The Single Daddy Club Boxed Set

by Donna Fasano

  Her inhalation was shaky and difficult, and it seemed that the temperature in the car had heated up several degrees in as many seconds. Oddly, her entire body tensed and relaxed at the same time, and only with great effort could she open her eyes.

  She focused on his handsome face as he slowly leaned closer and closer. His silken breath caressed her cheek. He was going to kiss her, she realized, a delighted shiver coursing through her body.

  Soft. Warm. Gentle. The initial sensations crowded out all thought from her mind. His lips skimmed across hers, his tongue tentatively tasting, teasing. In a wholly natural and unwitting reaction, she sighed against his mouth. The binoculars that lay in her lap slipped to the floor, forgotten, as she slid her palms up his broad chest.

  The hammering of his heart beneath her fingertips excited her, telling her he was as swept away as she. He planted tiny kisses along her jawline, stopping to nibble on the delicate lobe of her ear. The heated summer air became impossible to breathe, and she felt her chest rise and fall raggedly.

  He smelled of heady spices, the warm, erotically male scent of him wafting around her, ever deepening the desire surging through her.

  "You smell like summer rain."

  Reece whispered the words against her ear, and she marveled at how in tune their thoughts seemed to be.

  His lips brushed her cheekbone, her brow. "And you taste... delicious."

  With her mind a jumble of sensations, feelings, urges, and splintered thoughts, Maggie was actually surprised when she was able to notice how his breathing had become as ragged as her own. A sharp spear of distress momentarily pierced her consciousness when she realized he was the one getting to do all the tasting.

  She ran her fingers over the firm muscles of his biceps and then along his strong shoulders. Tilting her head to one side, she proceeded to do a little savoring of her own.

  His skin was luscious, bringing to mind dark and heated mysteries. With her first kiss, he raised his chin a fraction, giving her free rein. To most men, this would have seemed a submissive gesture; however, Reece seemed all the more masculine as he silently invited Maggie to explore.

  She rained kisses on his corded throat, along his jaw and, finally, she pressed her moist lips to his. Her name spilled from his mouth in a tattered whisper, and Maggie felt the desire inside her roil and churn like molten lava.

  Her heart pounded. Her blood surged. Maggie was ready. More than anything else on the face of the earth, she wanted to propel the kiss to a deeper, more intimate level. With every intention of urging Reece on, she threaded her fingers through his hair, and parted her lips for him.

  She heard his groan, tasted the erotic sound of it.

  "Maggie."

  A whimper nearly escaped her when he pulled back, but she held it in check. She tugged him toward her.

  "Maggie, wait," he said.

  Her silent gaze was filled with frantic questions.

  Reece's dark eyes studied her for one brief, regret-filled moment. Then he said, "Look."

  When he lifted his head to look out the window toward the bar, she let her eyes follow. Three people were exiting the building.

  "Oh, damn, it's him." Lament was clear in her tone, and her brain still felt languid and fuzzed over with the passion that had taken over every thought, every breath, every movement. But she had a job to do. She was a professional.

  The small thought was powerful enough to clear some of the haze from her mind completely.

  "It looks like Buster." This time, her voice was stronger and plainly reflected the idea that she was a woman on a mission.

  She shoved herself from Reece's embrace, and she automatically reached for the binoculars.

  "Thanks for keeping an eye out," she murmured, mentally kicking herself when she realized how easy it would have been to miss the man she'd come here seeking.

  Then another thought flashed through her mind—given Reece's position with his back to the bar, keeping watch must have been physically awkward for him. She'd been so involved in their kiss, a freight train could have barreled by and she wouldn't have noticed. He certainly couldn't have been as involved in the intimate encounter as she had been.

  Somehow, the idea embarrassed her. But she didn't have time to think about that now. Scrambling to her knees, she inched closer toward Reece and the driver-side window, planting her knee smack in his lap.

  Her brain barely registered his startled "Oomph" as she raised the binoculars and peered across the road.

  "It is him," she confirmed.

  "Would you kindly remove your knee from my groin?"

