KATE HOFFMANN
The Mighty Quinns: Declan

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

MILLS & BOON

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Coming Next Month

Prologue

“LEMME SEE!”

Declan Quinn held tight to the high stone wall as his big brother Ian gave him a shove. His grandmother’s opera glasses were clutched in his left hand as he trained them on the girl below. She was dressed only in a bikini, red with little yellow flowers. Lying on her stomach on a beach towel, she’d undone her top, and from the right angle, Dec could almost see her breast.

“Give me the damn binoculars,” Ian whispered.

With a low curse, Declan handed Ian his grandmother’s opera glasses, then swung his leg over the wall and straddled it. Kitty Donahue was fifteen years old and the daughter of their grandmother’s gardener. She usually accompanied her father on his Saturday chores. During the winter months, she sat in the solarium and worked on her studies. But in the summer, Dec and his brothers were treated to the mysteries of the female body as she sunbathed in a quiet corner of the garden.

She reached back to brush a bug from her shoulder and Ian moaned softly. “I can almost see it.”

“See what?”

They both looked down to find their little brother, Marcus, standing below them, a frown creasing his brow. “Nothing,” Dec said. “Go away, Marky.”

“What are you lookin’ at?” Marcus asked. He grabbed the tree that grew beside the wall and scrambled up on the other side of Dec. Searching through the bower of leaves, he finally spied the object of their interest and grinned. “She’s almost naked!” he cried.

“Shhhh!” Dec clamped a hand over Marcus’s mouth. “If you’re going to be up here, you have to be quiet.”

Wide-eyed, Marcus nodded and Dec slowly removed his hand. He took the opera glasses back from Ian and continued his study of Kitty. She was just about the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen—besides his mother and his sisters, Mary Grace and Jane.

He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, trying to picture them in his mind. It had been five years that June since he and his brothers had been home, five years since they’d last seen their parents or their older siblings. There were times when Dec wondered if they’d ever be reunited, or if the three youngest Quinn brothers would spend their entire lives in Ireland, living with their Grandmother Callahan.

Life with their maternal grandmother had been rough at first. Grace Callahan had never been a part of her grandchildren’s lives, living an ocean away in Ireland, estranged from her daughter, Emma. Though it had never been made clear to the boys, some disagreement had caused their mother to stop speaking to their grandmother long before they were born.

Still, every summer there had been an invitation for the Quinn children to visit Ireland. It was only after Emma Quinn had become horribly sick with cancer that she had finally allowed any of her children to go. And then, she’d sent just the youngest three, keeping the older children back to help support the family in the midst of mounting medical bills.

There had been no health insurance, no savings in case of emergency, but that hadn’t stopped Paddy Quinn from searching out the finest medical care for his wife. He and the older children worked at any job they could find, with little left over for luxuries like decent food, new clothes—or a visit to Ireland.

It was Ian who had taken over the role of father figure to the younger boys, appointing himself the boss of everything. Dec didn’t mind. Someone had to watch over them and though Dec was qualified, he had better things to spend his time on—like thinking about Kitty Donahue and all the other pretty Irish lasses who caught his fancy. Kitty was mysterious and fascinating and exciting. And she barely knew he existed.

“I can almost see her titties,” Marcus whispered.

Ian gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs. “Where did you learn that word?”

“Listenin’ to you tossers,” Marcus said. “Besides, that’s what they’re called, right?”

Dec rolled his eyes and Ian suppressed a grin. “Yeah,” Ian murmured. “That’s what they’re called.”

“I’m gonna go talk to her,” Dec said.

“I talked to her once,” Marcus said. He held out the small medallion he’d found in the barn a few years back. He now wore it around his neck on a leather string. “I showed her this. And I told her about the treasure.”

“She’s not interested in your silly old treasure,” Ian said.

“Yes, she was. When I showed her, she wanted me to tell her all about it. And I told her if she ever wanted to borrow my good luck charm, she could just ask.” He paused. “I think she likes me.”

“Not as much as she’s gonna like me,” Dec said. “I’m going down there.”

“Dec, don’t,” Ian pleaded. “She’ll figure out we’ve been watching her.”

“Who made you the boss of me?” Dec asked.

“Ian is the boss,” Marcus said. “Da made him the boss before we left and we’re supposed to listen to him. And if he says—”

“I listened,” Declan interrupted. “But that doesn’t mean I have to do everything he says.” He grinned. “I’m gonna ask her out. Maybe take her to a movie.”

“You are so full of shite,” Ian scoffed. “She’ll never go out with you.”

“We’ll see.” Dec dropped lightly to the ground and waded through the deep perennial beds until he stood on the grass beside Kitty. He glanced back up at Ian who watched him with barely concealed awe. Ian had always been more careful around girls, but Dec had never thought caution was much use. There was no denying that he appreciated a pretty girl, so why pretend otherwise?

He possessed a natural charm that usually appealed to the girls who he found worth pursuing. Girls had become his special talent, ever since he’d first tongue-kissed Alicia Dooley behind the rectory when he was eleven. Since then, he’d kissed a lot of girls. But he’d never approached a girl as worldly and sophisticated as Kitty Donahue. She was seriously out of his league.

But he was thirteen now and he considered himself experienced, enough that a girl like Kitty might just find him interesting. Declan cleared his throat and she glanced over her shoulder.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice tinged with boredom. “You’re in my sun.”

“What are ya readin’?” he asked.

“Jane Eyre,” she replied.

“Interesting?” He approached the blanket and sat down in front of her, then took the book from her fingers. “Would I like it?”

“It’s really not a book for blokes,” she said. “It’s romantic.”

Declan nodded as he examined the back of the book. “Blokes can be romantic.”

She laughed. “When were you ever romantic, Declan Quinn?”

“I wasn’t. Just said I could be if I wanted to be. So what would it take?”

“For what?”

“For you to go out with me?” Dec asked. He’d learned it was always best to use the element of surprise. And to display complete confidence, even if the odds of her agreeing to a date were astronomically low. If he caught her off guard she was more likely to think he’d done this before—and say yes.

“A lot more than you have,” she said.

“Like what?”

“A car for one,” she said. “I’m not going to be ridin’ around town on the back of your bleedin’ bicycle.”

“I have a car. And a chauffeur,” Declan said with a grin. “It’s a Rolls, you know. All the big rock stars have ’em.”

She considered his point for a long moment, as if the thought of riding around in his grandmother’s Rolls Royce appealed to her. “What about nicker?” she asked. “I’d expect you to take me somewhere nice and that will cost.”

“I’ve got money,” Dec said. “My nana gives me a big allowance and I never spend it all. I suppose I’d even have enough to buy you some flowers, or some candy.”

“Well, aren’t you a cheeky little hoor.” She tipped her head to the side. “Do me up, will ya?”

Carefully, Dec reached down and picked up the straps that fastened the back of her bikini together. He slid the hook through the loop, then glanced over to the trees, wondering what Ian was thinking. The skin on Kitty’s back was smooth and warm from the sun. When he finished, she sat up and readjusted her top until everything was properly covered, though not quickly enough to avoid giving Dec a nice view of her perfect breasts.

She wrapped her arms around her legs. “So, where are you going to take me?”

He dragged his gaze away from her chest and sent her a charming grin. “Wherever you want to go.”

