spare to make it look as if he had all the time in the world. He wasn’t sure why that was important, but he didn’t want to make Claire wait. For one thing, knowing her, she wouldn’t.

He leaned against a light standard, arms folded, and while he waited, he kept a watchful eye on everyone who came and went from Claire’s building. After his years with the Seattle Police Department, maintaining a keen awareness of his surroundings was deeply ingrained. Claire wouldn’t know he was a cop and given his lousy study habits in college, she was probably not surprised to see him washing windows. Just as well. It meant he wouldn’t have to tell her he had her building under surveillance, or why.

She took his breath away the instant she stepped through the door. The reticent, sometimes even awkward study-buddy he’d hung out with in college had outgrown her awkwardness and blossomed into a beautiful, confident woman. She had the same soft blue eyes, still wore glasses instead of contacts, still dressed conservatively but with a lot more style.

She smiled when she saw him and raised one hand as if to wave.

“Claire!” The man who called her name was striding toward her.

She froze and her smile faded.

Okay, something wasn’t right here. Luke straightened and quickly stepped up beside her.

“Donald, what are you doing here?” she asked.

“You hung up on me. We need to talk about selling the penthouse, Claire. And I want that book.”

Ah, yes. The ex. The guy was a little taller than she was, very well dressed and about as intense as they come.

“Not. Now.” Keeping her voice calm seemed to require some effort. “I have plans.” She glanced up at Luke as though seeking confirmation.

Since Luke didn’t like the look of this guy, he was more than happy to play along. He slung an arm across her shoulders and extended a hand to her ex-husband. “Luke Devlin. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Claire’s ex looked momentarily confused and then shot Luke a frosty glare. He grudgingly accepted the handshake, though. Luke didn’t like his grip any more than he liked him. He was trying way too hard to be firm. For one fleeting second, Luke considered making the guy say uncle.

Don’t be a dumb-ass, he chided himself.

“Donald Robinson,” the guy said. After he pulled his hand away, he zeroed in on Claire again. “You can’t keep putting this off.”

This guy wasn’t getting the memo.

Luke drew her closer. “Like Claire said, now’s really not a good time. We should get going, babe. We don’t want to be late.”

She looked up at him, lips ever so slightly parted, and gave him the kind of smile that suggested there was actually something going on between them. Since Donald wouldn’t know there wasn’t, Luke lowered his head and gave her a light, lingering kiss.

“You are so adorable,” he said, purposely making his voice go soft and quiet. “Isn’t she adorable?” he asked Donald.

Donald stammered something that sounded more like an excuse than an apology, and backed away. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said to Claire. “I’ve lined up an appraiser.” He looked uncertainly from her to Luke. “Will you...ah...will you be at home tomorrow?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “I guess you’ll find out when you call.”

For a few seconds Donald looked like he wasn’t going to let this drop, but then he threw up his hands and, without saying anything, swung around and walked away. “And I want that book back,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m serious.”

“Oh, my God,” Claire said after her ex disappeared around the corner. She ducked out from under Luke’s arm. “I am so sorry. And grateful. Thank you. Donald can be...”

An asshole? “Hey, no problem. I probably owed you anyway.”

They both laughed at their collective memories from college days, and she seemed to relax a little.

“Any idea where you’d like to eat?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“There’s a little Irish pub downtown, not far from the market. Best burgers and fries in town.”

“Sure. Sounds wonderful.”

He couldn’t tell if she meant it or not but jeez, look at her. The powder-blue sweater he’d admired earlier was now topped by a cobalt-colored suede jacket. Both emphasized her dazzling blue eyes. She’d always had a classic style and great taste in clothes, and her taste in food was probably more sophisticated than burgers and beer. His was not and he saw no point in faking it.

“Is this place close enough to walk?”

“Guess it depends how much you like walking,” he said. “I’ve got my bike and a spare helmet.” He hoped she’d go for it. If she rode with him, he would have an excuse to bring her back home, and that would give him an opportunity to get inside the building. He was curious about the condo Donald was so determined to unload, but more than that, he wanted to see where she lived in relation to the penthouse they were staking out.

“A bike?” she asked.

“Yeah. Well, a motorcycle.” He gestured to where it was parked next to the curb.

She looked decidedly undecided.

Come on, live a little, he was tempted to say. But that would get her back up and then she’d say no. Instead, he casually handed her a helmet as though he assumed she’d done this a hundred times.

* * *

EVERY SINGLE ONE OF CLAIRE’S instincts—including a few she didn’t know she had—screamed at her to say no. But somehow the helmet was in her hands and then she had it on. She must look like a bobblehead, since she definitely felt like one.

“I’ve never ridden on a Harley-Davidson.” She’d never even pedaled a ten-speed.

Luke grinned. “Then I’m happy to uphold that tradition. This isn’t a Harley.”

