3 Bad Guys Get Caught (25 page)

Dennis tugged at her arm. “Just hold on
a minute.”

“What’s going on? They’ll be announcing
the newlyweds soon. I don’t want to be late.”

Dennis opened the door of their room. “It
won’t take long.”

“Okay.” Perplexed, Janet followed him.
Inside, she was greeted by the sight of Baxter dressed in a tuxedo who padded
towards her. She scooped him up into her arms, forgetting about her satin
dress. “Dennis! What is Baxter doing here? I thought he was staying with Mrs.
Chapman.”

“I thought he could use some fresh air,
so I made the arrangements with Katie.”

“She didn’t mind?” Janet asked,
wondering why Katie hadn’t mentioned anything about this to her.

“Of course not. She loves the chap.”

“I love the tuxedo! How adorable!” Janet
set Baxter on the ground.

“That’s Mrs. Chapman—she’s the one who
got Baxter’s tuxedo.”

“That’s right, how could I forget? It’s
the same one he wore during his performance at the community center. Too bad we
missed it. Mrs. Chapman told me that it was a huge success.”

“I can imagine.”

Just then Baxter barked, pawing at
Janet’s legs.

“I think Baxter has something to tell
you,” Dennis said quietly.

She stooped to scratch Baxter behind his
ear. “Oh, yeah? What is it?”

“Or rather something to give you.”

Janet felt her hand touch a small pouch
on Baxter’s collar. As if in encouragement, Baxter barked. Janet opened the
pouch and saw that it had a small box inside. “What is it?” she asked, her
heart beating wildly.

“There’s only one way to find out. Open
it.”

She did what he said, and her eyes flew
wide open. Inside the box was a three carat sapphire ring with one carat
diamond baguettes on either side.

She was too stunned to speak, as Dennis
took her hand and bent down on one knee. “Will you marry me, Janet Maple?”

“Dennis! This ring is incredible! I had
no idea!” She stared at him in disbelief.

“I’m still waiting for the answer, you
know.”

“Yes, yes, yes! Of course I’ll marry
you!”

He took the ring from her trembling fingers
and put it on the ring finger of her left hand. It fit perfectly. “I’m
officially the happiest man alive,” he said, getting up.

“You just made me the happiest woman
alive.” She threw her arms around his neck. “I love you, Dennis.”

“I love you, Janet. Very much.” His arms
held her tightly, as he linked his lips with hers.

Baxter’s barking interrupted them.

“We’d better get back to the reception,”
Janet murmured.

“Do we have to?”

“Dennis! I’m the maid of honor!”

“Oh, right. I almost forgot. Well, in
that case I suppose we must. We can’t afford to burn bridges, not when we’ll
need a reliable maid of honor for our wedding party soon.”

“Matron of honor.”

“Mmm?”

“Katie’s married now, so she’d be the
matron of honor.”

“Okay, whatever,” Dennis mumbled, his
lips still lingering on hers.

“We have to go, Dennis!” With what felt
like an enormous effort of willpower, Janet pulled away from him. She
straightened the collar of his shirt and his tie. “There, that’s better. Do I
look all right?”

“You look beautiful.”

“I meant is everything in place?” She
quickly checked her reflection in the mirror; her eyes were blazing and her
cheeks were flushed, but not a strand of hair was out of place and the folds of
her dress were still perfectly smooth. “Let’s go!” She grabbed his arm, heading
out the door.

As they exited into the hallway, they
nearly bumped into Katie and Adam who were on their way to the reception hall.

“Well, well,” said Katie, giving her a
once over. “You look different.”

Before Janet could answer, Dennis cut in.
“Of course she does. She’s engaged.”

Janet had no choice but to lift up her
left hand.

Katie’s smile grew wide. “I knew it! So
happy for you!” She drew Janet into a hug. “Isn’t this wonderful, Adam?”

“Congratulations!” Adam shook Dennis’s
hand. “I think we’d better hurry up. The Master of Ceremonies is waiting to
announce us.”

“Oh no!” Janet exclaimed. “We should’ve
been at our table by now.”

Katie waved her hand in dismissal. “I
think you have a pretty good excuse. You guys go ahead. We’ll follow right after.”

Dennis grabbed Janet’s hand and together
they dashed to the reception hall to take their seats at the banquet table.