  She lowered the binoculars a couple of inches and blinked. Then she looked down.

  "Sorry," she murmured, and hastened to position her bent knee on the seat next to his thigh.

  Her quarry stood right outside the bar, across the expanse of the pothole-ridden parking lot, and she knew she should be watching him closely. However, Reece was so close. Near enough that she could easily have tipped up her chin and planted a light kiss on his jaw.

  Focus, damn it! her mind railed at her. He obviously hadn't been as swept away as you thought!

  Now, just wait a minute, her logical brain argued. Would you have wanted Buster to leave the bar unnoticed? Would you have wanted Reece to have become so wrapped up in you that the entire evening's work was ruined?

  The woman in her whispered a stubborn yes to both questions; however, the professional investigator in her shouted a hearty no.

  What the hell? What was the matter with her?

  You have a job to do here, the logical voice reminded her sternly.

  "I have a job to do here," she repeated, sure that once she heard the words spoken aloud her muscles and tendons would move to do her bidding.

  "Then by all means," Reece whispered, "do it."

  But his silky tone conveyed in no uncertain terms that there was something else he wanted to do—something very particular—and it had nothing whatsoever to do with spying on some motorcycle-riding, beer-belly-toting jerk who might or might not be cheating on his wife. Heaven help her, but the urge to kiss him was still very strong.

  "Ree-eece!" Feeling flattered at his teasing, she gave him a gentle nudge on the shoulder. A wide grin was his only response. "I have to do this," she said. "I'm almost certain that this is the guy who's been stalking me."

  The reminder immediately knocked some seriousness into Reece's attitude. He sat up straighter, reaching for the binoculars.

  "You're sure this is your man? He's got two other people with him. One's a female." He hesitated a moment. "The other's a male, tall, thin."

  "Yeah," Maggie said, concentrating on the scene before her. "I'm sure it's him. I've followed Buster before. I'm hoping that the woman crawls onto the back of his bike and not the other guy's."

  She reached into the back seat of Reece's car, tugging on the strap of her heavy camera case. After unzipping the case, she pulled out the 35 mm camera with its huge telephoto night lens.

  Maggie snapped several pictures. Then she stopped and just watched the man through the camera's lens. He laughed with the other two people there with him, and Maggie felt a flash of unadulterated fury to think that this might be the man who had invaded her home, who had terrorized her for trying to out him.

  "What I'd like to do," she murmured, her voice tight with anger, "is pull that metal-studded leather vest over his head and kick his ass."

  "All right," Reece gently admonished her. "Calm down. You need to keep a clear head."

  Maggie watched the man move to the row of motorcycles. His was a fancy low-riding one, all glossy black paint and shiny chrome. He kick-started the bike, its pug-pug-pug growing louder as he revved the engine with a small twist of his wrist.

  "Looks like she's with the other guy," Reece observed.

  Disappointment welled up in Maggie as she watched the woman snake her fingers through the thin man's hair. The kiss she planted on his lips was as passionate as it was possessive.

&n
bsp; There was no doubt about it. The woman and the thin man were a couple. Buster wasn't cheating on his wife, at least not at the moment.

  "Damn it," Maggie complained. And she heaved a sigh as she lowered the camera. "Another night wasted."

  Reece continued to watch through the binoculars. "What do you know about him?"

  "Buster?"

  He nodded.

  "Everything except what I need to know," she told him dismally. But before she could expound on her statement, Reece's whispered curse had her looking out the window.

  "I think we've been spotted," he warned.

  Adrenaline, hot and acidic, surged through Maggie's body. With a careful hand, she hastily replaced the cap on the telephoto lens and tucked her camera on the floor behind the front seat.

  She didn't even bother to look out the window—she could hear the motorcycle coming closer with each passing second. Instead, she used the time to develop a quick plan.

  "Hurry," she said, twisting around and wedging her bottom in the tight space between Reece and the steering wheel.

  After his initial gasp of total surprise, he said, "Would you kindly tell me what you think—" he gasped again, this time in pain, as she tried to force her butt onto his lap "—you're doing? Ouch!"

