Some Girls Do

by Leanne Banks

  WHEN SHE'S BAD

  available

  November 2003.

  Chapter 1

  She wished she could turn the other way.

  In the underground garage of her high-rise condo, Dee Montague heard the sound of fist pounding flesh and winced. The unsettling noise echoed from just two car rows away from her and reminded her of a different time in her life, when she'd lived in a different, less safe neighborhood. Muggings weren't supposed to happen here. This garage had video security surveillance. She glanced toward a camera and shook her fist, wondering who was sleeping in front of the monitor at the moment.

  She heard a groan of pain, and overwhelming helplessness shot through her. Despite the cool outer image she took pains to maintain, she was one step away from becoming a basket case. After watching the most important person in her life die just months before, she couldn't bear the idea of watching anyone else die. She glanced heavenward in dismay, and whispered, “Don't you know I'm not a good choice for this duty?”

  If only she wasn't plagued with this damned belief in fate. Fate put a person in a place for a reason, so in theory, there was a reason she was here at this minute, and she'd better not screw it up, or she would be paying for it forever.

  Her stomach turned as she felt the unwelcome noose of responsibility tighten around her neck. Her mind whirled with crazy possibilities. She wasn't packing a pistol, and she wasn't Superwoman. She glanced down at herself in a futile desperate search for a weapon. In her short designer skirt and high heels, she was dressed to slay men—metaphorically speaking—and inspire women, not kill thugs. What was she supposed to do? Stab the bad guys with one of her heels? Her mind wandered. There had actually been that time when she'd had to stomp the instep of an overly amorous client. She thought about her thong underwear-Thongs were usually a very effective distraction for men, but—

  She heard another punch and couldn't stand it. Time for a lie. Ducking behind a car, she covered her eyes, and at the top of her lungs screamed, “Fire! Fire! Thank God, there's the police! Fire! Fire! Officer, over here! Help!”

  When she took a breath, she inhaled, her pulse pounding in her ears. Her peripheral vision caught sight of three hoodlums scurrying out the far exit of the parking garage. She tentatively stepped forward and peeked around the corner, spotting a man slumped on the ground.

  She scrambled toward him, praying no thugs remained and swearing under her breath. “Are you okay?” she asked, poking gingerly at his shoulder. “Please be alive. Are you conscious?”

  He gazed up at her and grimaced. “I think,” he said in a slurred voice. “Who—”

  “We've got to get out of here. Be quiet and get in the elevator,” she said, dragging his tall frame to his feet and trying to support him as she urged him to the elevator. She felt muscles bunch beneath the tweed wool jacket he wore and wondered if he had tried to defend himself.

  She clumsily shoved him against the side of the elevator and punched the button for the floor to her condo. She would figure out what to do with him later. At that instant, she just needed to get them away.

  She stepped closer to peer at his wounds, touching his face, half of which was unmarked Strong jaw, chiseled bones, he looked about thirty, with dark hair, and the one eye that was open seemed to look right through her. A good soul, she instantly concluded with the confidence of a woman who'd graduated with a Ph.D. from the school of hard knocks. Her ability to read a man through his eyes had saved her butt more times than she could count. Her heart still hammering a mile a minute, she bit her lip as she took inventory. She started to chatter and couldn't make herself stop. “Your left eye looks terrible. Swollen shut and red already. What's your name?”

  “Benjamin.”

  She made a tsking sound. “Oh, Benjamin, your mouth is bleeding. And your cheek—”

  Benjamin didn't know which was making his head spin more—the throbbing in his brain or the woman's nervous talk. Just after his assailants had fled, he'd wondered if he was going to die. The next thing he remembered was looking at the most shapely pair of legs he'd ever seen in his life, quickly followed by a wild-eyed woman who'd dragged him into the elevator. He had the impression of being blown away by a hot Texas wind.

  “Did they punch you in the stomach?” She touched his chest, then her hand fell to his belly, and he instinctively sucked in a sharp breath.

  “What if you're bleeding internally? You should go to the emergency room. Are you feeling dizzy or nauseated? You could have a concussion.”

  “I-jus-got-back-from—” He swallowed and closed both his eyes.

  “Omigod. Your voice is slurred. You could have a concussion. Your brain may be swelling. We have to—”

  “Dentist,” he said, and pulled gauze from his mouth. “I just got a root canal.”

  “Oh.” She grimaced in sympathy. “Helluva day.”

  He stared at his rescuer…with his good eye. He watched her brush a dark lock of her hair away from her eyes. She gnawed on her full bottom lip, and his gaze traveled downward over curves he suspected had caused many masculine meltdowns. Her top fit her shapely breasts like air, and her skirt was too short, too tight. She was the antithesis of every conservative well-bred New England woman he'd dated since he'd entered Harvard Law School.

  The woman looked like sin. With heart.

  The elevator dinged, signaling the end of their ride. His floor, he thought How convenient. He could collapse on a clear spot in his condo if he could find one. His do-it-yourself renovations were supposed to provide him some sorely needed do-it-yourself therapy. After he collapsed, he'd like to knock out a wall.

  “Come with me,” she said. “I can at least get some ice on your eye while we figure out what to do next.”