“Oh.” She gave the black beast a closer look, took in the silver lettering on the side. Ducati. It still looked like the kind of machine a biker would ride, and Luke, with his longish dark hair, well-worn leather jacket and black boots, looked exactly like the kind of guy who would ride it. His jacket wasn’t biker-black, though. More the color of espresso. Or dark chocolate. And while Harley-Davidson sounded dangerous and intimidating, Ducati sounded sexy. Like Luke.

He pulled on his helmet and climbed on the bike. “Jump on.”

Her heart pounded in her chest. You are such a wimp, she scolded. People rode on motorcycles all the time. Luke was a responsible adult. She hoped. She slid one leg over the seat behind him and settled onto the cushy leather, grateful she hadn’t changed into a skirt.

“Hang on,” he said.

To him? she wondered. Duh. It was him or nothing. She put her hands on his sides, glad for the cool leather between her palms and his rib cage. Every nerve in her body jolted to life when he started the bike, and her pulse roared in her ears. No, that was the rev of the engine. They rolled away from the curb and she flung her arms around him, so tightly she could have counted his ribs through the jacket if she’d wanted to.

The ride to the pub lasted somewhere between five minutes and a lifetime. After he found a parking space and cut the engine, she snatched her hands away from his body and stumbled off the bike. She was both terrified and—oh, God, how could this be happening?—turned on. Being scared, yes, she could understand, but a body all aquiver from clinging to a man on the back of a motorcycle? Who knew such a thing was even possible?

Chapter Two

Luke held Claire’s helmet and watched her smooth her tousled hair with shaky hands.

“Your first time?” he asked.

She responded with a silent question in her eyes and a little extra pink in her cheeks.

“On a motorcycle.”

“Oh, yes. It was.” He liked that the polished, professional grown-up Claire was still college-girl adorable when she got flustered.

“I thought it might have been.” He handed the helmet back to her and guided her toward the entrance. “What did you think?”

“Um...” Her color deepened.

Hmm. That good. Here’s hoping the ride home had the same effect.

He held the door and followed her inside. The bar was packed with the usual Friday mix of tourists and the downtown happy hour crowd. He spotted a table for two that was being vacated near the back, and before two other couples could swoop in to grab it, he was holding a chair for Claire.

She sat and slid the helmet underneath. “That was lucky.”

Nope. That was experience.

The server stopped and pocketed the change left by the previous customers. “Menus?”

“Sure.”

She picked up the empty glasses and put them on her tray, then gave the table a halfhearted swipe with a damp cloth. Claire’s reaction had him second-guessing his decision to bring her here, but taking her to a fancier place might have sent the wrong message.

“Do you know what you want to drink?” the server asked.

The way Claire studied the drink list, she could have been cramming for an exam.

“Give us a minute?” he asked.

“Sure thing.”

After the woman moved on to another table, he watched Claire suck the ripe fullness of her lower lip between her teeth, release it and slowly run the tip of her tongue across the luscious curve of her upper lip. During their many study sessions back in college, he’d watched her do that a hundred times. And he’d known then, as he did now, that she had no idea how seductive it was. She wasn’t trying to tantalize, and that made it even more of a turn-on.

During those study sessions of old he had wanted to kiss that freshly moistened mouth and tease that tongue into coming out to play. But even in those days, when he had been a stereotypical college student with an overactive libido and his party mode in overdrive, he’d had enough sense not to ruin a good thing. The good thing being a study-buddy and a friend. He had never had a female friend who was just a friend, and he’d never had a study partner, period.

Their first kiss had been less than half an hour ago. He had simply wanted to send a message to the jerk of an ex-husband, but now, watching her tongue play with her lips, he wondered if she would let him bookend this date with another kiss when he took her home.

Was this a date? It would be if she let him kiss her again. Was that a good idea? Sure as hell seemed like one from where he was sitting. A kiss was just a kiss, after all. It didn’t have to end with them setting the sheets on fire. Besides, he would never use Claire DeAngelo to scratch an itch, and she’d never let him anyway.

The server returned. “Have you decided on drinks?”

“Coffee for me,” he said.

“Cream and sugar?”

“Black, thanks.”

Over the top of the drink list, surprise registered in Claire’s eyes. He couldn’t fault her for that.

She set the tattered menu on the table. “I’ll have a Diet Coke.”

That was no surprise at all.

“Coffee and a Coke. Be right back to take your food order.”

“So, Luke Devlin in a bar drinking coffee,” Claire said. “That’s...different.”

“I’m driving.”

“Of course. Good point.”

“But you could have had something with a little more kick than a diet soft drink.”

Something akin to alarm flickered in her eyes and vanished, leaving him wondering if maybe he imagined it. “I’m not much of a drinker.”

“Me, neither.”

That made her laugh.