Janet’s heart was still pounding from
the sprint and from all the excitement, when the Master of Ceremonies announced
Katie and Adam as husband and wife. As she watched the happy couple float into
the room, Janet felt Dennis squeezing her hand. He leaned in closer to her and
whispered into her ear, “Janet, my future wife.”

“Dennis, my future husband.”

“I love you, Janet. From now on, I’ll be
saying it a lot more than I used to.”

From the look in his eyes and the tone
of his voice, she could tell that he had no reservations, no hidden fears. All
the waiting, all the doubts, all the anticipation had been worth it. Dennis
Walker was her man; her partner, her lover, her husband to be, and she was
madly in love with him.

Marie Astor is romantic suspense Kindle
bestselling author of the Janet Maple Series:
To Catch a Bad Guy
,
Catching
the Bad Guy
,
Bad Guys Get Caught
, contemporary romance novels
This
Tangled Thing Called Love
,
Lucky Charm
,
Smitten at First Sight,
and
a short story collection,
A Dress in a Window
. Marie is also the author
of a fantasy adventure novel,
Over the Mountain and Back.

Marie is a die-hard
romantic, which is why she loves writing in the contemporary romance genre.
In her spare
time Marie enjoys being adventurous out-of-doors. She often gets new story
ideas while she is hiking up a mountain or trying to avoid bumping into a tree
while skiing.

Marie loves hearing from her readers and
always answers all of her emails personally.

Join Marie’s mailing
list at
www.marieastor.com
to receive updates about Marie’s new book releases and events.

Please read on for an excerpt from
This
Tangled Thing Called Love.

By

Marie Astor

Chapter 1

It was barely eight a.m. when Claire
heard the sound of music emanating from the ceiling. For a moment, she had a
scary thought that she was late for work, but then she remembered that it was
Saturday. She curled her legs and pulled the comforter up to her chin; she was
dreaming, and the sensual music had to be a part of the dream. She snuggled
against the pillow in anticipation of what the dream would bring next, but as
she attempted to drift back to sleep, the music kept growing louder. After
tossing and turning, Claire finally awakened, aware that the persistent sounds
were very real.

Claire lay back on her pillow, staring
into the ceiling in bewilderment as the sultry sounds of Argentine tango filled
her bedroom. Who in their right mind would blast tango music at eight o’clock
on a Saturday morning? Obviously, the new tenant of the upstairs apartment,
Claire answered her own question. She was wide-awake now. Building rules
explicitly stated that there was to be no noise until 10 a.m. on weekends, and
she would make it her business to educate the new resident.

Claire kicked off the comforter and slid
her feet into her slippers. Then she pulled on her bathrobe and headed out the
door.

She pressed the elevator button, but saw
that the elevator was out of order. Had she been in a calmer state, this might
have been enough of an obstacle to postpone her mission, but at present this
circumstance only added oil to the fire.

As she walked up the stairs to the top
floor apartment, Claire felt the onset of a hangover. She had been out late
with the girls last night, and she was bound to pay for it now. If only she had
been able to sleep it off. Claire frowned as she stoically climbed the rest of
the stairs. Saturdays were supposed to be relaxing, but this Saturday promised
to be anything but.

The music grew even louder once Claire
had reached the next floor. Now it was a milonga waltz: a slow, sensual melody
that made her shiver right down to her slippers. This music lover must be quite
a connoisseur of tangos, Claire thought, about to ring the doorbell. She stopped
halfway, remembering that in her fury she had forgotten to brush her teeth and
comb her hair. Her hesitation was brief, as she decided that this grooming
lapse was irrelevant at the moment. In fact, she thought that it might serve
the purpose of her visit – her disheveled state should be enough of a deterrent
to stop the culprit from further misconduct. She pressed the bell and waited.

Several minutes passed. The music
continued, but nothing else happened. Frowning, Claire rang the doorbell again.
Her lips drawn and her hands crisscrossed on her chest, she geared herself up
for the speech she planned to deliver to the offender, but she was disappointed
yet again as the door remained closed.

This time her finger nearly sank into
the rickety doorbell as she kept the button pressed for almost a minute.
Whoever was inside had to hear that, but apparently, she was mistaken again.
Exasperated, Claire clenched her fingers into a fist and pounded on the door,
but to her surprise the door creaked open under the impact. The blasting music
seeping through the opening enveloped her, and under its spell, Claire made her
way inside the apartment.

