Authors: Desiree Holt
Tags: #Erotic Romance eBooks, #Erotica, #Total-E-Bound eBooks, #Romantica, #Books, #Romance, #ISBN#, #978-1-907010-33-0
A Total-E-Bound Publication
ISBN # 978-1-907010-33-0
©Copyright Desiree Holt 2009
Cover Art by Natalie Winters ©Copyright June 2009
Edited by Michele Paulin
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2009 by Total-E-Bound Publishing 1 The Corner, Faldingworth Road, Spridlington, Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, LN8 2DE, UK.
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated
To Wolfie, the ultimate alpha male
Regan Matthews sat in her car in the parking lot and stared at the side of the stone building. She couldn’t sit here all day. A glance at her watch told her she’d already been here for fifteen minutes and hadn’t even been able to unbuckle her seatbelt. How ridiculous was this? She was a lawyer—and a damn good one—with a level head and a firm grip on reality.
And yet here she sat, unable to complete a simple task.
Maybe the trouble was finally admitting she had a real problem she couldn’t solve by herself. Regan
took care of things herself. An only child whose parents had both passed away, she’d learned to depend on herself long ago. Never show weakness. Even now, she wanted to convince herself this entire thing was a hoax that she could make go away by ignoring it. But the hang-up calls every night unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
The emails made her nervous, wondering who would send threatening messages to her personal email address.
She’d debated with herself through the entire work day as she prepared motions to be heard in court, reviewed evidence and interviewed witnesses. She was focused enough to shut everything away when she was working, but by evening, the problem had popped up again. Just a simple message on her windshield, but it had been enough to shake her.
Especially since it had been left in a secure garage.
You’re dead, bitch. You can’t run away from me now.
It had finally convinced her this was more than a prank and made her admit the unthinkable. She was scared.
Standing in the garage, looking at the message, she’d realised only a fool would ignore what was an escalating situation. Okay, so now it might be time to talk to someone. Not the police. She didn’t trust them any more than she trusted anyone else. As a high profile assistant prosecutor, she’d seen her share of bad cops and had her run-ins with them. Who was to say one of them wasn’t doing this?
She pulled out the business card that her friend, Linda Gillette, had given her at lunch after Regan had dumped the problem on her. She’d had to talk to someone, just to make sure she wasn’t crazy. When Linda had run from an abusive and very wealthy husband, she’d hired an agency to protect her, shield her, and get enough on her husband to make him go away quietly. The Sentinels, it was called.
“They’re terrific,” Linda had told her. “There are eight partners, including one woman, and they just do…incredible things.”
“What, you mean like magic tricks?” Regan snorted. “Give me a break. One agency’s the same as all the others.”
“Not them,” Linda insisted.
“Well, I’m glad they helped you, but I hardly think I’ll ever need their services. I’m not hiding from a rat like Calvin Gillette.” She laughed. “I don’t even have a
, for God’s sake.”
“Something you need to remedy as soon as possible, my friend. You’re going to burn yourself out.” Linda pulled a business card from her wallet and thrust it at Regan. “Take this.
Someone’s waging a campaign against you. You’ve put a lot of crazies away, Regan. You never know when one of them will decide it’s time for a little payback.”
Now Regan stared at the card, and before she could change her mind, punched the numbers into her cell phone. Maybe no one would be there this late, and she could go home and forget she was being a nervous old maid.
But the man who took her call identified himself as Brian Spencer, assured her they kept late hours and it was fine for her to come right over. His voice was deep and warm like chocolate syrup, only with a slightly rough quality to it. For some reason, the sound of it reminded her of the wolf head logo on the business card, and a tiny shiver danced on her skin.
She looked at her watch again. Five more minutes had passed.
Well, Regan, you won’t get
anywhere just sitting in the car. Just go talk to him. If he thinks it’s nothing, all you’ve lost is an hour
or so. And you’ll have reinforced your own thoughts.