  The car horn tooted and Maggie shifted again.

  "Do you think I'm enjoying this? Let me in here," she demanded breathlessly. "We can pretend we're on a date. You said you had the hots for me. Now's the time to prove it."

  Immediately, Reece slid one hand under her derriere and began firmly pushing her off him. "As much as I'd like to play this game with you, Maggie," he said in between grunts of exertion, "I have no intention of allowing us to get caught like a cork in a bottle when we may need some freedom of movement. I might have to punch this guy in the nose before this is all over."

  Finally, Maggie found herself shoved none too gently back over to the passenger side of the front seat.

  "Oh, don't worry about that." She straightened her blouse, trying to gather a bit of her dignity.

  By this time, the man had parked his bike directly in front of Reece's car and was approaching them on foot.

  "This guy's only man enough to terrorize women," Maggie commented.

  The leather-clad biker walked up to Reece's partially opened window.

  "Let's hope you're right," Reece said softly to Maggie.

  His gaze swung around to the burly man standing outside the car, and Maggie could sense Reece's hostility as if he'd flipped on a switch. He pushed open the door, forcing the biker back several paces.

  "Hey, buddy, how about stepping away from the car?" Reece said to the man. As he was talking, Reece pushed himself out of the seat and into the heated summer night.

  Now alone in the car, Maggie muttered, "Just like a man to go full speed ahead with all that testosterone-induced aggression."

  "The name's Buster, man," the biker said. "And you don't need to get all bent out of shape. I came over here to see what was going on. What the hell are you two doin' out here, anyway?"

  "What's it to you?"

  Maggie actually groaned at the challenge in Reece's voice. She decided she'd better do something—now—before Reece did start a fight.

  She opened the passenger-side door and got out of the car. "Hey, mister," she called to Buster. "Can't a woman get her man... alone?"

  She turned a sickeningly suggestive gaze onto Reece.

  "Oh, I gotcha." Buster stammered, "I, ah, certainly didn't mean to intrude."

  He started to turn away from them, then he suddenly stopped, his eyes narrowing as they homed in on something inside the car. Maggie felt her blood pulsing, and she dipped her head to see what the biker was looking at.

  The binoculars! Reece had left them sitting out on the front seat in plain view.

  "You two ain't out here makin' out," Buster said, looking across the hood of the car at Maggie. "I mighta just had a birthday, but it wasn't my first one. You guys are out here spying on somebody—"

  He stopped as though a blunt-tipped revelation had just whacked him on the back of the head. One of his eyes narrowed to a slit.

  "You're that bitch what talked Sally into leaving me, ain't cha?"

  Reece's reaction was lightning fast. Before Maggie could even draw a quick breath to stop him, he'd slammed his car door shut, closed the gap between himself and Buster and grabbed a handful of the biker's leather vest in his fist.

  "Watch what you call the lady."

  The steely tone of Reece's voice made Maggie's insides quiver with fear. She saw the same emotion reflected in Buster's eyes. Nobody moved for several moments.

  Finally, Buster raised his hands in a palms-out, surrendering gesture.

  "I got no argument with you, man," he told Reece.

  Reece released his hold on Buster's vest. The biker took a backward step.

  "Hey, Buster," the thin man across the street called out. "You need some help, man?"

  "No thanks, Chug," Buster yelled back. "I'm okay. Everything's okay." Then he turned back to Reece. "It's her, man." Buster pointed in Maggie's general direction without making eye contact. "She talked my wife into leavin' me. She filled Sally's head so full of lies. She told my wife that I was screwing around on her, man."

  Maggie couldn't believe the drivel coming out of this man's mouth.

  "I wouldn't advise you to be hanging out with her," Buster continued his diatribe. The biker's tone lowered an octave, as though he'd suddenly become Reece's best buddy, a close confidant wanting to bestow some serious, well-meaning, man-to-man advice as he said, "Man, she is trouble with a capital T. I'm tellin' ya the truth."