What she saw next defeated all of her
expectations as she froze in place, mouth agape. The apartment consisted of one
giant room. It must have been a one-bedroom at some point, but the dividing
wall had been knocked down, leaving a vast loft. The room was empty save for a
frumpy couch in the corner, a scant table and two chairs. Several large bags,
presumably with clothes and other possessions, were planted on the floor
sporadically.

But this disarray had nothing to do with
Claire’s paralyzed state as she stared at the back of the man who was too
absorbed by his task to notice her presence. He was shirtless, and his muscles
rippled as he moved with feline grace to the sound of the mesmerizing melody.
His feet were engaged in complicated dance moves, but his hands were busy with
a paint roller as he coated the wall in front of him in red paint. His longish
hair touched the nape of his neck, and Claire found herself swallowing uneasily
as she stared on, hypnotized.

The music lover – that was how she
mentally called him – lowered his paint roller into the paint bin, and Claire
caught his striking Roman profile. He was about to go on with his task, but he
must have spotted her from the corner of his eye, because he abruptly turned
around and stared right at her. Claire blinked and began rattling off the cause
of her visit, at which the music lover signaled for her to stop and glided over
to the iPod speakers on the table, which were the source of Claire’s initial
indignation. Gliding was the only word Claire could think to describe his
graceful way of moving.

The music stopped, and Claire shivered
uncomfortably, terrified by her current predicament. What had she been
thinking, wandering into some stranger’s apartment? He could have her arrested
for trespassing, and that was the least alarming of the possibilities. Handsome
or not, he could be a serial killer for all she knew, and now she was stuck
there at his mercy.

“I’m Alec, Alec Brunell.” The music
lover smiled at her as he held her gaze with his dark brown eyes.

Claire made a mental effort to stop
calling the man before her the music lover. His name was Alec, and she knew
absolutely nothing about him except the fact that he was inconsiderate enough
to blast tango music at eight in the morning on a Saturday, which was why she
found herself in his apartment in the first place. That’s right, her visit had
a purpose, and now she would make it known.

“I’m Claire Chatfield. I live in the
apartment below yours…”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Claire.
Thank you for coming over to welcome me to the building.” Alec reached for her
hand, and Claire felt his warm fingers encircle her palm. “Would you like some
coffee, Claire? I was about to have mine…” He half-turned to the tiny kitchen.

“No!” Claire heard herself shouting.

“Well, if you don’t like coffee, I have
some orange juice…” Alec went on, clearly taken aback by her reaction.

Get yourself together, Claire thought as
she folded her arms on her chest, pinching her forearm. “Actually, the reason I
stopped by is the music.”

“You love tango, huh?” Alec’s gaze
travelled along her bathrobe. “It is beautiful…”

“No, I don’t love tango,” Claire
snapped. This Alec character sure had his act down pat. Granted, he was a
looker, but in Claire’s book that did not give him the right to be so blatant
about it. Sure, there must be plenty of women hungering for his mouthwatering
flesh, but she sure as hell was not one of them. She had a boyfriend, and she
had come there for a reason.

“You don’t like tango?” Alec stared at
her in frank bewilderment.

“I don’t like any music blasting through
my ceiling at eight a.m. on a Saturday. The building rules say no noise until
ten a.m.” Claire glared at him. She was in control now.

“Oh, I’m so very sorry.” To her
surprise, Alec blushed. “I used to rent a loft in a warehouse, and I forgot how
thin building walls can be.” He smiled apologetically. “I promise you that it
will not happen again. Now, may I offer you a cup of coffee as a peace
offering?”

“No, thank you. I think I’ll head back
to bed and try to catch up on some sleep.” Claire turned to leave. “And by the
way, you need to have a building permit to do any kind of handiwork,” she
blurted over her shoulder as she shut the door behind her.

Back in the safety of her apartment,
Claire locked the door behind her. Her face was burning crimson red; she had never
lost control like this before.

She stumbled into the kitchen and put on
the coffee pot. She was too rattled to go back to bed now. Mechanically, she
poured cereal into a bowl and splashed some milk over it. Taking a bite of her
cereal, she cringed as she replayed the encounter in her mind. She could not
remember the last time she had been this flustered. She liked to think of
herself as a fairly rational person, and yet, just now she had behaved like a
complete maniac. First, she had burst into a total stranger’s apartment, and
then she had ogled his naked, incredibly muscular torso – at this thought
Claire cringed again, hoping that her new neighbor had not noticed this lapse –
and then, after he had tried to make small talk despite her unexpected appearance
in his apartment, she had nearly screamed at him for playing his music too
loud. And to top it all off, after he had sincerely apologized, she had snubbed
his perfectly good-natured offer of a cup of coffee.

