The Great Scot (32 page)

They're back—the boys you go out looking for precisely because your mother warned you not to—the bad boys every good girl needs at least once, if not twice…

 

Raphael “Rafe” Santiago may have left the streets years ago, but the street has never left him. A rough childhood in the Bronx taught him never to let his guard down, to keep everything in order, and always to trust that little voice in his gut that tells him when someone's got something to hide. Horse trainer Elena Caulfield, is definitely hiding something, and Rafe intends to find out what it is and take care of it—his way.

 

But his way wasn't supposed to include feeling an intense attraction to the tomboyish Elena. With her mud-caked boots, quiet strength, and gentle manner, she's nothing like the flashy, seductive, overtly feminine women Rafe usually beds. The closer he gets to her, the harder it is to control that fiery passion he's worked hard to keep cooled, the kind that can catch a man off guard and leave him open to danger—because whatever secret Elena's protecting, it's big…and worth killing for. Because when you're from the Bronx, you take care of what you love—or die trying…

Finn Dalton is the black sheep of his privileged family—because he's always trying to do the right thing. But do good guys let bad girls go free? Ask British heiress Felicity Trent. Finn should have called the cops when he caught Felicity with a fortune in stolen jewels. But after the hot night they'd shared, betraying her meant he'd never have her again. Two years later, he discovers Felicity scantily clad and handcuffed to a bed in a posh Manhattan hotel room. Finn has three choices. Turn Felicity in. Turn her loose. Or turn her on…

 

Finn Dalton is bad boy personified. Felicity Trent should know; she's a bad girl herself. But for Felicity, life as a jewel thief is almost as seductive as Finn is—and that's dangerous. Because for a girl like her one night is all she needs to get what she wants, anything more means trouble. Now, with both of them after the same thing—the rarest of treasures—who gets there first might be the last thing they want…

And keep an eye out for Donna's new book,
LET ME IN,
coming in March 2009…

“I
always found you to be an attractive woman, Tate.”

Alarm filled her. But it didn't come close to matching the rush of…what? Anticipation? Surely, she didn't want him to acknowledge, much less act on the other kind of tension that was swirling around them.

“But, even in the most extreme situations, I never once considered doing what I can't seem to stop thinking about doing now.”

She was the one hallucinating now, that was it. He was still in the bathroom and she'd come into the kitchen to get soup, and had somehow fallen down a rabbit hole or something, because surely he was not standing right in front of her, saying what she thought he was saying. It was wild enough that she was having any thoughts in his general direction, but at least she had the excuse of being retired and no longer the sharp professional.

He was still team leader, actively on the job. And the only person who'd been even more the consummate professional during their years working together than she'd been. All work, no wink. That was Derek Cole. Not ever. With her, or anyone else. At least not that anyone had ever known. CJ had made it her favorite topic of conversation on more than one occasion. So, if he ever had…flung, he'd been remarkably discreet about it, which was saying something around people whose job it was to know every damn thing. It was another aspect of his character that she'd admired. So, what the hell was this?

When she finally found her voice, it was damnably shaky. “You're injured, and recently injected with God knows what, so—”

“It's not the drugs talking, Tate.”

“Well, it doesn't sound like you talking, either. At least not the you I worked for. We've got enough to deal with, without—”

“Oh, I know. Believe me. I came down the hall just now to see if I could sit in here and eat some soup. No ulterior motives. No skulking intended. Then I hear you commenting on my—”

“Must you repeat it?”

His lips quirked a little then. “See?”

“See what?”

“How is it I missed this?” he asked, sounding sincerely perplexed.

“Missed what?”

“You.”

He was looking at her like he'd just discovered something amazing, and couldn't quite believe it.

“I'm the same me, I've—”

“No. You're not. I always admired your capable, no nonsense work ethic. You and CJ were the best agents I ever had. Which, considering the talent I had assembled, is a high, but deserved compliment. I said before that I found you attractive. I did. And do. But I always viewed that through the filter of being your team leader, looking at that as simply another attribute you possessed to be executed professionally where and when best deployed.”

“Just because I don't work for you now—”

“It's not just that. You're…more you now. Still everything you were, but there's so much more. I'm seeing the rest of you, probably the you you've always been, but who I never had the pleasure of meeting. You're dry, sharp, outspoken, and surprisingly sarcastic.”

“You're right, the professional filter is off, but maybe I'm not who I was before, either. I'm leading a very different life now. I'll pull it back together, focus, find my professional balance once again, but only because I have to. And believe me, no one is more motivated to get through this and make it go away as quickly as possible. To make you go away,” she added, truthfully. “To get back to the life I earned, the life I deserve. The life I
need
, Derek.” If there was a quiet pleading in her tone, she wasn't going to apologize for it. Things were complicated enough without this sudden revelation from him. Especially considering she'd been thinking very similar things about him.

Which, if he hadn't known before, he did now, given her comment about his lack of clothing. Now he knew she was noticing him, too.

Which meant one of them had to get their act together, and get it together real quick. He moved closer and leaned his weight against the counter, along with the walking stick, so he could lift his free hand.

“Derek—” She broke off when he lightly brushed his fingertips across her cheek. His touch was gentler than she'd expected. She should be smacking his hand away, not wanting to lean into the unanticipated warmth she found there. She didn't need nurturing, or caretaking, but that's not what the look in his eyes was telegraphing. What she saw there was bold, unwavering, unapologetic want.

And what he wanted, was her.