  “But I'm right down the—”

  “Don't argue with me. We need to figure out whether to call the police first or take you to the emergency room,” she continued, nudging him down the hallway and unlocking, the door to her condominium. “Take the sofa. I'll get the ice.”

  He'd barely sunk down onto her ivory leather sofa before she returned with a frozen bag of peas. She gingerly lifted the bag to his eye.

  He sucked in a quick breath.

  “Sorry, but you'll thank me in the morning,” she said in a husky voice.

  If his head weren't splitting in half, he might enjoy a few fantasies about how to spend the kind of night where he would thank her in the morning. Instead, he met her gaze with his good eye. “I don't have to wait. Thank you for screaming.”

  “You're welcome. What about your stomach and ribs? Do you think anything is broken?”

  He slid his hands over his trunk and slowly shook his head.” I don't think so.”

  Dee felt her panic ratchet down another notch. “We should call the police,” she suggested. “And make sure whoever is monitoring security tonight gets fired,” she added in disgust. “You just know that if someone had been having sex on the floor of that garage, those security dodos would have been plastered to the monitor. Heck, they'd probably be making copies of the videos for their friends, but when someone gets mugged—”

  She broke off as Benjamin clutched his ribs.

  “What's wrong?” she asked, instinctively reaching out to him.

  “Please don't make me laugh,” he said in a voice that surprised her with the tinge of sexiness.

  She blinked and took a quick reassessment. A different kind of assessment this time. A woman's assessment. Just over six feet tall, judging by the way she'd had to look up at him in the elevator, nice dark hair, although a bit mussed at the moment. Dark eyebrows framing his brown eyes. Expressive eyes. She liked that. Great bones, she thought, taking in his chiseled facial structure, and she was trained to notice. Couldn't tell a thing about the mouth since it was swollen and bloody. Broad-shouldered, but lean with muscles. A runner, she guessed, or swimmer, looking at his shoulders again. She allowed her gaze to sweep past his thighs, down to his feet. Large feet.

  Oh,
my. Sense of humor, good dresser, and he had a good soul. Interesting man. She wondered if a woman would be able to hold him at arm's length.

  She met his gaze and felt a surprising punch. He knew exactly what she'd been doing. Well, damn. Intelligence could really ruin the mix.

  “I don't think I've ever been strip-searched more thoroughly by a woman,” he said, sounding flattered.

  She almost felt embarrassed. After all, the man had just taken a beating. She shrugged and shot him a smile that she knew had knocked at least a few men off kilter. “I'm nothing if not thorough. Lean back, I'll get you something to drink. Hard or soft?” she asked, thinking it might be a lot of fun to get him hard.

  “Whiskey sounds good, but I'd probably better not mix the dentist's meds with alcohol. Just water.”

  Sensible, too, she thought, as she walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a chilled bottle of springwater. What an interesting man. She liked his voice. She liked the way he smelled. She liked the one eye that wasn't swollen shut. Given her history, she wondered if he was gay, then told herself it didn't matter. His intelligence would likely cause problems.

  “Here,” she said; unscrewing the cap on the bottle and giving it to him. “I'll get the phone. You can call the police.”

  “What's your name?” he asked, as she turned away.

  “Dee Montague,” she said, smiling to herself as she wondered what he would think of her given name. It never failed to provoke a reaction. “Delilah, actually.”

  He paused. “Delilah?”

  “Yes,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.

  “It suits you,” he said slowly. “So how do I thank you for saving me?”

  “I don't know,” she said, dialing the number for the police and sitting beside him on the couch. “Maybe we can put our heads together and come up with something later,” she said, pleased to regain her ingrained ability to flirt. “In the meantime, you should talk to the police.”

  She held the bag of peas against his eye while he reported the assault in the garage. Listening to him with half an ear, she tried to place his aftershave. A man had designed it, she decided. It was the kind of aftershave created to make a woman hungry and wet.

  “Benjamin Huntington III,” he said. “My address is Waterstone Towers, 533 Cary Street, unit 1428.”

  Dee frowned. Puzzled, she wrinkled her brow. Had she heard correctly? The back of her neck tightened. As soon as he turned off the phone, she took it from him. “Did I hear you say you're in unit 1428?”

  He nodded. “That's right,” he said with a half smile that managed to be sexy even though half his face was pummeled.

  She could have pummeled the other half.

  Dee felt her chest tighten with resentment. On top of the trauma of the evening and everything else she'd been through during the last few months, this was just too much. She felt her composure begin to crack and pointed at him accusingly. “You're my neighbor?”

  “Right next door,” He lifted the bottle of water to his lips.

  Dee shook her head in disbelief. “You are the new neighbor who starts hammering or using some kind of loud machinery at 6 P.M. every evening and doesn't stop until well after midnight.”

  Benjamin stopped midgulp. “I'm renovating—”

  She didn't want him to explain. She wanted him to stop torturing her. “And you are the new neighbor who plays some kind of music that sounds as if the building is being stormed by torchbearers bent on destruction.”

  He looked perplexed. “Russian opera?”

