The Ultimate Romantic Suspense Set (8 romantic suspense novels from 8 bestselling authors for 99c)

by Lee Taylor

  She tossed her head. “Do you think it’s the first time I’ve had a wound treated with Dermabond?”

  “No, Major, I assume you’ve experienced this and worse. Got a few scars like the rest of us?”

  When she nodded, he took a chance and added, “Yeah, I’ve found that the ones that don’t show are harder to heal than the ones that do.”

  Jesse was startled at the police chief’s nuanced insight. Instinctively she started to put up her emotional shield but when he continued laying out the bandages, humming softly under his breath, she allowed herself to back off. She hoped he was talking about himself not just her. She leaned against the counter next to him and allowed herself to give into his presence. He made her feel small, feminine. She was so accustomed to playing a powerful macho role, it felt surprisingly good to lean on someone who was bigger and physically stronger. He was tall, easily a good three inches over six feet. He was lean, muscular—like an athlete not a body builder.

  Jesse drank in a deep breath, soaking up his smell. At the heady mix of subtle cologne and strong man a rush of sensation hit her core. She tried to brush off her attraction as the byproduct of fatigue but she knew better. It was his aura. He commanded attention, oozed power. The silvery grey and black striped dress shirt, tailored black trousers with a shield casually clipped at his waist, and hand-tooled black cowboy boots could have put him on the cover of GQ. The epitome of casual male model. And she added with a guilty flush of heat, it didn’t hurt that he was sexy as hell.

  Dameon broke into her wayward thoughts.

  “I hate to put this on you.”

  She jerked up. “Why? I can take it.”

  “I know you can. But, I don’t want to spoil the smell.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Your fragrance. I’m a sucker for lemon and verbena.”

  She was startled that he knew what she wore but also that, like her, he was attracted to her fragrance. Aiming for cover, she tried to make light of the comment.

  “How did you know what I wear… um, your wife’s favorite?”

  He smiled at her and shook his head. “No wife.”

  Jesse’s cheeks heated. She looked down to avoid his eyes, to cover her embarrassment.

  She knew he wasn’t married. In the middle of the night in between screaming tantrums and trying to wash the ugliness off her body, she’d booted up the internet and looked up his profile. He was 41 years old, a former Army Ranger and the youngest police chief of any major city in the country. She could still see his easy smile, and startling blue eyes that contrasted dramatically with his warm skin and sexy beard shadow. Her eyes had flown over the pages of accolades and honors from his military and police careers looking for personal details. At the bottom of the last page was the notation: Single father of Zoey Christina Macarios, 8 years old. Her heart leapt at the memory—as it had last night. And that was when she’d hated him.

  She was so absorbed in her reverie that she barely flinched when he applied the medical adhesive and quickly bandaged her up.

  As if he knew what she had been thinking about, he gave her a sly smile.

  “How about you put your hands up behind your head while I wrap those ribs? You can pretend that I’m about to pat you down.”

  She was sure her face was as red as it was hot and looked away not daring to meet his eyes.

  He chuckled. “I’m teasing you, Major, trying to distract you. I’ve got a better idea. Put your hands on my shoulders. That way I can get at your ribs without invading your privacy.”

  Jesse swallowed hard, her hands grasping his wide shoulders that rippled with lean muscle. She could only pray that he didn’t see how flushed she was or that she was finding it hard to take more than small sips of air. Blessedly he was efficient and in less than a minute had the bandage tight around her aching ribs.

  He stepped back and grinned at her. His eyes gleamed with a knowing light that she didn’t want to analyze.

  “Okay. We’ve handled number one and two in my list of priorities. It’s time we get to number three, the most important. How ’bout we sit down. You look all in.”

  She grimaced.

  “I haven’t had my coffee, officer. How am I supposed to look?”

  He ignored her temper and put a casual hand on the small of her back. Guiding her over to the table, he pulled out a chair. Jesse sank gratefully onto the chair, feeling fatigue wash over her. Dameon surveyed the kitchen, finally finding the microwave.