Should he tell her the truth? Step one, he reminded himself. “I’m serious. I’ve been sober almost two years.”

The amusement drained from her face. “Oh. Luke, I’m sorry I laughed. I shouldn’t have.”

He leaned closer and touched her hand. “No apology necessary. Sometimes even badasses grow up.”

“Not always.”

He guessed she was talking about her ex.

“Some of us do,” he said. Too bad it sometimes took a disaster to make it happen.

She slowly withdrew her hand. “So, here we are. Ten years out of college and a couple of teetotalers.”

“Wow. It’s been ten years?”

“It has.”

The server set Claire’s soft drink and his coffee on the table. “You folks ready to order?” she asked.

Claire gave the menu another quick scan. “What’s good here?”

“They have the best burgers in Seattle. The Emerald Isle is my favorite.”

She read the description and grimaced. “Two beef patties and bacon and cheese? I see your appetite hasn’t changed.”

“I worked hard today. I need the calories.”

“And I sat at my desk most of the day, so I definitely don’t. I’ll have the O’Chicken burger,” she said, smiling at the name as she handed her menu to the server.

“Fries or salad with those?”

“Fries for me,” Luke said.

“I should have a salad.” Obviously that’s not what she wanted.

“Have a salad,” he said. “We can share my fries.”

The server confirmed their order and drifted away.

“I was surprised to see you this afternoon,” she said. “I bumped into one of your old dorm-mates a couple of years ago and he told me you’d joined the Seattle P.D.”

So she did know. “Yeah, I got in a couple of years after I graduated college.”

“And you’re moonlighting as a window washer?”

He didn’t want to let her believe that, mostly because it wasn’t true. But because of where she lived, and the reason he was working there, he needed to be careful what he did tell her.

“I’m with vice. Sometimes an investigation is easier when the bad guys don’t know who we are.”

“So you’re...what? Working undercover?”

He tipped his head in agreement.

“I thought things like that only happened in the movies.”

“If this is a movie, that would make me James Bond.”

That made her laugh. “Isn’t he a spy?”

“Yeah, but it’s a movie, remember? That means I get to be anybody I want. What about you?” he asked, wanting to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“Well, since you get to be Pierce Brosnan—or would that be Daniel Craig?—then I guess I’d be Julia Roberts.” She was blushing again. “But more Mona Lisa Smile than Pretty Woman,” she added quickly.

His turn to laugh. “Good to know, but I was talking about the real-life you. You said you work at home.”

“I do, some of the time, but nothing movie-star glamorous I’m afraid. I’m a Realtor, and a partner in a business called Ready Set Sold.”

He never would have imagined her as a salesperson. Then again she’d be good at anything she decided to do. “Good name for a real estate company.”

“We thought so. We’re more than just real estate, though. We help people renovate and stage their homes before we put them on the market.”

“Good idea. How many business partners do you have?” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t say her ex was one of them.

“Two. Samantha Elliott is our carpenter and general handywoman, and Kristi Callahan is an interior decorator. They both do really amazing work, but they’re more than business partners. They’re my two best friends.”

Huh. Three women, best friends, running a business together. He liked the sound of that. “What about Donald? Is he in real estate?” Not that it was any of his business, and he probably shouldn’t even bring him up, but something about the guy didn’t sit right with him.

Claire plucked a napkin from the dispenser and wiped the table in front of her. “No. He’s an investment broker. He did really well at it, which is how we could afford the condo. Things between us started to fall apart right around the time the economy took a downturn, and then I found out he was...”

Luke had a pretty good idea what she was going to say, and he let her get to it without prompting.

“And then I found out he was having an affair.”

Bastard. Women like Claire, and his mother, deserved better. His own track record was less than stellar but except for Sherri, he had never been in a relationship long enough to be unfaithful. Even with her, although he’d been tempted a time or two, he’d kept his pants zipped. He might be a chip off the old block in a lot of ways, but his father’s infidelity had been the thing he hated most about the man. No way, not even when he’d been drinking heavily, as he had been in those days, would he let himself sink that low.

“Is that when Donald moved out?”

“He didn’t have a choice. After I found out, I packed up his stuff and called a moving company.”

He felt himself grin. “Hot damn, you’re feisty.”

He had always liked that Claire was a smart, determined woman. To know she wouldn’t put up with any crap from anyone made him admire her even more. Why hadn’t his mother kicked his father’s ass out of the house a long time ago? Why didn’t she do it now?

Claire swirled the straw in her drink. “A lot of men might think that what I did was a bit over-the-top.”

“Only the ones who are cheating.”

“You mentioned something about a breakup. Were you the heartbreaker or the heartbroken?”

He should have seen this question coming since he’d been the one to bring up exes. “A little of both, I guess. I didn’t cheat on her, though.”

“Did she? Cheat on you, I mean.”