“To supper,” she said. “At a nice place, with table linens and fancy silver. And then to the flicks. And after that, a ride around the city.”

“And when would you be likin’ me to take you on this date?” Dec asked.

“Friday evening. You can pick me up at six. Do you know where I live?”

He shook his head. “But I’m sure I can find out.” Dec rose to his feet, then rubbed his palms on the back of his jeans.

She gave him a smile that made his stomach do a little cartwheel. “It’s a date then. Friday at six. Now, hump off. And tell your brothers I can hear them up on that wall.”

“I’ll tell ’em,” Dec said. “And I’ll see you on Friday.”

Kitty stretched back out on the blanket and unfastened her top again, then grabbed her book and started to read. Dec decided to walk back to the house through the garden, leaving Ian and Marcus to wonder exactly what had transpired. If he was lucky, they’d heard it all and would be suitably impressed.

There wasn’t a girl in the world he couldn’t charm. And it was obvious that Kitty was no exception. She was one of the prettiest girls in her form at school and she was going out with him. He jogged toward the house, but before he reached the door, Ian and Marcus came crashing through the garden gate, both gasping for breath.

“You crazy git,” Ian said. “You asked her out, didn’t ya?”

Dec nodded. “I told you I would. Did ya hear? She said yes.”

Ian braced his hands on his knees and gulped in a few deep breaths. “What the hell does she see in a kid like you?”

“She doesn’t see a kid,” Dec said. “She sees a man.”

“Oh, yeah, right. You’re a man, you are. Well, tell me, Mr. Man, what are you going to do when she wants to snog in the backseat of Nana’s car? ’Cause that’s why she wants to drive all over Dublin with you. And what about when she sticks her hand down yer pants and wants to—”

“What’s snog mean?” Marcus asked.

“Never mind,” Ian said. “Kitty Donahue is used to goin’ with older boys. You better be ready to handle yourself or it’ll be a big embarrassment.”

Declan frowned. He hadn’t really thought about all the things that might go wrong. “I know what I’m doing,” he muttered. “And don’t go givin’ me advice, Ian. You haven’t ever been on a date, so what do you know?”

“About as much as you do, little brother.” He paused, kicking at the dirt with his toe. “So do you love her?”

Dec shrugged. “Nah. I’m only gonna fall in love once when I’m old. And I’m gonna love her until the end of forever, just the same way our da loves our ma. Until then, I’m gonna mess around with as many girls as I can.”

Dec followed Ian and Marcus into the house, glancing back once into the overgrown garden. Kitty Donahue had seen something in him, something she found interesting. Now, he’d just have to make sure he lived up to her expectations.

Even if he did mess up, the experience would have to count for something. By the time he was eighteen, Dec fully intended to have women figured out from top to bottom, inside and out. There’d be no guy alive who would have more women, except maybe James Bond.

1

SHE CAUGHT HIS gaze from across the room. Declan Quinn glanced over his shoulder at the beautiful blonde in the slinky blue dress. She gave him a seductive smile, an unspoken invitation to approach, and Dec let his gaze drift lazily from her face to her tanned and lithe body.

Her dress, cut low in the front, left her arms and shoulders tantalizingly bare. Though the length fell slightly below her knee, a deep slit offered a view of a well-toned thigh. From the moment she’d entered the party, they’d been caught in this silent dance, two strangers…interested…attracted.

Declan was never one to shy away from any interest from the opposite sex. But tonight, it could be no more than a casual attraction. Besides, it was obvious what she was looking for. From the huge diamond on her finger and the old man on her arm, she’d settle for a quick roll in the hay with a man half her husband’s age.

Dec had a strict policy of never mixing business with pleasure, no matter how stunningly attractive and warmly willing that pleasure might be. He was here in Newport to do a job, to provide security for Edward and Eva Winslow’s annual garden party. Screwing one of their guests in the hall closet just wasn’t considered professional behavior.

Dec’s cell phone buzzed in the pocket of his linen trousers and he snatched it out, turning away from the doe-eyed beauty. “Declan Quinn,” he murmured as he stepped off the terrace and into the house.

“Hi, Dec, it’s Sally Hughes over at Bonnett Harbor P.D. Your brother asked that I call you.”

“Is everything all right?” Dec asked, an uneasy feeling rushing over him. His older brother, Ian, was the police chief in their hometown of Bonnett Harbor, a small village across the waters of Narragansett Bay from Newport. “Are my folks all right?”

“Sure, sure,” she said. “I’m calling about Eden Ross. She’s been spotted over at the Sandpiper Motel. As far as we can tell, she called in a report of a car theft in progress in order to slip away from some tabloid press. We sent Delaney and Wilson over there and they’re holding the reporters. I figured if you’d like to talk to them, I’ll have them brought to the station.”

“Where’s Eden Ross?” Dec asked.

“She and the guy she was with slipped away sometime after our officers arrived.”

“Let me talk to Ian,” Dec said.

“I’m afraid he’s busy. He’s got a couple of agents from the FBI here on some art forgery case.”

Dec cursed softly. Just yesterday he’d had Ian in his office in Providence along with an art expert. Somehow, his brother had gotten mixed up with Hector Arantes, a known art forger, and Hector’s beautiful daughter, Marisol. The case had obviously taken a turn now that the FBI was involved and Ian would have no time to help Declan track down Eden Ross.

“Call your guys and tell them I’ll meet them at the Sandpiper,” he said. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

He snapped the phone shut and turned for the door, then felt a hand on his arm. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

The blonde slowly circled him, placing herself between him and the door. She leaned into him, her hips pressing against his suggestively. Dec forced a smile. “Business calls,” he said.

“There are more important things than business,” she said, her fingers sliding down his arm to touch his hand.

Dec chuckled. If he wanted her, he could have her, probably right underneath her husband’s nose. They could find an empty bedroom, lock the door behind them, and go at it for ten or fifteen minutes. Or they could make plans to meet later that evening, maybe at a discreet motel across the bay. Hell, there had been a time in his life when he would have welcomed sex without strings. But not now, and definitely not tonight.

“As much as I would like to indulge,” he said, “I’m afraid I can’t. First of all, I’m chasing a runaway party girl around New England and if I don’t find her, her father is going to cancel the million-dollar retainer he gives me to take care of his security needs. Secondly, I just recently promised my two brothers that I’d be celibate for three months and I don’t intend to break that promise. And thirdly, your husband is watching us right now and I certainly don’t want to have to knock him to the ground when he decides to defend your honor with his fists. There’s an obliging waiter passing out champagne over by the pool. I’m sure he’d be willing to satisfy your needs.”

She gasped softly as Declan turned and walked toward the front of the mansion. As difficult as it was to turn down a night in bed with a beautiful woman, he did have to keep his priorities straight. After all, he was the one who had challenged his brothers to the celibacy pact and he’d made it three weeks without a regret.

But then, the first week he’d been occupied with tracking down an embezzler for a client in Boston. The second week, he’d been conducting background checks for a client in New York City. And all of this past week had been spent chasing Eden Ross. Celibacy wasn’t too difficult if a guy didn’t have time to think about sex.

Declan spent the next few minutes coordinating security for the rest of the evening with the three employees he’d assigned to the party. By the time he reached the front door, his car had been brought around and was waiting. He tipped the valet, then hopped inside the BMW sedan and headed out to the main road.