A stalker. How ridiculous. Something she absolutely did
She pulled down the sun visor and checked herself in the small, lighted mirror. Her thick blonde hair, which she usually wore pulled back with a clip, was still in place even after NIGHT MOVES
a harrowing day. Her emerald-green eyes looked tired, missing their usually sparkle, and her pale skin looked even paler. She took a minute to refresh the minimal amount of makeup she wore. The last thing she wanted when she walked in was to look like a basket case.
Smoothing her navy silk blouse and skirt, she climbed out of her SUV.
Automatically, she scanned the parking lot for any other presence, a habit she’d developed the last few days. A shadow moved at a distant corner, and she blinked her eyes.
Surely that wasn’t a wolf. No, her eyes were playing tricks on her because she’d just looked at the business card. When she looked again, whatever it was had disappeared. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she locked her car and strode to the entrance of the small building. Through a glass door, she saw a deserted lobby, no one in sight.
Well, it is almost eight o’clock.
She pulled on the door, but it was obviously locked. What the hell?
She looked around. The voice was coming from a speaker just above the door to the right.
“Yes. I can’t seem to get the door open.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Regan checked her surge of impatience and watched as a tall, dark-haired man strode into the lobby from the left. Even through the glass, there was something electric about his presence.
Stop it, you idiot. You’re not here for a date.
A buzzer sounded, and seconds later, he pulled the door open and waved her inside.
“Brian Spencer.” He held out his hand.
The moment they connected, a bolt of pure lust shot through her. She was struck speechless. Other men had certainly appealed to her, and she’d had her share of lovers, but nothing—
had ever elicited such a powerful reaction from her. An electric charge seemed to zap the air. She looked at the man and saw a flash of surprise whisk across his face. Then it was gone.
She was tempted to call the whole thing off and run to the safety of the car. Oh, wait.
Her car was no longer safe. But neither was this man. She drew in a breath and pulled herself together as best she could.
“Sorry about the door,” he told her. “A lot of our clients have not so nice people dogging them so we built in some security safeguards.”
“Not so nice people. Like Calvin Gillette.
“Seems like the smart thing to do. I’m Brian Spencer. Thanks for calling the agency.”
She raked her eyes over him in a quick assessing gaze. Well over six feet, he had broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and hips and ending in long, long legs. His long-sleeved, black T-shirt and grey slacks fit him closely. His face was lean with a broad forehead and high cheekbones, amber eyes beneath sooty thick lashes and all of it framed by a thick mop of silken black hair that flowed almost to his shoulders.
This was the man Linda told her could handle any problems? Regan thought he looked like the kind who would make them. She couldn’t help staring at him. There was something almost feral about him, and she wondered if she’d made the right choice. Then he spoke again, and the spell was broken.
“My office is upstairs,” he told her in that same deep voice, leading her to a curved open stairway. “This way.”
Although the lobby was empty of people, as they moved along the upper hallway Regan saw ribbons of light beneath closed doors. Another door was partially open, giving her a view of a massive electronics set-up. As they passed, a man in jeans and a rumpled T-shirt spotted them and rose to shut the door.
Brian’s office was at the end of the hall and was a reflection of the man himself. A wide desk with a black granite top set on chrome legs was angled at one corner, a high-back ergonomic chair behind it. In front of it were two client chairs in ebony upholstered in black and white tweed. A black leather couch ran along one wall. A side extension of the desk held not just one but four computers, all with the Sentinel logo blinking on their screens.
He gestured towards one of the client chairs and sat down easily behind the desk, watching her. “All right, Miss Matthews, let’s hear what your problem is and see if we can help with it. You mentioned on the phone that Linda Gillette had recommended us, so I’m going to assume you’re familiar with our services.”
She wet her lips nervously, once again wondering if this was such a great idea. She, who found most men either boring or abrasive, was imagining the kind of services she’d like from this man, and they had nothing to do with investigation or detecting.
“It’s probably nothing,” she began, trying to get herself on track. “And I’m not someone given to jumping at every little thing. I’m an assistant prosecutor with the homicide unit.
Very little scares me.”
Brian shook his head. “Almost every client who walks in here says something similar. If it was nothing, you wouldn’t be sitting across from me. So tell me what’s going on.”