“No. At least not that I know of. We were seriously into partying and then...ah...something happened that made me realize I had a problem. I knew I needed to quit drinking, and it turned out I wasn’t much fun to be with when I was sober.”

“She actually said that?”

“Not in so many words. And I learned some stuff, too.”

“Such as...?”

“Being sober and living with a drunk isn’t much fun, either.”

“Oh, Luke. I’m sorry. Do you know how she’s doing now?”

“No. We sort of lost touch.” Which wasn’t entirely true. He did know how she was doing. Not good. He didn’t want to talk about Sherri or the real reason they’d split up. He never talked about stuff like this with anyone, ever. Why was he opening up with Claire?

A food runner arrived with their order. “The O’Chicken?”

Claire patted the table in front of her, eyes widening as she took in the amount of food on her plate. The kid set the second plate in front of Luke and sidled away as the server appeared. She balanced a tray of drinks on one arm as she pulled a bottle of ketchup from her apron pocket and set it on the table.

“Anything else?” she asked.

He and Claire both shook their heads, and she carried on.

For a few moments there was silence as Luke applied a generous squirt of ketchup to his burger and squeezed another zigzag across his fries. He offered the bottle to Claire but she shook her head. He picked up the top half of his bun—lettuce, tomato, pickle and all—slapped it onto the burger side, and flattened it with his palm. While he watched Claire, he picked it up and took a bite.

She started by rescuing the pickle slice and moving it to the edge of her plate before going to work on the rest of her meal. By the time she’d unwrapped her cutlery, spread the paper napkin on her lap and, with surgical precision, cut her burger in half, he had devoured half of his.

“How is it?” he asked.

“Mmm.” She murmured her approval as she swallowed.

“Help yourself to some fries.”

She reached across the table, picked one up and dipped it in his ketchup. After biting it in half, she closed her eyes and chewed. “So good,” she said when she opened them again. “I haven’t had one of these in ages.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve been on a diet.” She picked up her fork and stabbed a piece of lettuce.

She looked fine to him. Better than fine. She had curves in all the right places, but if he told her that, she’d probably think he was lying, or coming on to her. He’d been around enough women to know that when they ordered diet drinks instead of regular, salad instead of fries and generally worried about their weight, the smart thing to say was nothing.

So instead he picked up his burger and bit off almost more than he could chew.

* * *

A CRISP FRENCH FRY AND tangy sweet ketchup were like a perfect marriage, Claire thought. What she didn’t know about the latter was made up for by a deep and abiding love of food, the crisper, sweeter and greasier the better. And she had the size fourteen hips to show for it.

“What do you think of the building you live in?” Luke asked after he swallowed a mouthful of burger and washed it down with coffee. His healthy appetite and the rock-hard abs she’d clung to all the way here created an interesting dichotomy.

She twirled the straw as she stared at the surface of her drink for a moment. It sounded as though he was fishing for information, but that didn’t make sense. He’s just making conversation, she decided. They had to talk about something.

“It’s not my dream home, but it’s okay. We—Donald and I—bought it after we got engaged and we moved in right after the honeymoon.”

She bit into her burger. After Donald’s phone call that afternoon and his unexpected appearance tonight, she was more annoyed with him than ever. She still couldn’t believe he’d shown up at the exact time she was meeting Luke. On the plus side, though, there had been that kiss.

“Does he make a habit of showing up like he did tonight?”

“No, he usually phones. His lawyer sent divorce papers to my lawyer this afternoon. He expects me to agree to whatever is in them.”

“What do you want?”

“I guess I still want what I thought I was getting when we got married. To put down roots, have a home and a family.”

“Sounds like a wonderful life.” The bitter edge to his voice had a bite to it.

She knew he hadn’t had the greatest home life growing up, but back in college he had never talked about it. He’d been too busy partying and playing the field. Apparently the partying had stopped, but it was too soon to tell if he’d moved past the seemingly endless string of girlfriends.

“It would be wonderful.”

He didn’t agree or disagree. “Do you still want that? With him?” he asked instead.

“God, no. But someday, with someone, definitely. But you don’t think it’s possible.”

He shrugged. “I’m not saying it’s impossible, just that I’ve never seen it happen.”

“Seriously? You don’t know anyone who’s happily married?” She prided herself in being a realist, but even after her experience with Donald she still believed she had a chance at a long and happy marriage. Without that dream, the future looked awfully grim.

“Well, let’s see. My parents have been married for almost forty years. I’m not sure either of them has ever been happy.”

Forty years of unhappy would be grimmer than grim. Maybe that’s why Luke tended to play the field rather than make a commitment.

“They’re still married,” she said. “That has to mean something.”

Luke shrugged. “Convenience, maybe. My dad can string along his various girlfriends by telling them his wife won’t give him a divorce. And I think my mom is so afraid of being on her own that she puts up with all his crap.”