This was the closest he’d come to finding Eden Ross but once again, she’d slipped through his fingers. Still, he knew she was close by and with a little luck, she’d decide to come home on her own. Chasing silly little socialites really wasn’t his forte. And the socialite in question had brought her problems on herself, choosing to appear in a naughty sex tape that just happened to make it on to the Internet.

Trevor Ross was his most important client, so Dec had to make an extraordinary effort. But Ross wouldn’t be happy at the latest news, especially since Eden had been seen in Dec’s backyard. He flipped on the radio and listened distractedly as he steered the car over the Newport Bridge.

“You’re tuned to the Ross Radio Network. It’s Saturday night, and this is Simply Sex with Dr. Lillian Devine.” Dec frowned, reaching out to pop a CD into the player, but the silken tones of the show’s hostess kept him listening a few moments longer.

“We’re still on the air with Carl from Los Angeles, California. Carl is wondering how he might spice up his sex life. My advice for you, Carl, is to spend some time focusing on your wife’s needs. The best way to increase her desire is to make her feel like she’s the only lover you could ever want. Invest in her orgasms. Make sure they’re the best they can be. Put aside your own desires until you’re certain all of her needs are being met.”

Dec found himself captivated by her voice, the way words dripped off her tongue like honey. A shiver skittered down his spine and he groaned. He didn’t need to be listening to this, especially considering his determination to control his sexual urges, at least for the next nine weeks.

But he continued to listen as Dr. Devine discussed the physiology of the female orgasm, the benefits of oral sex and battery-operated substitutes, and the top five female sexual fantasies. And when Dec finally reached the Sandpiper Motel, he found himself strangely aroused by all the frank talk. With a soft curse, he flipped the radio off and stepped out of the car.

“A woman with a voice like that should not be allowed to talk about sex,” he murmured as he walked over to the police cruiser. “How can she expect anyone to pay attention to what she’s saying? She’d be better off at 1-900-talk dirty to me.”

For all he knew, Dr. Lillian Devine was probably some frumpy fifty-year-old Ph.D Just the thought was like a bucket of ice water tossed down his pants.

But if she were beautiful and smart, then that would be one of his top five fantasies. She wouldn’t even have to be drop-dead gorgeous. Pretty would do, even cute. But smart and sexy was an irresistible combination, one he hadn’t enjoyed in a very long time. And if the woman could talk dirty to him, he’d be in heaven. Unfortunately, heaven was off-limits for the next nine weeks.

Delaney and Wilson, the two officers from the Bonnett Harbor police department, stood next to a car parked across the road from the Sandpiper. Dec approached and Delaney gave him a wave of recognition. “Sally said you wanted to talk to these guys.”

Dec nodded. “Are you sure it was Eden Ross?”

“They were,” Wilson said, nodding to the two men sitting in the backseat of the police cruiser. “And we ran the plate on the Mercedes parked in the lot. It’s registered to Trevor Ross. She must have taken the keys with her. They weren’t left in the room.”

Shaking his head, Dec ran his hand through his hair. “I guess you guys ought to be happy this girl doesn’t take up a life of crime. She is one slippery customer.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Trevor Ross’s private number. “Mr. Ross, Declan Quinn here. I’ve got some news on your daughter. It seems she did stop by your Newport house just long enough to steal one of your cars.”

Dec heard a curse on the other end of the line. “I want you to bring her and the car back to the house tonight,” Ross shouted.

“I’m afraid she slipped by us,” Dec said. “But, from what I can see, she’s safe.”

“Fine. Hell, I’m tired of wasting your time and my money trying to find her,” Ross said. “Besides, I have another case I need you to focus on. And it will require your complete attention. Have you ever heard of Dr. Lillian Devine?”

Dec reached into his jacket to pull out his Blackberry, surprised that Ross would bring up the name. “I have,” he said. “I just heard her earlier on the radio.”

“Her real name is Rachel Merrill and she’s one of our most valuable on-air talents,” Ross explained. “An important part of our syndication package. I’ve had my security guys watching over her but she refuses to let them get too close. I don’t think she believes the threat is that serious. Now it is.”

“How serious?” Dec asked.

“We had a letter delivered to the station tonight that was a blatant death threat. I need you to meet me in my office tomorrow afternoon and I’ll have my guys brief you. And then I want you to convince her that a 24-hour-a-day bodyguard is in her best interest.”

“How do you expect me to convince her of that?” Dec asked.

“You’re a charming guy. You figure it out. I want you on her until this nutcase is caught.”

Dec was paid a healthy retainer to be at Ross’s disposal, whenever a security concern came up. He listened as Ross gave him more details, putting the afternoon appointment into the PDA along with other relevant information. In truth, Dec had to breathe a silent sigh of relief that he could leave the search for Trevor’s wild daughter to others. He hadn’t spent four years in naval intelligence and another three building up Quinn Security and Investigations to spend his valuable time chasing silly heiresses around the countryside.

RACHEL MERRILL SLID HER KEY card into the garage door opener then slowly pulled her SUV ahead as the doors to the underground garage opened. She glanced over her shoulder, just to make sure that no one slipped into the garage in the dark. As she looked back, she saw her security detail pull up to the curb and wait. She let out a tightly held breath once the garage door was closed.

“Safe,” she murmured to herself. She was on her own now and the detail would be there in the morning to follow her during her daily routine. Rachel sighed. Just having security following her was enough to put her in a constant state of anxiety. She couldn’t remember the last time she wasn’t uneasy…watchful.

A few months ago, the thought of having a stalker was inconceivable. And at first, she’d brushed off the letters, thinking them to have been sent by an overzealous fan. But then the notes had begun to arrive with more frequency, messages left for her at the station at least two or three times a week. And when she found a letter at her home, she was forced to admit that her safety might just be in danger.

Her boss, Trevor Ross, had insisted she leave her cozy colonial in the College Hill section of Providence and move into a secure high-rise downtown. So Rachel had agreed, and a month ago, she’d packed her bags and headed to safer ground. Ross had given her a new SUV to drive, the tinted windows providing additional anonymity, and had also assigned her a security detail from his corporate force.

Rachel stopped at the valet booth near the elevators and waited for a few minutes, then decided to park the car herself. When she’d pulled the SUV into her parking spot, she turned off the ignition, then rummaged through her purse for her pepper spray. Though she felt relatively safe with the new location, the 24-hour parking valet, and the lobby security, she took her own precautions.

Rachel still found it odd that she’d attract the attention of a stalker. She’d never considered herself a celebrity. Her radio show, Simply Sex with Dr. Lillian Devine, could at times be controversial, inviting responses from all kinds of weirdos, but a stalker? Then again, perhaps it shouldn’t have come as any surprise. Normal, handsome, successful men hadn’t been beating down her door. Why not a strange, obsessive stranger instead?

She’d taken her radio name, Dr. Lillian Devine, to protect her reputation as an academic, but it also served another purpose—protecting her privacy. Now, whoever was stalking her probably knew that Rachel Merrill, Ph. D and associate professor of anthropology at Providence University, and Dr. Lillian Devine, radio sex therapist, were one and the same.

