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“Trust Me.”
Quinn turned toward her. Claire raised her gaze to his. He looked at her mouth. Full lips, parted just slightly.
Couldn’t. He looked away, tried to focus. Shouldn’t.
“Claire,” he said.
“What?”
He cupped her face, waited two seconds for her to object, then he kissed her. He felt her breath stop, then she took a long, slow breath and kissed him back. Her hands pressed against his chest then slid higher. Before she wrapped her arms around his neck he pulled back.
He wasn’t going to apologize for something she apparently wanted as much as he did.
Except that he had rules, and he’d just broken one.
Dear Reader,
Thank you for choosing Silhouette Desire. As always, we have a fabulous array of stories for you to enjoy, starting with Just a Taste by Bronwyn Jameson, the latest installment in our DYNASTIES: THE ASHTONS continuity series. This tale of forbidden attraction between two romance-wary souls will leave you breathless and wanting more from this wonderful author—who will have a brand-new miniseries of her own, PRINCES OF THE OUTBACK, out later this year.
The terrific Annette Broadrick is back with another book in her CRENSHAWS OF TEXAS series. Double Identity is an engrossing page-turner about seduction and lies…you know, all that good stuff! Susan Crosby continues her BEHIND CLOSED DOORS series with Rules of Attraction, the first of three brand-new stories set in the world of very private investigations. Roxanne St. Claire brings us a fabulous McGrath brother hero caught in an unexpected situation, in When the Earth Moves. Rochelle Alers’s THE BLACKSTONES OF VIRGINIA series wraps up with Beyond Business, a story in which the Blackstone patriarch gets involved in a surprise romance with his new—and very pregnant—assistant. And last but certainly not least, the engaging Amy Jo Cousins is back this month with Sleeping Arrangements, a terms-of-the-will story not to be missed.
Here’s hoping you enjoy all six of our selections this month. And, in the months to come, look for Maureen Child’s THREE-WAY WAGER series and a brand-new installment of our infamous TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB.
Happy reading!
Melissa Jeglinski
Senior Editor
Silhouette Desire
Rules of Attraction
Susan Crosby
SUSAN CROSBY
believes in the value of setting goals, but also in the magic of making wishes. A longtime reader of romance novels, Susan earned a B.A. in English while raising her sons. She lives in the central valley of California, the land of wine grapes, asparagus and almonds. Her checkered past includes jobs as a synchronized swimming instructor, personnel interviewer at a toy factory and trucking company manager, but her current occupation as a writer is her all-time favorite.
Susan enjoys writing about people who take a chance on love, sometimes against all odds. She loves warm, strong heroes; good-hearted, self-reliant heroines…and happy endings.
Susan loves to hear from readers. You can visit her at her Web site, www.susancrosby.com.
For Bobbie Vetter Fite, one of the windows that opened
when my door closed. Onward and upward, my friend.
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
One
Private investigator Quinn Gerard felt a momentary pang of regret for having turned respectable seven months ago. He missed the anonymity, and the danger. He’d hungered for it, thrived on it. Since he’d given up his private practice to become a partner in ARC Security & Investigations, he’d had to operate by the rules, instead of ignoring them or making up his own when the situation warranted it.
One personal rule that hadn’t changed, however, was that he never got personally involved with a client—no matter how tempting—and the willowy blonde in the electric-blue blouse and black leather skirt currently ambling away from her car was worse than a client. She was a subject.
Still, as a man, he could admire the package if not the contents. And that package was more interesting at the moment than in the previous three days he’d had her under surveillance. In fact, Jennifer Winston was a bundle of surprises today. First, she’d left her house hours earlier than her norm. Second, she’d slowed her pace. Usually in a hurry, today she moseyed along as if life were eternal—or she was reluctant to get where she was going. Third, she’d borrowed her sister’s car, a modest white compact, instead of driving her own conspicuous red convertible. Fourth, and perhaps most surprising, she was headed into the local blood bank.
Quinn would’ve guessed that Jennifer Winston didn’t have a charitable blood cell in her entire lovely body. So, why was she here?
She’d been followed twenty-four hours a day, for weeks, from the house she shared with her sister, first by D.A. investigators, and now by Quinn. According to reports passed along to him, her routine stops included chic boutiques, trendy San Francisco nightspots and luxurious spas in the Napa valley. She hadn’t held a job in almost half a year, so she came and went at will, generally staying out until very late at night then not leaving home again until almost noon.
Suspicious of the deviations in her pattern today, Quinn followed the newly unpredictable and decidedly sexier Ms. Winston into the building instead of waiting for her to return to her car. Deviation from the norm often resulted in the big breaks in a case.
He trailed her down a wide, quiet hallway, watched as she disappeared through a doorway topped by a sign that read Donor Room. Not wanting to be directly on her heels, he stopped to drink from a water fountain then pretended to read some flyers on a bulletin board. Finally he put himself in a position to peer into the room. He didn’t see her so he moved a little closer, stepped through the doorway—
“You’re here to make a donation?” someone almost shouted behind him.
The tone of voice was more demand than query. Quinn turned and eyed the white-haired pixie with the big voice. The top of her head barely reached his sternum. He outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds.
“No, I—”
“Why not?” she asked, looking him up and down. “You look healthy.”
Because I’m following a woman the district attorney is convinced is hiding five million embezzled dollars, that’s why not. “I don’t have time,” he said.
“Hardly takes any time at all,” the human steamroller said, challenge in her eyes. “In and out before you know it.”
Her name tag identified her as Lorna,