Claire thought of her two business partners, Sam and Kristi, who’d both grown up with loser dads and then found men who were loving husbands and devoted fathers. By comparison, she had been raised by parents who were still crazy about each other, even after all these years, yet she had ended up marrying the wrong man. Now she was staring a bleak future square in the eye.

“I’m sorry to hear your mom’s had such a rough go of it. Have you talked to her about it?”

Luke pushed his empty plate away, picked up his coffee cup and leaned back in his chair. “Devlin men don’t tend to be talkers.”

“You’re talking to me.” She wondered if he would open up about his ex-girlfriend, tell her what happened there. Someday, maybe, but she sensed this wasn’t the time to ask.

“True. You always were a good listener. What about your family?”

Was he asking because he was interested, or because he wanted to change the subject? Not that it mattered. She loved to talk about her family.

“My parents are in a retirement community in Arizona. You might remember that my dad spent his entire career in the military so we moved a lot. Now they have a motor home so they’re still on the go.”

“But that doesn’t appeal to you?”

“Not in the least,” she said, laughing. “Every time we moved, they did their best to make the new place feel like home for me and my sister. Carmen always fit in right away. It took me longer, and by the time I made friends and started to feel settled, my dad was transferred.”

“How did you end up in Seattle?”

“I fell in love with the Pacific Northwest when we were stationed at Whidbey Island, and I decided then that when I grew up, this is where I wanted to live. Now here I am.”

“And all grown-up.” His voice, deep and quiet all of a sudden, like the thrum of a bass, reverberated through her.

“All grown-up,” she agreed, almost breathless. And she was having some very grown-up thoughts about the man sitting across the table.

Don’t be an idiot. Luke Devlin was a man who lived in the moment, always had been and always would be. She was all about the long-term, the white picket fence, the happy ever after.

And how’s that working for you? It wasn’t. After months of being alone, she was lonely. Would it be so wrong to not be lonely for a change? Even just for one night? To wake up in the morning with a hot guy in her bed and a smug smile of satisfaction on her lips? Heat crept up her neck and she tried to cool her cheeks with her palms.

No, it wouldn’t be wrong and she would be tempted, but she still couldn’t do it. She couldn’t be that woman. Could she?

Chapter Three

Luke waited for her to climb off the bike, then joined her on the sidewalk.

“I’ll walk you up.”

He’d had to park nearly a block away, it was dark and there was no way he could let her walk on her own. Another man might be tempted to, but not a cop. Never. Besides, he was hoping to be invited in. For the obvious reasons, of course, but also because he welcomed the chance to check out the place from the inside.

“Thank you.” She sounded relieved.

On her own she would most likely come and go via the secure underground parking garage, especially at night. Not that anything was ever completely secure, especially given what he knew about the activities of some of the lowlifes who lived here. Tonight he would see her to the front door, maybe farther if he was lucky.

They’d covered about half the distance when prickles of unease shivered up his neck. He knew better than to be obvious, but a couple of casual over-the-shoulder glances revealed nothing. Someone was watching them, most likely just him, and he saw no advantage to tipping off whomever that might be. Had the operation been compromised? His gut told him no. This was about something else.

He sought out the pistol tucked in an inside jacket pocket, curled his fingers reassuringly around the grip as his other arm went out instinctively to draw Claire closer. She glanced up, the obvious question in her eyes.

“Thought you might be cold.” It sounded lame, even to him, but she didn’t pull away.

“Would you like to come up for coffee?” she asked as she unlocked the front door of her building.

“Sure.” Hell, yes. He was glad she’d asked. It saved him the trouble of trying to invite himself in.

Earlier she’d been on edge, possibly due to her ex showing up and giving her a hard time, and he’d thought the evening was headed for disaster. Eventually she had relaxed, and after they got their current relationship status out of the way, they had talked about work, recent movies they’d seen, what some of their old college friends were doing now and even pets. He’d adopted a German shepherd named Rex after the dog failed to meet the K-9 unit’s requirements. Claire had a Siamese cat named Cleo. Cleo didn’t like dogs, and Rex was afraid of cats. As they left the restaurant and walked to where he’d parked the bike, he’d been hoping that wasn’t a metaphor for him and Claire. And then he’d realized that he hadn’t used a word like metaphor since she’d been his study partner.

Not until they were stepping into the elevator did the hair on the back of his neck fall back into place. Who the hell was out there?

Claire pushed the button for the top floor. Huh. That would put her in one of the penthouses. If hers looked across to the other tower, to the penthouse his team had under surveillance, this evening might hold even more possibilities than he’d hoped it would.

They didn’t speak as the numbers ticked by, and then the elevator glided to a stop and the door opened with hardly a whisper. He followed Claire into a spacious and elegantly appointed foyer with a door at either end. His luck held. Keys in hand, she walked foward and opened the door he was hoping was hers.