She’d always known there was risk that her double life might be revealed. And when Trevor Ross had offered her a syndicated radio show, she’d initially refused. But the money had been too good to pass up. Her life as Lillian Devine could fund more research for Dr. Rachel Merrill, and provide her some of the comforts that a college professor’s salary couldn’t.

So, every weekend, on Saturday and Sunday night between ten p.m. and one a.m., she hosted a nationally syndicated call-in show and answered any question posed regarding sexual behaviors, fetishes, obsessions, addictions and frustrations. Though she possessed a Ph.D in psychology, Rachel’s primary focus had always been more in tune with biology or anthropology—the study of human sexual behaviors. As an expert, she provided her listeners with keen insight into their problems. Last ratings period, her show had become the number four rated syndicated radio show nationwide, a jump of seven spots from the previous quarter.

But now, that popularity came with a price that far outweighed the benefit. She was living like a hunted animal, always looking over her shoulder, frightened of what or who might be waiting in the dark. The police were trying to find the stalker, but they had few leads.

Drawing a deep breath, she opened the door of the SUV and jumped out. As she walked toward the elevator, she turned back to set the alarm on the truck. It was then that she noticed the shadowy figure approaching from her right.

“Miss Merrill?”

Rachel picked up her pace and when she reached the elevator, frantically pushed the button again and again, hoping that the door would open and she could escape. She wanted to scream, but her adrenaline was pumping so hard, her throat seemed to close. As the stalker got closer, she knew a decision was at hand. Spinning around, she aimed her pepper spray at his head and pushed the nozzle.

Funny enough, her first reaction to his face wasn’t fear. Instead, she was immediately struck by how handsome he was. Stalkers weren’t supposed to be handsome. Or well-dressed. He held out his hand, as if to stop her, but a wave of panic suddenly overwhelmed her.

He saw the spray coming and he raised his hand just in time to block the stream. But the pepper spray had the desired effect. Just the smell made him cough and sputter and his eyes began to water. Cursing, he bent over at the waist, tugging his jacket up over his mouth and nose.

The bell for the elevator door sounded and Rachel dropped the pepper spray and rushed inside. Just as the door closed, he called her name again. “Leave me alone!” she screamed. “Just leave me alone.”

“I work for Trevor Ross,” the man shouted, adding a string of curses to the statement. “He sent me.”

The door shut and the elevator began to silently rise. Rachel’s pulse pounded in her ears and her breath came in quick gasps, but she felt as if she were outside her body. Slowly, her mind began to work again and confusion replaced the panic that had overwhelmed her.

He had been dressed much nicer than the average stalker, although she didn’t know exactly what the fashionable stalker wore these days. She imagined a hooded sweatshirt and grubby clothes, not a tailored sport jacket and finely pressed trousers. And his dark hair wasn’t shaggy and unkempt but neatly trimmed.

If Trevor Ross had sent the man, what was he doing skulking about in the garage? And how had he gotten inside? She needed some answers. So when she reached her floor, she pushed the button for the garage and the elevator slowly descended. When she got back to the garage, Rachel found him squatting against a pillar, his cheeks wet from tears, his head tipped back. He’d tossed his jacket aside and unbuttoned his shirt.

“Who are you?” she demanded, snatching up her pepper spray and aiming it at him again.

“My name is Declan Quinn,” he said, squinting up at her. “I run Quinn Security and Investigations. Trevor Ross has our firm on retainer.”

“Why are you here?”

“I’ve been called in to provide you with personal security. There was a death threat made last night during your radio show. Ross thought I might be able to convince you to accept round-the-clock security. Your security detail was supposed to call you and let you know I’d be waiting here.”

Her stomach roiled. “A—a death threat. Why didn’t someone tell me?”

“That’s why I’m here,” he replied.

Rachel wasn’t sure what to do. The guy looked trustworthy. And he did seem to know the specifics of her situation. “Let me see your badge,” she demanded, her voice shaking.

“I don’t carry a badge. I’m not a cop.” He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his cell phone. A tear trickled down his cheek and traced a path along his strong jawline. For a moment, Rachel couldn’t take her eyes off of it. “Here. Call Trevor Ross. His number is on my speed dial. He’ll explain everything.”

She hesitated. If he was working for her boss, then she’d just made a very big mistake. “Why did you come after me?” she asked.

“I was trying to introduce myself.”

With a soft oath, Rachel tossed the pepper spray aside and stepped closer. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him along toward the elevator, the fumes from the pepper spray burning at her own eyes. “You shouldn’t have startled me,” she scolded. “I’m really jumpy lately. And you came out of the dark. What was I supposed to do?”

“You did the right thing,” he admitted.

She stopped short. “I did?”

He nodded. “Your first duty was to protect yourself. And you did.”

They got inside the elevator and he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. Rachel pulled her jacket up over her mouth and nose and observed him silently, taking her first good look at the man. Her heart skipped a beat as she took in his handsome features, the dark hair casually mussed, the straight nose and strong jaw. Her gaze came to a stop at his mouth and a shiver skittered down her spine.

How could she have ever thought this guy was a stalker? A man as gorgeous as him would have to beat women off with a stick, not chase them around in the dark. She wondered what color his eyes were. It didn’t really matter. Regardless of the color, they’d just make him more attractive. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

He glanced over at her, his eyes narrow slits, then shook his head. “You hit me in the chest and the hands. I have to get these clothes off. And it’s burning my hands. But if you’re going to count on pepper spray as a defense, we’ll need to improve your aim.”

When the door opened on her floor, Rachel stepped out and the man followed her down the hall, his hand resting on her shoulder. His fingers were warm and gentle and when they slipped down to rest at the small of her back, Rachel felt herself go weak in the knees.

Such a simple, innocent touch shouldn’t have affected her so strongly. Perhaps it was all the adrenaline pumping through her body that heightened every sensation. Every nerve in her body tingled and she found herself fantasizing about all the other places he might touch her body.

He’d introduced himself, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember his name. In all the excitement, she’d completely lost her ability to think clearly. Quinn. That was it! But was it his first name or his last?

When they got inside, he gave the apartment a cursory glance. “I’ve got to get out of these clothes,” he murmured. “Where’s the bathroom?”

Rachel pointed to the hallway on the other side of the living room. “Down that hall, last door on the left.” She watched him retreat. She could count on two fingers the handsome men who’d wandered into her life over the past couple of years. Not that she’d been actively looking for a relationship, but she hadn’t been “not” looking for a man. It wasn’t supposed to be so difficult. If her talk show had taught her anything it was that there was a match out there for everyone. But then spraying a guy with pepper spray didn’t exactly create a great first impression.

She hurried down the hall and stood outside the bathroom door. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Do you have any cooking oil?” he asked through the door.

“I think so.” Rachel frowned as she headed to the kitchen. If he’d asked her for cottage cheese she would have felt obliged to provide it. After retrieving a bottle of canola oil, she returned to the bathroom and rapped on the door. When he didn’t answer, she pushed the door open.

He stood in front of the sink, bare-chested, his shirt wadded up in the corner. Rachel’s breath caught in her throat as she stared at his reflection in the mirror. He was slender, but quite muscular, broad-shouldered with a narrow waist and a flat belly. His trousers hung low on his waist, revealing a trail of hair that ran from his belly to beneath his waistband.

