embezzler within his company . He knows he can count on me, and I have his word that he’ll provide muscle whenever I need it . So, whenever something came up where I needed backup, I called Collins Security and someone was always mysteriously “available.”
Most of the men who work ed for Donovan wer e local with a few exotic faces thrown in for good measure . They’re all ex-military—skilled, dangerous, and cautious to a fault . I would pu t my life in any of their hands in a heartbeat, but my favorite? My favorite was Jack.
Now some people might say, “How can you pick a favo rite out of all those hunky men ? ” I say, “Easy . Just look at him. ” Jack Diaz was 6 feet and 4 inches of hot sticky cinnamon bun—spicy and sweet and sinful just to have around. His eyes were as green as my mother’s shamrocks, and his hair was short and curly and as dark as coal . He had beautiful hands, perfectly muscled arms, and long, strong legs that would be heaven to be tangled in sheets with. He wa s hot, he wa s funny, and to top it all off he actually talked on stakeouts.
All of this contributed to my hormone problem considerably . I mean, how was I supposed to convince a storm of raging Irish hormones that the hot guy playing with my hair isn’t fair game ? I was so frustrated I think they considered “fair game” to actually be “anything within reach” and Jack knew it . He reveled in it . He liked to walk up behind me and put his hands on my shoulders . Then he’d rub his thumbs in gentle circles, larger and larger, and finally drag those beautiful hands down my arms . Sometimes he’d trace a finger along my jaw, and then bend over and whisper unnecessarily in my ear, pressing that long, lovely body against me the whole time.
Basically, he was teasing the hell out of me, the bastard.
My only consolation was that after a while it seemed to affect him as well . I heard his breath hitch more than once when I turned quickly in his arms to face him . And there was, ahem, other proof that he was susceptible to the teasing as well . It was almost a game to see which of us could leave the other in a worse state . Yeah, I know… masochism at its finest.
Then, two days ago, Donovan came back.
I had no idea what I was walking into when I went to the Collins office s . I just wanted my files, you know ? But no—I walked in and waved at the receptionist, only to be sideswiped by the scent of cedar and smoke that dragged my memory back to the night I spent in Donovan’s bed. Every muscle in my body simultaneously seized . Add that to the star-struck look on the receptionist’s face and there was no other answer: four months with no news, and then poof — no warning—he’s back.
I was lucky I didn’t hyperventilate before I even saw him.
I unlocked my knees and forced myself over to Bridget’s desk, clearing my throat so I could get a sound out.
“Any clients for me? ” I asked.
Bridget gave an epileptic little jerk and pointed to a short stack of files on the corner of her desk . I didn’t envy her . Working with those men every day would be more than I could handle even when the boss was away playing Savior of the Free World . When he was actually in the office ? Yeah… so not happening.
I thanked her and grabbed my papers, quickly turning to make my escape . I knew I’d have to face him sooner or later; I was just hoping for later, rather than sooner. However , as wa s so often the case in my life, the Universe was not on my side . Just as I turned to leave, the inner door opened and the room was flooded with essence of Donovan.
When Donovan is around every day, I somehow manage to forget just how handsome he is . Not having seen him for almost four months stripped me of that insulation and left my defenses crumbling in the face of near perfection . He was tanner than before, and his hair was longer, just hanging low enough on his forehead to make
Most of the men who work ed for Donovan wer e local with a few exotic faces thrown in for good measure . They’re all ex-military—skilled, dangerous, and cautious to a fault . I would pu t my life in any of their hands in a heartbeat, but my favorite? My favorite was Jack.
Now some people might say, “How can you pick a favo rite out of all those hunky men ? ” I say, “Easy . Just look at him. ” Jack Diaz was 6 feet and 4 inches of hot sticky cinnamon bun—spicy and sweet and sinful just to have around. His eyes were as green as my mother’s shamrocks, and his hair was short and curly and as dark as coal . He had beautiful hands, perfectly muscled arms, and long, strong legs that would be heaven to be tangled in sheets with. He wa s hot, he wa s funny, and to top it all off he actually talked on stakeouts.
All of this contributed to my hormone problem considerably . I mean, how was I supposed to convince a storm of raging Irish hormones that the hot guy playing with my hair isn’t fair game ? I was so frustrated I think they considered “fair game” to actually be “anything within reach” and Jack knew it . He reveled in it . He liked to walk up behind me and put his hands on my shoulders . Then he’d rub his thumbs in gentle circles, larger and larger, and finally drag those beautiful hands down my arms . Sometimes he’d trace a finger along my jaw, and then bend over and whisper unnecessarily in my ear, pressing that long, lovely body against me the whole time.
Basically, he was teasing the hell out of me, the bastard.
My only consolation was that after a while it seemed to affect him as well . I heard his breath hitch more than once when I turned quickly in his arms to face him . And there was, ahem, other proof that he was susceptible to the teasing as well . It was almost a game to see which of us could leave the other in a worse state . Yeah, I know… masochism at its finest.
Then, two days ago, Donovan came back.
I had no idea what I was walking into when I went to the Collins office s . I just wanted my files, you know ? But no—I walked in and waved at the receptionist, only to be sideswiped by the scent of cedar and smoke that dragged my memory back to the night I spent in Donovan’s bed. Every muscle in my body simultaneously seized . Add that to the star-struck look on the receptionist’s face and there was no other answer: four months with no news, and then poof — no warning—he’s back.
I was lucky I didn’t hyperventilate before I even saw him.
I unlocked my knees and forced myself over to Bridget’s desk, clearing my throat so I could get a sound out.
“Any clients for me? ” I asked.
Bridget gave an epileptic little jerk and pointed to a short stack of files on the corner of her desk . I didn’t envy her . Working with those men every day would be more than I could handle even when the boss was away playing Savior of the Free World . When he was actually in the office ? Yeah… so not happening.
I thanked her and grabbed my papers, quickly turning to make my escape . I knew I’d have to face him sooner or later; I was just hoping for later, rather than sooner. However , as wa s so often the case in my life, the Universe was not on my side . Just as I turned to leave, the inner door opened and the room was flooded with essence of Donovan.
When Donovan is around every day, I somehow manage to forget just how handsome he is . Not having seen him for almost four months stripped me of that insulation and left my defenses crumbling in the face of near perfection . He was tanner than before, and his hair was longer, just hanging low enough on his forehead to make
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