Inside, his gaze went immediately to the wide, wraparound sweep of windows, taking in the view of Puget Sound to the west and the complex’s twin tower to the north.

Claire set her handbag and keys on the glossy black surface of a long, sleek console table, shrugged out of her jacket and hung it in the closet.

“Can I take your jacket?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Make yourself at home.”

He took a good look around and thought, Holy shit. So this is how the other half lives. He didn’t think he’d ever been in a home that was less homey. The space was huge and sprawling, with magazine-worthy living and dining areas, and an open kitchen that would hold half the basement suite he’d rented after he and Sherri split. Aside from the bare essentials, he had yet to furnish the place.

Claire had said the ex’s investments had done well. Either the guy had been filthy rich to start with, or she was the queen of understatement. Or the reality lay someplace in between.

“Impressive,” he said, crossing the polished wood floor, ostensibly to take in the view but instead zeroing in on his target in the neighboring tower. Bingo.

“That’s what everyone says. The view is what I’ll miss most after I...we sell the place.”

“I can see why,” he said, keeping the conversation moving while he scanned the neighboring penthouse his team had under surveillance.

Blinds obscured the bedroom windows where clients were “entertained,” but the main area was wide open. With proper surveillance equipment, he’d be able to see everyone who came and went from the place, including those who “worked” there. Tomorrow, first thing, he would talk to his sergeant. They didn’t like to involve civilians if it could be avoided, but this was too fine an opportunity to pass up.

“What kind of coffee would you like?”

He backed away from the window, turned and found himself caught in the green slitty-eyed gaze of a regal-looking Siamese cat. This would be Chloe. She sat on one end of the long, sleek black leather sofa, all four paws tucked out of sight beneath her, tail wrapped snugly around half her body. Suspecting the haughty feline would produce one of those hidden paws and shred his hand if he tried to pet her, he gave her a wide berth as he circled around the island to join Claire in the kitchen.

“What are my choices?”

“You can have anything you like.”

“Can I?”

Even the tip of her nose turned pink. “Cappuccino? Latte?”

He studied the elaborate-looking stainless-steel espresso machine on the counter. “Looks complicated. Does it make just plain coffee?”

“Of course.” She opened cupboards, reached for cups, took the lid off a canister and scooped out some coffee grounds.

He leaned against the island, while she turned her attention to the machine, and watched her work, admiring the way her blue sweater curved to the contours of her waist and hips. To his surprise, he liked that her invitation to come up for coffee really meant coffee. That hardly ever happened. There was a time he would have nailed a woman the second they stumbled into the apartment, and a time before that when he’d have jumped her in the elevator. Now he was making do with coffee with the one woman he’d always wanted to make out with, because Claire DeAngelo was way too good for a dry hump in a corner of an elevator.

“Here you go.” She held out a tall, steaming mug of coffee, smiled up at him and trailed her fingertips across the back of his hand when he took the cup from her.

Was she flirting? Huh. Maybe coffee wasn’t just coffee, after all. Before he could figure that out, she picked up her latte cup and saucer, took a sip and smiled as she swiped the foam off her upper lip with the tip of her tongue. Okay, that was no accident. He set his coffee on the counter, took hers and placed it next to his and locked gazes with her.

Aw, hell. He’d recognize that smolder anywhere. And yeah, he wanted this, really wanted it, but this had to be her call. Completely. She might not want to make the first move, but she needed to give him another sign if she wanted him to make it.

Her tongue played an encore across her bottom lip.

Did she have any idea how this affected him?

Her smile suggested she did.

He groaned and pulled her into his arms. “You’re sure about this?”

She leaned into him, smile gone, eyes even darker.

Please let her say yes.

“I’m sure.”

Close enough.

Kissing her to piss off the ex had been little more than a boost to his ego. Kissing her for real jump-started his libido in a way no other kiss had in a very long time. Come to think of it, he hadn’t kissed a woman in a very long time. Not since Sherri. Not since he got sober.

Stop thinking, he told himself, or you’ll talk yourself out of this one.

Claire slipped her hands inside the front of his jacket. He held his breath for a few seconds, hoping she didn’t encounter the Glock. He started breathing again when she slid her fingers up his chest, apparently none the wiser. Although she knew he was a cop, she wouldn’t like knowing he was armed.

Still doing too damn much thinking.

Claire leaned even closer, her body soft against his. Ordinarily that would have been enough to make him stop using his head, but knowing someone on the street had been watching him still had his senses on heightened alert, and now he was acutely aware of the wide expanse of windows behind them. Anyone who cared to watch would be able to see them.

“Which way to the bedroom?”

He hated to break the mood, hoped she wouldn’t change her mind, but she only tipped her head back and smiled.