As he bent over the sink, she handed him the oil. He poured a bit onto his hands then rubbed it in. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Taking away the sting.” After he removed most of the oil with a towel, he doused his hands in her facial astringent. “You’re supposed to use alcohol, but I think this will do.”

“I have a bottle of vodka,” Rachel offered cheerily.

“I’d prefer Scotch,” he said. “On the rocks.” His voice was deep and rich, with a slightly cynical edge.

“I—I’ll just go get—”

He chuckled softly. “Never mind. I don’t drink on the job.”

“I could use a drink,” she murmured.

“Go ahead. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Rachel turned and walked back down the hall. When she reached the kitchen, she took a bottle of vodka from the freezer and poured a measure into a tumbler, then took a slow sip. This was not how she had expected the evening to end, with a half-naked man in her apartment.

After her show had finished at one a.m., she’d looked forward to a long, hot bath, a good book, perhaps a movie to wind down, and then a decent night’s sleep. In truth, that’s the best she hoped for every night. But since the letters had started, she hadn’t slept much at all. And now, a death threat. What was she supposed to do with that?

Rachel kicked off her shoes and sat down on the sofa, sinking into the down-filled cushions. She tucked her feet beneath her and sipped at the vodka, listening to the sounds of a real live man in her apartment. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend he was here for a different reason—for a romantic reason, that he’d emerge from the bathroom completely naked and aroused and ready to seduce her.

The fantasy was enough to distract her mind from her stalker, but then Rachel groaned and pressed her flushed face into a pillow. After what she’d done, the last thing he’d be interested in was getting cozy with her.

A few minutes later, he walked into the living room. His hair was wet and he’d draped a towel around his neck. His eyes weren’t watering anymore and Rachel could see they were a deep shade of blue. She swallowed hard and tried to smile. “Better?” she asked.

He nodded, then plucked at the towel. “I hope you don’t mind. My shirt is trashed for now. And I left my bags down in my car. Any chance you have a T-shirt I could borrow?”

Bags. He obviously intended to stay, at least overnight. Who was she to object? Rachel shook her head. “No.” In truth, she probably did have something he could wear, but she preferred him half-naked. “If you call the parking valet, he’ll get your bags and bring them up.”

He sat down across from her and rubbed the towel over his damp head. “How long have you been carrying pepper spray?” he asked.

Rachel shrugged. She didn’t want to talk about the stalker. For once, she just wanted to put it out of her mind and relax. She was safe for the time being and she wanted to enjoy it. “What did you say your name was?” she asked, running her finger around the rim of the tumbler.

“Quinn. Declan Quinn.”

“And Trevor sent you?”

He nodded. “After the latest threat was called in to the—”

Rachel held up her hand to stop him. “I don’t need to hear about it.”

“Do you have any idea who might be doing this?” Declan asked.

Her gaze flitted over his body, coming to rest on his hands. They were beautiful hands, well-formed with long fingers and neatly groomed nails. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a drink?” Rachel countered. “I think I do have some scotch.” She got up from the sofa and he quickly rose and grabbed her arm to stop her. His fingers were warm on her skin and she looked down at the spot where he touched her, suddenly unable to breathe. “I—I guess not.”

“Sit,” he insisted. Rachel did as she was told, only this time, Declan sat down next to her, stretching his arm out across the back of the sofa. “Why don’t you want to talk about this?”

“I’d just like to stop thinking about it for a while. I don’t know who’s behind the letters. I don’t know if he’s serious or just out to scare me. I’ve talked to a few thousand people over the past couple of years, so it could be anyone. The police can’t seem to find this person and they don’t take his letters very seriously.”

“They will now,” Declan said. “It is serious. He threatened to kill you.”

“And that’s why you’re here? To protect me?”

He reached out to take her hand, and the moment he touched her, she felt a current run through her body. Rachel held her breath, fighting the urge to curl up against his body and fall asleep. “I’m tired.” She glanced up at him. “You’re going to sleep here tonight?”

“If that’s all right with you. I can sleep on the sofa.”

“There’s a guest room,” she offered. “You might find something to wear in there. Mr. Ross keeps this apartment for out-of-town business associates, so maybe someone left something behind. And I’ll call downstairs and have them bring your bags up as soon as they can.”

She slowly rose, but he held on to her hand, his fingers weaving through hers. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.

Rachel nodded, touched by his concern. “I should be the one asking you that.”

“Hey,” Declan kidded. “I’m tough. It’ll take a lot more than a little pepper spray to stop me.”

There was something so perfect about his face, she mused. Handsome, yet boyish, but so focused. Her cheeks warmed with another blush. This was silly. She was treating him like some hero come to rescue her. He was an employee, a bodyguard whose only purpose was to make sure she was safe. As much as she wanted to imagine him as her very own sex slave, it wasn’t going to happen.

“Good night,” she murmured. With that, Rachel turned and walked to her room. She closed the door behind her and slowly began to undress, dropping her clothes across an overstuffed chair in the corner.

But she couldn’t drag her thoughts away from the man she’d left in her living room. Sure, Declan Quinn was handsome and powerfully attractive. He was everything she might want in a lover. The only problem was, Rachel hadn’t had a lover in her bed in more than a year and had begun to wonder if she’d ever find another man willing to slip between her sheets.

Intellectually, she knew women could live without sex indefinitely, but the physical ache she felt at times was getting almost overwhelming. She wanted to touch a man’s skin, to inhale his scent and feel the weight of his body on top of hers.

Men felt a much greater imperative to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh on at least a weekly or monthly basis. But a year-long drought was bordering on pathetic. Declan Quinn had probably had sex at least once or twice in the last week, maybe even with two different women.

She could write off her drought as a result of a busy work schedule or a lack of suitable prospects. There had been a few men who seemed like good candidates, but once they found out what she did for a living, they were less than enthusiastic about spending a night in her bed.

Rachel had tried to explain that she wouldn’t be judgmental or critical, that even though she was an expert in sex, her persona was more a title the media had given her than an indication of her sexual prowess. In truth, her “book learning” far surpassed her actual practical knowledge. She knew exactly what caused a female orgasm, the physiological process that a woman’s body went through, but she’d enjoyed precious few orgasms herself.

She had Declan Quinn at her beck and call for at least the near future. So, if she wanted to explore her options, now would be a good time. Rachel was well aware of what it took to seduce a man—in most cases, not much. Men were much more vulnerable to seduction, able to become aroused with just the thought of sex.

Rachel slipped a thin cotton nightgown over her head, then crawled into bed, pulling the sheets up to her nose. She could walk out into the living room right now, stark naked, and chances were good that Declan wouldn’t be able to resist a willing female.

With a low groan, she sat up and punched her pillow. For now, she’d get some badly needed sleep. Her sex life could stay the way it was, at least for the next eight hours. Tomorrow morning, she’d reconsider her options. “He could be married,” she murmured, trying to rationalize her reluctance. “Or seriously involved.”

The last thing she needed to deal with now, on top of everything else, was rejection. Especially at the hands of a man as sexy as Declan Quinn.

2

DECLAN SWITCHED OFF the light in the guest room. He carried the pillow and the blanket down the hall, then tossed them both on the sofa in the living room. He could choose to sleep in the comfort and relative privacy of the guest room, but he wasn’t a guest. He had a job to do and didn’t intend to let any bothersome sexual attraction get in the way.