  After a moment, Reece responded with a soft "Thanks for the warning."

  Maggie frowned, unable to discern exactly what Reece meant by his statement. Had he meant to be facetious? However, she hadn't detected even a smidgen of sarcasm in his tone. Reece couldn't possibly have meant that as an expression of appreciation. Or could he have? Was it possible that he actually believed what this beer-bellied bastard was saying about her?

  "Because of her—" Buster indicated Maggie with a small, sharp jerk of his head "—Sally left me. My wife would never have left the house on her own. We've been together for over twenty-two years. Sally would never have moved out. But this bitc—" He stopped himself. "This broad convinced my wife to pack up her shit. She tried to bust up my marriage, man. And everything she told Sally was a low-down, dirty lie. I have never cheated on my Sally. She's my woman. We might argue a little now and again, but I'd never cheat on her."

  Reece studied the aging man standing in front of him. Was that really pity he felt twisting in his gut? The bumps and knocks of Buster's obvious "live hard, die young" attitude had certainly taken a heavy toll on the man. But how a person chose to live his life was nobody's business but his own. And no matter what a person's lifestyle, he deserved to have his marriage treated with utmost sanctity. So who the heck did Maggie think she was to talk this man's wife into moving out of their home? Especially when Maggie had admitted that she hadn't yet actually caught Buster cheating on his wife.

  Something mingled with the pity wrenching in his stomach, and he finally identified it as suspicion and maybe even a smidgeon of outrage directed at Maggie. When he glanced across the car at her, he knew very well that there was serious accusation in his eyes.

  There was blatant hurt in hers. He could read it as clear as a cloudless sky. But he ignored it. No one should take it upon him or herself to break up a marriage. The close bond between a husband and wife should only be shattered by the man and woman directly involved in the relationship.

  The insult reflected in her gaze turned to anger, and her shoulders squared as she quietly asked, "You don't actually believe this bull he's feeding you, do you?"

  "Well," he began, "did you talk his wife into leaving?"

  Her chin tipped up. "Not only did I talk Sally into leaving, I drove her to the women's shelter myself."

  The outrag
e he felt swelled like a tidal wave. "Why would you do such a thing? You had no evidence that this man had cheated. You told me yourself, you hadn't caught him cheating on his wife." His eyes narrowed. "I'm sorry, Maggie, but what you did was wrong."

  Fury shot from her like a laser beam, spearing him straight through the chest.

  "How dare you judge me," she said. "You have no idea—"

  She halted, and he watched as she took a purposeful deep breath. Her anger had her actually trembling—her delicate features were hard, her green gaze icy cold.

  Once she'd gotten herself under control, she said, "I told Sally she'd be better off without her husband. And I did drive her to the shelter—but only after I made a quick stop at the emergency room. You see, Buster here used his wife as a human punching bag. She had a black eye, a swollen jaw and a broken finger that needed to be treated. But it seems that being beaten to within an inch of her life wasn't reason enough for Sally to leave this wonderful man. I had to promise her that I would get some pictures of him with another woman." Her frigid gaze swept over to the biker. "Cheating—" she spit out the word "—now there's a good reason to leave a man."

  A deep sense of contrition dragged on Reece's shoulders like fifty-pound weights. Maggie had had good reason to urge Sally to leave her husband.

  Reece remembered something Maggie had said earlier when they realized they had been spotted by the man they were spying on. She'd said Buster was only man enough to terrorize women. Reece had thought she'd been talking about the fearful situation she'd been facing regarding the intruder in her home—but now he believed Maggie had been commenting on the biker's treatment of his wife.

  Anger exploded inside him like a stick of dynamite. In his estimation, there was nothing worse than a woman-beater. Reece's eyes narrowed at Buster.

  "Hey, man..." Sensing he was about to lose Reece's sympathy, the biker took a backward step toward his motorcycle. "You know how it is." His voice was jovial and once again held that good-buddy intonation. "Sally was bad-mouthin' me, man. A woman needs to be knocked into line now and again. Yours could use a little—"