  “And you play this music full blast despite the fact that I've left several notes requesting you to turn it down,” she said, gritting her teeth. “And it's so loud I can't even escape it when I take a shower.”

  “Notes? What notes?”

  “Oh, right,” she said in complete disbelief. “Just like you didn't know your renovations left me without electricity when you went out of town weekend before last.”

  He stared at her with a blank expression. Dee didn't believe it for one minute. The man had caused her untold misery. More than ever during the last month she had craved the solace of her home, but for all the disturbance he had made, he might as well have brought a wrecking ball inside her condo instead of his. No one could be that ignorant. Then again, maybe this meant he wasn't intelligent after all. Too late, she thought. She knew the truth. He was the most annoying neighbor on the planet, and like an idiot, she had rescued him.

  She pulled the bottle of water from his hand. “Get out. Go get your own water.”

  He stood, looking at her as if she were crazy. And although Dee would die before she admitted it to him, she was a little crazy just then. The most important person in her life had died two months before, and she'd subsequently inherited a share in a business that could solidify both her professional and financial future if she could keep the scandal mongers at bay. She still hadn't figured out what to do about it, and the Power Tool Prince currently staring at her as if she had a screw loose, that he no doubt could tighten, was partially responsible. She couldn't sleep; therefore, she couldn't think; therefore, she hadn't figured out a solution for keeping the vow she'd made and cementing her future.

  “Get out,” she told him, shooing him toward her door. “After a long day at work during which I pull about a half dozen knives out of my back, I don't want much. All I want is a little peace and quiet at the end of the day. All I want is to lose myself in a hot shower, but I haven't been able to do that because of you,” she said, shaking her finger at him as he backed through her doorway. “That's bad enough, but I waited two years to get my cleaning lady to clean on Fridays. Two years. I was gone for two weeks and you waltz in and I'm back on Tuesdays because my cleaning lady is cleaning for you on Fridays.”

  He shook his head. “I apologize. I had no idea.”

  “Well, I'm giving you an idea,” she shouted. “You've destroyed any chance I have for peace in my home, then you have the nerve to get mugged just as I'm arriving home, so I nearly have a nervous breakdown trying to save you. Give me back my peas,” she said, snagging the bag from his hand before she slammed the door in his astonished half-handsome, half-pummeled face.

  The sound of the slamming door reverberated in his already pounding head as Benjamin stared into space with one eye, wondering what had just happened. He'd gotten a root canal. He'd been robbed and beaten by thugs. He'd been rescued by the reincarnation of a mad Mae West. He wasn't sure which was worst.

  THE EDITOR'S DIARY

  Dear Reader,

  Do we ever follow our mothers’ advice? With our two Warner Forever titles this May, you can laugh at the hilarious advice of an eccentric mother or get a chilling reminder of what our mothers always warned us about. But definitely follow our advice when we say that reading two great romance novels is even better than reading one!

  Janet Evanovich says, “Every girl from 18 to 80 will love Leanne Banks's SOME GIRLS DO. The best feel-good book you'll read this year!” We just know you'll agree. So throw yourself into the madcap adventure of Katie Collins and Michael Wingate. When personal assistant Katie must find a suitable husband for the daughter of her tycoon boss, she is forced to work with bodyguard Michael, who drives her out of her sensible shoes. But it's only when Katie takes the non-traditional advice of her late mother—“Every once in a while, you meet a man worth the trouble he's going to cause you”—that Katie takes the bull by the horns…and discovers why some good girls do want to be bad sometimes.…

  Should a heart-pounding suspense be your choice of indulgence, why not curl up in your favorite chair with LAST BREATH by Rachel Lee. Father Brendan Quinlan is a popular pastor at St. Simeon's Parish whose world is turned upside down when he's suspected of murdering a young man attending his church. Private investigator Chloe Ryder takes on the case to prove Father Brendan's innocence, all the while butting heads—and hearts—with police detective Matthew Diel. Have some hot tea nearby to ward off the chills rolling down your spine. According to Pu
blishers Weekly, “Lee skillfully constructs a suspenseful story—with romance in all the right places.”

  To find out more about these May titles, the authors, and Warner Forever, visit us at www.warnerforever.com.

  With warmest wishes,

  Karen Kosztolnyik, Senior Editor

  P.S. Summer is just around the corner, so start your beach reading list early with these upcoming titles: Mary McBride presents the perfect hero with a wounded heart in the wonderful romantic comedy MY HERO; and BACK ROADS is Susan Crandall's debut novel about a young woman from a small town who yearns for a new life—it's women's fiction at its best.

  STELLAR ROMANTIC SUSPENSE FROM RACHEL LEE

  After I Dream

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  Before I Sleep

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  Last Breath

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  Under Suspicion

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  When I Wake

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  “You want me to find a husband for your daughter?” As personal assistant to the rich and eccentric, Katie Collins thought she'd heard it all. Now to keep her job she has to play matchmaker for her boss's only child. With her shapeless clothes and prim appearance, Katie has not had much experience with the opposite sex. That doesn't stop her from trying to turn shy Wilhemina into a swan. Or from dragging reluctant bodyguard Michael Wingate to Texas, where their lovelorn heiress has run off to lasso herself a cowboy.