He flopped down on the sofa, then kicked off his shoes. His hands and chest still stung from the pepper spray, but the effects had nearly worn off and he could see again. His mind flashed with an image of Rachel Merrill and he remembered his reaction when he’d first been able to see her clearly.

He’d known a lot of beautiful women but they’d all been beautiful in a conventional way. Thinking back, they’d all shared the same qualities—long, sexy hair, trainer-toned and tanned bodies, and a wardrobe that seemed designed to reveal as much cleavage as possible.

Rachel Merrill was one of those rare women, a woman who was completely unaware of her beauty. She seemed a bit shy and unsure of herself, which only made her more attractive. The striking auburn hair and porcelain complexion didn’t hurt her either. Though she wore her hair in a practical shoulder-length style, the tousled waves made it look as though she’d just spent a wild night in bed.

But it was her mouth that Declan found most attractive, the bee-stung lips that just begged to be kissed. A man could lose his soul thinking about that mouth. Declan tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. And that body. That perfect, slender body with the delicate limbs and the tiny waist, hidden beneath the conservative clothes.

He groaned softly. It had been three weeks since he’d made the deal with his brothers, a bet that they could all remain celibate for three months, a bet they’d reminded him of just yesterday when they’d met for breakfast. They’d all taken the oath on Marcus’s little gold charm and tossed a thousand bucks into the pot to make the competition more interesting.

Until tonight, Declan had been sure he’d win. He’d noticed yesterday that Marcus and Ian were already showing signs of cracking. Though he didn’t have any proof that they’d broken the pact, he had his suspicions. The bet doubled if either of them actually had sex before the three months were out, so Declan could win as much as four thousand dollars.

It wasn’t the money, though. He could make four thousand in the course of an evening. He’d suggested the deal because he’d reached a point of frustration in his life. Everyone around him was settling down and starting a family—his friends, his cousins, guys he’d never expected to find the perfect mate.

Over the past year, Dec had begun to question whether he might be missing out on something. He’d never had a relationship that lasted longer than three months, and that had been fine with him, until now. But lately, he’d begun to wonder if there was something wrong with him, if he was supposed to want the white picket fence, the mini-van in the garage and loving wife to come home to every night.

He stood up and unbuckled his belt then let his linen trousers drop to the floor, wriggling his feet out of his socks in the process. Declan slowly walked around the apartment in his boxer briefs, listening to the soft hiss of the air conditioning.

The place was almost sterile, with nothing of Rachel scattered about. He couldn’t even appease his curiosity by poking through her belongings. Instead, he wandered over to the windows. The apartment was on the thirty-sixth floor of Providence’s exclusive One Ten building, the southeast balcony overlooking the river.

Dec walked into the spacious kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator, hoping to find a cold beer but willing to settle for anything to snack on. He pulled out a bottle of orange juice then found a box of crackers in an adjacent cupboard. But as he was going back to the living room, he heard a soft knock at the door. He set the juice and crackers on the dining room table, then walked over to the door and peered out the peephole. Dec recognized the uniform of the building’s security force and he unlocked the door and pulled it open.

The man smiled and nodded. “Mr. Quinn. I’ve brought your luggage. And this envelope just arrived downstairs. The courier said I was to deliver it directly to you. It’s from Mr. Ross. If you have any questions, you’re asked to call him in the morning.”

Dec took the envelope and the guard set his bags inside the doorway. “Thanks,” he murmured. He closed the door and walked over to the sofa, then sat down on the end nearest the lamp. Inside the envelope, he found several file folders. The first was a copy of Rachel’s personnel file, complete with press clippings and photos. The second was a copy of an investigation report. Ross had hired a small Providence P.I. firm to check out her stalker and their findings were tucked behind a stack of hand-written notes—notes from Rachel’s stalker.

But instead of reading through them, he went back to the first folder and withdrew an 8 by 10 glossy of Rachel. Attached to it was a résumé that was several years old. “Born in New York, New York,” he murmured. “April 18, 1977.” That made her just a year younger than him. He read down the list of her professional degrees and certifications, her published articles, then scanned for more personal data. But everything in the file related to her work experience.

The sound of conversation drew his attention away from the file and Dec stood and crossed to the door again, listening for people outside in the hallway. But the words were coming from inside the apartment—from Rachel’s room. As he walked toward Rachel’s bedroom, he assumed she was talking on the phone. But when he stood outside and listened to the senseless babble, he realized she was talking in her sleep.

Dec quietly opened the door to her bedroom and poked his head inside. The bedside lamp was still on, bathing the room in a soft pink light. Rachel lay sprawled on the bed, her limbs tangled in the sheets, her nearly sheer nightgown riding high on her thighs. She seemed agitated, tossing her head from side to side as she mumbled.

He stared at her body, the breath slowly leaving his lungs. The soft mounds of her breasts pressed against the cotton, her nipples visible beneath the thin fabric. His gaze slowly scanned down, to the dark shadow between her legs. Dec knew he shouldn’t look, but he couldn’t help himself. His curiosity needed to be satisfied, but now that it was, it made it more difficult to put her out of his thoughts.

As he watched her, her distress seemed to grow and he wondered if, even in sleep, she sensed his presence. Dec stepped inside and slowly crossed to the bed. He wasn’t sure if he ought to wake her, afraid that she might not recognize him and be frightened. But she was obviously caught in the midst of a nightmare.

He gently took her hand and murmured her name, pressing his lips to the back of her wrist. He gave in to the impulse before he realized it and Dec quickly set her hand down. Suddenly, her eyes flew open and she bolted upright. Rachel looked at him for a long moment, her gaze uncomprehending. Then she relaxed, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth.

At first, Dec wasn’t sure how to respond. But a few seconds later, he returned the kiss, his tongue meeting hers in a delicious dance. She pulled him down on the bed, his body covering hers, his hands furrowed in her thick hair.

Declan had kissed a lot of women in his life, but never had a kiss surprised him so. It was crazy and passionate and full of unspoken promise. And as suddenly as it had begun, it ended.

Rachel drew back, her eyes closed, a tiny smile curling the corners of her mouth. “I have to go to the library now,” she whispered. She snuggled into the pillows and a moment later, she was fast asleep.

Declan rocked back on his heels and then glanced down at his lap. His reaction to the kiss was instant and intense. He’d never enjoyed such an uninhibited, yet purely innocent kiss. Ironically, Rachel probably wouldn’t even remember it the next morning. Perhaps that was for the best, Declan mused. Things were uncomfortable enough between them. He didn’t need to have her embarrassed over behavior she couldn’t control.

Still, Dec couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened had the kiss been real, borne out of conscious thought rather than the haze of a dream. What would have happened if she’d been awake and kissed him. He wouldn’t have put up any resistance even though refusing her should have been his standard, by-the-book response.

The hell with the book, Dec thought. Somehow, he didn’t think the book applied when it came to Rachel Merrill. If something did happen between the two of them, then he’d deal with it. But it was silly to anticipate an attraction that probably wasn’t even there. Rachel just didn’t seem all that interested.