“This way.” She took him by the hand and led him down a hallway and into a huge master suite.

“Wow.” There was a king-size bed, two bureaus, a pair of armchairs separated by a large ottoman and still enough space for a small dance floor. And the drapes were closed.

“I’ve never done this before,” she said.

This being...? he wondered, but didn’t dare ask.

“I mean, I’ve never brought another man here.”

Is that right? Now it was up to him to make sure she didn’t regret it. He shrugged off his leather jacket, slung it over the back of a chair and slowly closed the short distance between him and Claire. He watched her eyes, looking for any hint of reluctance, any suggestion that she might have changed her mind.

He stopped in front of her but didn’t touch her. Without missing a beat, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

He would let her set the pace, he decided. Even if it killed him.

He rested his hands on her hips, lightly, relishing the gentle sway as she pressed her mouth to his. Her tongue slid slowly across his lips and his resolve started to wane. For a woman unaccustomed to inviting men to her bedroom, she was damn good at it.

She shoved his T-shirt up his chest, and he made it easy for her by stripping it off and resuming the kiss. Her hands were warm against his bare flesh, and getting hotter by the minute. Time to return the favor. He tugged on her sweater and she let him pull it over her head, exposing a lacy white bra and full shapely breasts that were just...

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

He backed her up to the bed, let her go long enough for her to lie down and crawled on next to her, thinking that being horizontal with Claire might be the closest he would ever get to heaven.

“The light,” she said, adding a little gasp as his hand explored the lace undergarment.

“What about it?”

“We should turn it out.”

“No way.” He found the hooks at the back and released them with one hand, first try. Not exactly the sort of thing a guy could put on a resumé, but a damn handy skill to have. “I don’t want to miss a thing.”

The feel of her and the scent of her skin already had his senses on overload, but he wanted it all. He wanted to hear more of those breathy sighs, taste her and explore every square inch of her. The lights were staying on.

He took one breast into his mouth, marveling at the texture, and how the more he teased, the more it changed. With one hand he explored her belly, hip and thigh, still clad in dark jeans. Finally unable to resist, he slipped his fingers between her legs.

Even through the fabric she was hot and damp, and he was practically delirious with desire. He hardly dared let himself believe that Lucky Devil was about to get lucky with Claire DeAngelo. A momentary flash of uncertainty ripped through him, and he reminded himself that he needed to take this slow. She deserved to be worshipped, not ravished.

Apparently she had other ideas. She tugged at his belt buckle and when that didn’t give way, she ran her hand over the front of his jeans, covering him with her palm. What little willpower he had evaporated.

Next time they would take it slow. Or the time after that, for sure.

He closed his eyes and momentarily gave himself up to her intimate touch, then he undid her jeans, dipped a hand inside her panties and primed her with a couple of quick strokes.

She unzipped his fly and returned the favor.

He stroked her some more, smug in the knowledge that he was here with her, and she was hot for him. Him. He unbuckled his belt and unsnapped his jeans. She had found a way in, but he was desperate to give her full access. And she took full advantage.

This felt so right in so many ways. Sweet, shy Claire, who had always come across as being a little unsure of her womanhood, was moving to the rhythm of his touch, not afraid to show him what she wanted or give him what he needed.

His sense of personal triumph was interrupted by a sound from outside the bedroom. A key in the door? The hair went up on the back of his neck.

The door opened quietly and closed again.

What the hell?

In the space of a heartbeat his instincts shifted from the beautiful woman sprawled beside him to the disturbing awareness they were no longer alone. He put a finger to his lips, indicating she needed to be quiet, ignoring the fleeting second thought brought on by the scent of her.

His gut told him the intruder was the same person who’d been watching him earlier. In one swift silent move he stood, zipped his jeans and retrieved his gun from inside his jacket.

Claire’s eyes went wide. Shh, he silently cautioned her again.

He moved to the bedroom door, confident that his ability to silently cross the carpet like a cat gave him the advantage. Bad enough someone had picked the lock and broken into the place, but to interrupt him when he was about to have sex for the first time in a really long time? Whoever this was deserved to get shot.

He was halfway down the short hallway when a shadow slanted across the floor ahead of him. He flattened himself against the wall and waited. By the time the shadow-maker appeared, he was ready for him. He slammed the man face-first against the opposite wall and jerked one of his arms behind his back. Air gushed out of the guy’s chest with a pleasing oomph and the stale scent of whiskey. Luke jabbed the business end of his weapon between a couple of ribs.

“Seattle P.D. Don’t move, unless maybe you’ve got a death wish.”

“Police? What the...?”

Luke immediately recognized the voice. Claire’s ex. What was this son of a bitch doing here?