  “Does your radiation dragon work? That’s what my precocious daughter calls it. If I’m not mistaken the order was for ‘extra hot’ coffee among a long list of detailed demands.”

  “How did you know what I like?” As soon as she asked the image of her lighthearted, always smiling lawyer popped into her mind. She and Eric had coffee two days ago and he’d teased her about her high maintenance order.

  “Of course. You must know Eric Grant, my lawyer.”

  Dameon punched in the code on the microwave and leaned against the counter.

  “Yes, Eric and I go way back, even before our time together in Iraq. He’s a great lawyer and a good friend.”

  Jesse sniffed. “I used to think he was mine.”

  “If you’d heard him reaming me out last night, you’d know that he still is.”

  At the ding of the microwave, he brought two steaming cups of coffee over to the table, put one in front of Jesse then sunk down in a chair across from her. He tipped his cup toward her and took a long sip of his coffee.

  He regarded her thoughtfully through narrowed eyes.

  “Jesse, I have a question.”

  Jesse pursed her lips and shook her head. She held up her hand to stop him.

  “The answer is yes.”

  He quirked a brow. “To what?”

  “To the only question I’m going answer. Yes. I do have permits for all of the weapons I carry, as well as the ones that are in my weapons safe. That’s safe. My safe. Protected from my son.”

  He nodded. “I assumed that, now that I know who you are.”

  Jesse didn’t answer knowing where he was going and wasn’t willing to follow. Instead, she took a sip of her coffee and nibbled on her scone. He didn’t disappoint. He was as predictable as she assumed he would be.

  “You know, Jesse, we could have had a much less traumatic first meeting if you had come to the station and introduced yourself.”

  She gave a soft snort. “Why would I do that?”

  He shrugged. “Most PI’s like to present their credentials. Suck up to the cops. Make cozy. Establish at least some approximation of a working relationship.”

  “I’m not a PI. I provide protective services.”

  “Hmm, I see. It’s still a good idea to let the cops know who you are.”

  She flicked her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Why should I care if they know me?”

  He gazed at her through narrowed eyes. “Well for one reason, then they won’t mistake you for a drug moll.”

  A tiny smile graced her lips. It transformed her face, erased some of the tension. “Is that what you thought I was?”

  He groaned. “Yes. That’s exactly what I thought you were.” He tossed her a bitter smile remembering the way he’d jumped to that conclusion because she’d hurt his pride, stomped on his fragile male ego. He gazed at her for a moment then pushed against her clearly defined boundaries. “What else could I confess to get you to smile like that?”

  Her expression quickly morphed into a frown.

  “Another question, Chief?” She rose to her feet. “You must not have heard me. I said I would answer one question and now I have.” She backed away, her expression tightening further. “And Chief? You need to go.”

  Dameon tipped his chair back against the wall and stretched his long legs out in front of himself. He regarded her with a soft smile.

  “Why, Jesse? Because you are starting to relax, letting down your guard a little? That won’t do, will it, Major O’Donnell?”<
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  Chapter 6

  “Go now. I want you to leave. Leave my house and leave me alone. Now!”

  Jesse looked genuinely angry. When Dameon simply sat there, gazing at her through half lidded eyes, she snatched her coffee cup and dumped the contents in the sink. Grabbing the uneaten portion of her scone she tossed it into the sink and flipped on the garbage disposal.

  Dameon gave a rueful shake of his head and tipped his chair upright. Damn, if she didn’t remind him of Zoey when his little teeny bopper got angry. Between Zoey and Sheba, he felt he was getting to know at least one side of this tempestuous woman.

  He gave a hearty sigh. “I can say one thing for you. You do have a gift for the dramatic.”

  Jesse grasped the back of her the chair.

  “I asked you to leave.” Her voice wavered. “Haven’t you… haven’t you done enough to hurt me? What… more do you want from me?”