RACHEL PUSHED UP ON HER elbow and punched her pillow, frustrated by her inability to sleep. She’d slept for three or four hours before being awoken by an odd dream. She’d been at her office and Declan Quinn had been there with her. And she’d kissed him.

She groaned. What did she expect? There was a handsome man sound asleep just a few feet away from her bedroom. Of course her mind would wander to thoughts of him. In truth, she’d spent the entire night thinking about him.

“Don’t fantasize about the bodyguard,” she muttered, flopping back down into the pillows. He’d been sent to do a job, and though it seemed as if he cared about her, that’s what he was paid to do. To think his interest was rooted in attraction was simply deluding herself.

But it was such a delicious delusion, she thought, smiling to herself. Declan Quinn was a gorgeous man. His dark hair was nearly black and he wore it just a bit longer on the top, just long enough for a woman to run her fingers through it when she kissed him.

Her thoughts switched to his mouth and Rachel wondered what it might feel like to kiss him. He’d probably kissed a lot of women. A man who looked like that wouldn’t have any shortage of female companions. And that voice, so deep and rich, was designed to seduce, to convince a woman that all she really needed to make her life complete was to strip off her clothes and climb into bed with him.

Rachel hadn’t had to imagine what his body was like. His little encounter with pepper spray had offered her a chance to see just what was under his clothes. A shiver ran through her and she sat up again. Tossing the bedcovers aside, she stared up at the bedroom ceiling.

She’d lost enough sleep over the past few weeks worrying about her stalker. It was strange to be kept awake by other thoughts. Reaching for one of her journals on the bedside table, she searched for anything to clear her mind. A nice long article on anthropological research should do the trick.

But she read the same paragraph over and over, her mind returning each time to the man sleeping in her apartment. Rachel rolled out of bed and walked over to the mirror above a low dresser. She stared at her reflection in the soft light from the bedside lamp. Smoothing her hands over the thin cotton of her nightgown, she looked at her figure critically.

Unlike many single women her age, Rachel didn’t work out. She hated exercise and hated sweating even more. But though her body might be a bit soft, she still considered it attractive enough to interest a man. A tiny waist, nice hips, and breasts that were just the right size. “Not too big, not too small,” she murmured.

She tipped her head to one side. She’d never considered herself beautiful, though. The features of her face, taken individually, weren’t that remarkable. But combined, some men might consider her pretty. And then there was her hair.

She ran her fingers through the thick auburn waves, cropped to just above her shoulders, then turned away from the mirror and walked back to the bed. Her hair had always been the bane of her existence, from the time she was a little girl. It never looked as though she’d done much to style it and usually she hadn’t.

Rachel knew the effect of physical beauty on sexual attraction. Every person had a checklist of qualities they looked for in their perfect mate, a list condensed and honed over time. She could be the most beautiful woman in the world and if she didn’t fit Declan Quinn’s profile, then she was out of luck.

She crawled back into bed, then listened as her stomach growled. That’s why she couldn’t sleep. She was hungry. Rachel grabbed her robe and pulled it on over her nightgown. She walked out of her room, passing the closed door of the guest room. Pausing, Rachel listened for the sounds of his breathing, but she couldn’t hear anything.

When she reached the living room, Rachel realized why. Declan was stretched out on the sofa, dressed only in his boxer briefs. Though he’d grabbed a blanket from the guest room, it lay on the floor beside the couch, just one corner tangled around his foot.

Rachel drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. The only source of brightness in the room came from the kitchen, from the light above the stove that she left on. It was just enough to make out the details of his face and body. She watched him breathe in and out, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm.

She walked over to the overstuffed chair opposite the sofa and sat down, tucking her legs beneath her. Slowly, she let her gaze wander over his body. Attraction was such a strange and mystical thing, she mused. She’d met lots of nice-looking, successful professionals over the course of her adult life, but not one of them had piqued her interest the way Declan had.

But was it really him, or was it simply the fact that she hadn’t had a man in her life for such a long time? Men had a drive to find sexual partners on a regular basis. It was part of their physiological and psychological make-up. But Rachel had the same needs, though not quite as urgent or overwhelming.

The thought of a man, naked and aroused, lying beside and on top of her, touching her, invading her body with his…The thought created an ache inside of her, a need she felt compelled to satisfy.

Since the sexual revolution of the sixties, it had become much easier for women to seek out their own pleasure, at least in theory. But in practice, it was quite a different matter. Convincing a man to bed her took determination and resourcefulness.

Rachel knew exactly how to do it, at least by the book. But there was no way to predict whether Declan would respond, or whether he’d notice at all. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes. Perhaps this wasn’t the right man or the right time. She sighed as an image of him swirled in her mind. Still, she wouldn’t know until she tried.

DECLAN SLOWLY OPENED HIS EYES, then became instantly alert to his surroundings. He was in Rachel Merrill’s apartment, sleeping on her sofa, the dawn just coloring the sky outside the windows of the high-rise. The papers from Rachel’s file were spread out on the floor around him. He pushed up on his elbows and yawned, then froze when he saw the outline of a figure standing next to the chair. Dec’s instincts kicked in and he jumped up, ready to defend himself.

It was only after the figure took a step back that he realized he was looking at Rachel. He reached over and turned on the lamp and they stared at each other for a long moment.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I’m not scared,” he said.

Her glaze dropped to his crotch and Dec looked down to find an early morning erection pressing against the fabric of his boxer briefs. He’d been dreaming, a very vivid dream, he recalled. And it had involved Rachel. He reached out and grabbed a pillow, holding it in front of him.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” she said with an earnest look. “It’s a perfectly normal physiological reaction. It happens during REM sleep. In fact, you probably have three or four a night without even knowing. You have them when you dream, even if the dream isn’t sexual.”

“It wasn’t,” he said.

She shook her head, her hair falling into soft waves around her face. “I wasn’t accusing you. Although there’s nothing wrong with having sexual dreams. That’s normal, too.”

“Can we stop talking about this?”

She shrugged and sat down in the chair across from the sofa, tucking her feet up beneath her. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed to talk about sex. It’s perfectly—”

“I know,” Declan said. “Normal.”

She nodded. For a long while, she watched him, her unflinching gaze fixed on his face, the intensity of her study a bit unnerving. It was as if she could see inside his head, as if she knew his thoughts before he did. Dec couldn’t deny that he’d had more than a few erotic thoughts about Rachel over the course of the night. But what man wouldn’t? It was perfectly—He cursed inwardly. “So, I guess you know a lot about sex,” he commented.

She tucked her feet beneath her. “Some people would call me an expert. That’s how I got into this. I wrote a paper for the journals on sexual addiction and then CNN called me to appear on a few of their talk shows when some celebrities claimed sexual addiction in their divorce proceedings. That’s how Trevor Ross found me. He liked the way I sounded and asked if I’d be interested in having my own radio show. The offer was good, so I said yes.”

“And that’s how you became Dr. Devine?”

“I thought it would be better to take a pseudonym. The university frowns upon pop psychology. I think they believe it might tarnish my reputation as an academic.”

“Talking about erections on the radio does seem a bit out there.”

“I help a lot of people,” she said, a hint of defensiveness in her voice. “You’d be surprised at how many of my listeners are completely undereducated when it comes to sex. I believe we should be open and honest about our sexual desires.”