“This is break-and-enter.” Maybe a pat down would teach Mr. High-and-Mighty to think twice before stalking his ex-wife and breaking into her apartment. Still, some of his tension eased, knowing the intruder wasn’t one of the subjects they had under surveillance.

“Luke. Let him go.” Claire appeared in the bedroom doorway, and then light flooded the hallway. She had pulled on a dressing gown and folded her arms across the front to keep it closed.

Luke lowered his weapon and reluctantly backed off.

Donald swung away from him, flexing his arm. “How can I break and enter a place if I own it?”

“By not living in it,” Luke said. Did this jerk really believe he could come and go from here, from Claire’s home, anytime he pleased?

“I thought you were out.” Donald spoke to Claire as though Luke wasn’t in the room.

Luke took a step toward him. “I don’t believe you. You were sitting in your car out front when we got home. You came up here to find out what we were doing.”

Donald eyed Luke’s bare chest and unbuttoned jeans, then flicked his gaze at Claire. “It’s a free country. I can sit anywhere I want, anytime I want.”

“A free country?” What was this guy? Twelve? “Stalking is against the law. Maybe you’d like to take a trip down to the station and find out how goddamned free you’ll be then.”

“Luke. I’ll handle this.”

This no-nonsense Claire was new to him, and he liked her. Liked her a lot. He stood his ground, though, arms loose by his sides, ready to move if Donald decided to stay stupid.

“And you,” she said, turning on the ex. “You have no business being here, and you need to leave. Now.”

“But what about...”

“There are no buts, Donald. I have nothing to say to you. I told you I’ll call my lawyer. My lawyer will call your lawyer. Now get out.”

Luke had to hand it to her. A lot of women would have fallen apart under the circumstances, but not Claire. Her demeanor was calm and collected, her voice firm, even a bit forceful. She wasn’t backing down, and she wasn’t taking no for an answer. Still, he slowly reached around his back to where he’d stashed his gun. The action wasn’t lost on Donald, who held up both hands, palms out, and stepped away.

“Okay, okay. I’m going, but this isn’t over,” he said, backing toward the door, apparently not ballsy enough to turn his back on them. Good call.

“I want this place on the market, Claire. Soon. And I want that book back.”

“Out!” Claire’s voice was a little sharper.

Donald opened the door, but he didn’t leave. “You really a cop?” he asked.

“Yeah, I am.”

“You got a badge?”

“It’s in my jacket, in the bedroom.” You want a pissing contest? Bring it on, buddy. “Tell you what. You want me to produce my badge, I get to read you your rights.”

“That’s bullshit.” Now that Donald was out of the apartment, he seemed a little less intimidated and a lot more full of himself.

Luke dealt with guys like this all the time. Arrogant, never willing to acknowledge they were in the wrong, always wanting the last word. Short of locking them up, there was only one way to handle them. He shut the door in Donald’s face and flipped the dead bolt home with a sharp click. Not that a dead bolt could keep out someone with keys, but Luke was reasonably confident the guy wasn’t dumb enough to come back.

“You okay?” he asked, turning to face Claire.

Her bottom lip quivered a little and she shook her head.

“Come here.” He drew her into his arms and held her, happy to offer comfort but feeling like an ass because now he was mostly ticked that Donald’s appearance had blown his chances with her. Her breath was warm against his shoulder, her hair soft beneath his hand as he stroked the back of her head.

After a minute or two her body relaxed and she slipped her arms around his waist, letting the robe fall open as she did. He didn’t need to look down to know that before she’d put on the robe, she’d shed the bra he’d unfastened earlier.

He hooked her chin with a finger and tipped her face up, needing to get a read on what she wanted from him. He didn’t like what he saw.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “He’s never done anything like this before.”

Luke wasn’t so sure. Stalkers usually worked their way up to the kind of brazen behavior they’d seen tonight. If he had to guess, he’d say Donald had been at this for a while.

“You’re sure he’s never been in here? Maybe when you’re not home?”

Her eyes filled with concern. “I...I don’t know. I just assumed he wouldn’t. None of his things are here.”

You’re here. While Donald figured there was nothing wrong with hooking up with a new woman, he clearly had an issue with Claire moving on. Probably best not to upset her with that just now.

“I think you should change the lock.” He was kind of surprised she hadn’t already done that, but she had always wanted to believe the best in people.

“I’ll call a locksmith first thing in the morning. Otherwise I’ll never get any sleep.”

“Speaking of sleep, it’s getting late.” He brushed her hair back and lightly kissed her forehead. “You should get some rest. If it’ll help, I’ll spend the night on the sofa.”

“I’d like you to stay,” she said, demonstrating that need by sliding her hands over his hips and angling herself against him. “But not out here.”

For the second time that evening, she laced her fingers with his and led him into the bedroom. Oh, yeah. He really was a lucky devil. If anyone interrupted them this time, he just might shoot first and ask questions later.

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