  As painful as her words were, Dameon was more concerned about her emotional state. The adrenaline wave she’d been riding was obviously cresting. Add to that her injuries, and he knew a downward spiral and hard crash were virtual certainties. Jesse looked pale, shaky. Dameon knew she’d had a hell of a night. Clearly her fatigue was beginning to overcome her, take its toll. It killed him that he was responsible for much of her pain.

  He rose slowly, careful not to alarm her. But she turned on him, her eyes flashing. Evidently he was going to be the target for her rage. She glared at him and lashed out.

  “You don’t understand, do you?” Tears welled up in her emerald green eyes. Hearing the agony in her voice, Dameon saw the raw pain behind her anger. She stammered, visibly trying to control her emotions. “My… client was almost killed. The man I was supposed to protect, my first client… could have been murdered, shot to death.”

  “Drug dealers and mafia dons aren’t the easiest people to protect, Jesse.” Dameon said carefully. “Besides, that’s not how I saw it. You threw yourself over a 220-pound man and protected him with your body. With bullets flying over your head, no less. You also pulled a gun and took out one of the shooters, potentially saving dozens of lives.” He pointed to the bandage on her hip. “And you got bit by a bullet for your effort.” Driving the point home, he added, “Jesus, Jesse. Even though I was mad as hell at you for what you did, it was damned heroic on your part.”

  He waited to see if his words were sinking in. From her tense expression it was clear his argument was falling on deaf ears. She began pacing across the floor wringing her hands. “You don’t understand. I was going to earn ten grand for this job. Now I’ll probably be blackballed by every wealthy man in the city who might’ve hired me.”

  She ran her hands distractedly through her hair. “And then if that wasn’t enough, my dress… did you see it? Did you?”

  He frowned not knowing where she was going with this. “Yes, it was gorgeous.”

  “No! I mean did you see how it got ripped?!”

  Dameon shook his head.

  She barreled on. “Do you have any idea how much that dress cost?”

  Dameon kept his voice and expression contained, calm.

  “No, I don’t. But it looked like a million dollars on you.”

  She frowned and poured out her misery as if he hadn’t spoken.

  “It’s ruined! I had to buy it for myself. Do you think my nonexistent client will pay to have it repaired? If it can even be repaired. Do you?” She couldn’t seem to decide whether to pace or stand still, so she sort of stopped and rocked in place.

  “And if that isn’t enough—my shoes.”

  Her voice broke. At this point she couldn’t hold back a sob.

  Dameon stood up and moved toward her but she held up her hands and backed away. He was struck how shattered she looked, how devastated.

  “Of course you don’t know. Men are so stupid. They don’t know anything about shoes, how important shoes are.”

  Seeing how close she was to the edge, Dameon moved into her space, letting his powerful body envelop her. He was gratified that she didn’t push him away.

  “How about you enlighten me, Jesse?”

  She stared at him as though he was a different species.

  “Do you even know what Jimmy Choo shoes are? Do you? Let me show you.”

  She ran from the room and came back with her shoes, one of which had a broken heel and torn straps. She seemed unaware that tears were rolling down her face. Swiping at the tears with the back of her hand, she held out the broken shoe.

  “Look, see this? It can’t be repaired. They cost $1,200! Almost as much as my dress.”

  Dameon took her hand and pulled her close to him. He wished he dared hold her on his lap; it would help them both but he didn’t push his luck. Instead he inched her over to her chair and sat her down. He pulled his chair up next to hers. Looking carefully at the broken shoe, he nodded.

  “I do remember these. They’re beautiful. But to be honest I was paying more attention to the gorgeous feet that were in them.”

  She didn’t hear him or wasn’t listening.

  “They’re ruined. My very first pair of Jimmy Choo’s. Do you know how many nights I lay in that disgusting sandbox, bullets flying over my head, wishing to God that I was anywhere but there? I hated it. Especially the sand. It was everywhere. My bedroll was filled with it. It was in my clothes, my mouth, my nose, my food. Do you know what kept me sane? These!”

  She held up the shoes.

  “Dreaming about these shoes. That was the only way I could convince myself that somehow, someway I’d make it out of there.”