“And what are your desires?” he asked. The question was out of his mouth before he even realized he was thinking it. Dec cursed softly. “Sorry, that’s personal.”

“No,” she said. “We might as well be honest with each other.” Rachel paused. “Of course, you probably know how charming you are. And I do find you very attractive.”

“I find you attractive,” he countered, smiling at her. She was right. It felt good to admit it. “And I was dreaming about you when you woke me up.”

Rachel smiled. “See, that wasn’t so difficult. Now that we’ve said it, we understand each other.”

“That’s it?” Dec said.

She nodded. “Yes.”

“I don’t think it’s that easy. We’re going to be stuck together for a few days, maybe even weeks. Don’t you think being attracted to each other might cause a problem?”

“Why should it? We’re two adults who can control our impulses. Just because we find each other attractive doesn’t mean we need to rush off to bed.”

“At least not right away,” he teased.

She blushed, then giggled softly. “Are you hungry? I could make breakfast for us. I think I have eggs. And English muffins. Or I could make French toast.”

“French toast sounds good,” he said, noticing how deftly she changed the conversation to suit her.

She walked to the kitchen as Dec retrieved his pants from the floor and tugged them on. He joined her a few moments later, sliding into a spot at the breakfast bar.

“I slept well last night,” she said. “I felt safe with you here.”

Perhaps she’d been safe from the stalker, Dec mused, but considering his own preoccupation with her, her virtue was definitely at risk. “I heard you talking in your sleep. Were you having a bad dream?”

She glanced up from the carton of eggs she’d opened on the counter. “I don’t think so. I don’t remember.”

“I was reading your file last night,” Dec said.

“Did you find it interesting?”

“There wasn’t any personal information in there, Miss Merrill.”

“Rachel,” she insisted. “I think we’ve gotten past formalities, don’t you?”

“Rachel,” he repeated. He liked the sound of her name on his lips. He wanted to say it a few more times, pleased with the added level of intimacy it gave them. “Tell me, Rachel. Is there anyone in your private life, an ex-boyfriend, a scorned lover, who might be writing those letters?”

She sat down across from him at the breakfast bar and braced her chin in her palm, toying absentmindedly with a pencil. “I wish it was someone I know, but it isn’t. I’ve tried to come up with a list. I have listeners. I also have clients from a small private counseling practice I maintain and from seminars that I conduct regularly. And then there’s my research work at the university which puts me in contact with more students.”

“So would you say we’re looking at thousands of potential suspects?”

She winced. “Yes. I suppose so.” Glancing up at him, she met his gaze. “You’re never going to catch this guy, are you?”

“We may just have to go about this another way. Sooner or later, he’ll make a mistake and I’ll be there to catch him.”

“How?”

“First, I’m going to make sure you’re never in any danger. From now on, you listen to me when it comes to matters of your own personal security. Understood?”

“It could be a her,” Rachel commented as she slid off the stool and continued making breakfast. Dec watched as she focused on beating the eggs in a shallow ceramic bowl. Her hair fell down around her face in pretty waves and every now and then, she glanced up at him as if his attention made her uneasy.

“Why don’t we start with boyfriends,” Dec suggested. He’d been curious since reading her file the night before. “Do you have a boyfriend now?”

“No,” she replied, her answer short and inviting no further probing. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No,” he replied.

She snatched the bag of bread out of the refrigerator and opened it, then tossed three pieces into the eggs. “You’re going to tell me that most stalkers are former boyfriends or lovers. But that’s not true in this case.”

Dec got up and stood next to her at the stove, watching as she heated oil in the pan. “How do you know?”

She drew a deep breath, then glanced over at him. “Because the men I’ve been with have been the ones to break off the relationship. I’ve always been the one to get dumped. That pretty much eliminates the ex-boyfriend theory.” Declan watched as her gaze fixed on his mouth. “I did have a dream last night,” she murmured. She shook her head, then forced a smile. “So are you the only one who’ll be guarding me or will someone else replace you when your shift is over?”

As president of his own security company, Dec rarely did more than supervise his staff and attend the occasional social event. But after meeting Rachel, perhaps it was time to get back in the trenches and do some real security work. After all, it was good to keep his instincts honed. And if he couldn’t find Eden Ross, the least he could do was protect one of Trevor Ross’s most valuable business assets. “I’m with you until we find this guy,” he said softly, the urge to kiss her growing stronger by the second. “I don’t want to trust this to anyone else.”

“How will that work?” she murmured. “Will you move in here?”

Dec nodded. “And eat here, and follow you around and keep an eye on anyone else following you around. This person is going to show up sooner or later and I plan to be there.”

“And what are we going to do about this?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“What?”

Rachel reached out and placed her palm on his naked chest. Slowly, she let her fingertips skim down to his waist and back up again. The sensation of her touch on his body brought an instant response, causing his shaft to grow hard between them.

“This,” she said, pressing her hand to his heart. She glanced down. “And that.”

“Like you said, we’re both adults. I don’t mix business with pleasure and you certainly know the pitfalls of casual sex. So we’ll just have to have an understanding that this will go no further.”

Rachel let her hand drop to her side, then turned her attention back to breakfast. “I have to go over to the university today,” she said. “I assume you plan to come with me?”

“Yep.”

Dec busied himself making a pot of coffee as Rachel finished the French toast. As the coffee brewed, he sat back and watched her move about the kitchen with an ease and grace that he found fascinating. Her silky robe clung to her body and offered a tempting view of her legs.

Spending twenty-four hours a day with Rachel could hardly be considered work, but it would test his willpower. And resisting the urge to kiss her would be a chore. He’d just have to remind himself he was here to do a job. And that job did not include seducing Rachel.

She handed him a plate of French toast, then set the syrup down next to his plate. “I’m not much of a cook,” she said. “If it’s bad, you can have cereal.”

“It looks good,” Dec said.

Rachel sat down beside him and dug into her food. As she bent forward, her robe gaped open and offered a tantalizing view of her breasts. She was so intent on eating that she didn’t notice his interest.

“So,” she murmured, between bites. “Tell me something. When you masturbate, do you prefer to use magazines or porno videos?”

Declan gasped, hot coffee going down his windpipe. He coughed, unable to catch a breath. He cleared his throat and tried to stop his eyes from watering. “What?”

“Sorry,” she said. “I guess I should have saved that question for dinner. It’s just that I’ve been doing research on the subject and I’m curious to get your perspective.”

“Why don’t we save the discussion for the evening meal.” He shook his head. Talking about sex on the radio had obviously eliminated any inhibitions Rachel had about bringing it up in casual conversation. Dec couldn’t help wondering if she’d participate in an equally relaxed manner. Did her open attitude extend beyond the radio airwaves to the bedroom?

He took another bite of his French toast, then washed it down with a swig of coffee. This wasn’t going to be easy resisting her rather unusual charms. Especially since she seemed determined to expose every sexual secret he possessed. Talking about sex had never been a turn-on for him before, but he found himself curiously aroused by it now.

Perhaps he ought to appease his curiosity, just kiss her once and rid himself of this attraction to her. It would be so simple to just pull her into his arms and have at it. Maybe then, he could get his mind back on the job at hand, guarding Rachel’s body instead of lusting after it.

At the next available opportunity, he’d consider the tactic. After all, it would be for her own good.

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