Reliving the memory of her embarrassing behavior
was enough to make Claire burrow her face in her hands and pull on her hair.
She was a grown woman, and she knew how to handle tough situations. What on
earth made her act like this? Sure, Alec’s devastatingly handsome looks could
have been an explanation, but Claire knew full well that it was not the answer.
A part of her wished it had been the answer. That would have made things so
much simpler. Claire was in love with David Lawson, and she was not the kind of
woman who got smitten by a six-pack, no matter how hard, or dark eyes, no
matter how piercing. No, the true reason was in the music - the sultry,
maddening tango music.

You love tango, huh? She remembered
Alec’s question, which was more of a statement really, as though it were a
given that everyone on earth adored the heart-wrenching melody. Well, in his
defense, Alec could not have known how loaded the question was for Claire. His
innocent remark took her back to a time she did not care to revisit, so the
only natural response was to snub him and run for cover. Well, she was all
grown up now, and she knew how to deal with unwelcome recollections of the
past: lock them up in a “do not open” memories compartment, where they
belonged.

Alec put down the paint roller and wiped
his forehead on the back of his arm. Man, he was beat. He had forgotten how
grueling physical labor could be. Sure, he worked out six days a week, not to
mention daily dance practice, but painting walls made him discover muscles he
did not know he had. Every bit of his body throbbed, but at least he had gotten
the job done. The south wall was painted red, and the other three were white.
Now, all he needed was to wait for the paint to dry so that he could add a
silhouette of a tango couple against the red background. That ought to complete
the ambiance.

He opened the small fridge and reached
for a bottle of orange juice. The cool liquid soothed his parched throat.
Holding the now half-empty bottle, Alec walked over to the window to check out
his new view. All in all, he was happy with his new digs. The rent was
reasonable, and the view was not bad either. From the top floor he had an
unobstructed view of Second Avenue. Not exactly the poshest of locations, but
it would do. In a couple of days, once the paint smell aired out, he could move
in.

For the past two years, he had been
shacking up in an old warehouse in the meatpacking district. Jason, his school
buddy had let him stay there rent free. The place was perfect: plenty of space
for dance practice and no neighbors to complain about Alec blasting his music
too loud. But now that Jason was “retiring” from his investment banking job and
reinventing himself as a bartender, he needed the space back in order to start
construction for his bar. Alec was not picky when it came to living quarters,
as long as he had plenty of open space, which was why when the real estate
agent had shown him the top floor, converted loft on Second Avenue and
Eightieth Street, he had signed the lease immediately.

One thing he had not counted on was fussy
neighbors. Alec smiled, thinking of the unexpected morning visitor. “Claire,”
he mouthed her name, remembering her tousled chestnut hair and hazel eyes. Even
that bulky bathrobe she had been wearing could not conceal the shapely outlines
of her body.

Of course, a girl like that was bound to
be a challenge. But he had always liked challenges, and the fact that he was a
professional tango dancer usually played in his favor. Usually, but it might
not be so this time. Alec flinched, remembering Claire’s reaction to his
innocent question about her music taste. What was all that about? he wondered.
As far as he was concerned, no one could resist tango. Well, he would get to
the bottom of Claire’s music idiosyncrasies in due time, but in the meantime,
he needed to think of a way to become more neighborly.

“Think of the devil,” Alec murmured,
taking another gulp of orange juice as he spotted the subject of his thoughts
exiting the lobby. Someone must have a hot night planned, he thought, his eyes
examining every detail of Claire’s outfit, which was far more flattering than
the bathrobe he remembered from this morning. Now, she was dressed in a little
black number that fitted her body to a T. His instincts had been right; from
long, shapely legs to a firm, flat stomach to wonderfully full breasts, her
body was downright perfect, and the way her chestnut mane bounced down her back
made Alec want to get to know his neighbor better. Heading out for a night on
the town, Alec mused. It was Saturday night after all, and he was glad to
remark the absence of a male companion by Claire’s side. Suddenly, his new
building looked even more appealing.