  Dameon gave her a sympathetic smile. “I hear you, Jesse. I still have nightmares about that damn sand. The way I kept sane was envisioning pepperoni pizza but yes I can see why shoes like this would work. They gave you something to hang on to. The other world. The sane world.”

  She threw up her hands and wailed.

  “But don’t you see? They’re broken, destroyed!”

  Her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID and her face blanched. She made a visible effort to contain herself. She swallowed hard and whispered. “I have to take this.”

  Trying to quiet his revulsion seeing Raoul’s name on the caller ID, Dameon nodded. His gut wasn’t as easily put off and shot a load of bile into his throat. He listened to her one-sided conversation, the gist of which was crystal clear. Since he’d have given his left nut for her to end the dangerous relationship with Raoul Morales, it was an unpleasant conversation for him to overhear.

  “Yes, this is Jesse. No, thank you. I’m fine. No, please, I truly am fine. It was just a little scratch.” She was silent for a moment then her eyes widened. “I… I appreciate that. But really, I was just doing my job. No, really… but thank you.” She glanced at the clock and swallowed. “Yes, I can be ready. Um, I’d prefer to meet you. I have to pick up my son after school.” She glanced at Dameon then shook her head and gave a helpless shrug indicating that she was embarrassed that Dameon heard her protective fib. “Noon? No, that’s not too early. Wait, let me get a pen.” Dameon withdrew a Mont Blanc pen and leather embossed notepad from his vest pocket and handed it to her. She silently thanked him and scratched down an address.

  “Thank you, Raoul. Yes, it was a most interesting evening. See you soon.”

  The silence between them was heavy.

  Dameon spoke first. “May I presume that you didn’t lose your client after all?”

  Jesse’s face lit with wonder.

  “No, he… he called to thank me. He said I saved his life. He wanted to make sure I wasn’t hurt. I’m meeting….”

  She stopped in mid-sentence as though seeing his troubled expression for the first time.

  “Never mind. I think… you should go now, Chief.”

  Dameon took a deep breath and decided that he’d raise the ‘Raoul’ issue with her at a later time. It would no doubt be a challenging discussion. Besides, he needed to have a more immediate conversation that was likely to be as difficult. He glanced
at his watch.

  “Yes, you’re right. I have a staff meeting in a half hour. I do need to go.”

  Jesse followed him to the front door.

  `“Dameon, wait. I… I’m sorry I fell apart. I don’t do that. Ever. I… I don’t know what came over me. I must have sounded like an idiot about… my dress… my shoes.” She closed her eyes as if to shut out the memory. “I’m sorry.”

  He smiled, wondering if she realized that she’d called him by his first name. “Don’t be. I’ve got broad shoulders.”

  She looked up at him and met his eyes, then flushed. “Yes… yes you do.”

  He grinned at her. “Anytime you have a shoe crisis—or any other crisis for that matter, I’m available. Shoulders and all.”

  She shook her head. “No. No, I… don’t need or want that. I won’t bother you again.”

  At the doorway, he paused, then dropped yet another bombshell.

  “One more thing, Jesse. In addition to wanting to apologize to you, I came this morning to tell you that I’ve scheduled a debriefing session this afternoon at 4 p.m.to review what happened last night. We need to take your official statement. I want to know what happened from your point of view. Specifically, what you know about the men who attacked and how they are related to Raoul.”

  She jerked back, familiar anger capturing her expression. She glared at him and scoffed.

  “You are truly unbelievable. Now in addition to everything else, you want me to snitch on my client? My one fucking client?”

  He smiled. “Actually I told Raoul to be there as well, although I also want to interview you without him present.”

  Before she could protest, Dameon added.

  “Look Jesse, you’re exhausted. And you need to spend time with your son. That kid is worried sick about you. I’ll let Raoul know we changed the meeting time. We’ll make it 10 o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  She frowned and put up her hands to ward him off.

  “I… I didn’t say I would come.”

  He raised an eyebrow and shook his head.