Servicing the Target (Masters of the Shadowlands #10)(82)

He’d murmur to her in Spanish, his voice like the rocking waves in the ocean, and she’d wrap around him, her anchor, her love, and float there in contentment.

But then…maybe then would be a good time to rummage through his dresser drawer and find the engagement ring he’d bought her.





Chapter Nineteen



Late Sunday afternoon, Anne followed the hostess through the Chinese restaurant in downtown St. Pete.

Ben’s call an hour before had come as a surprise, since he’d left for the Everglades yesterday after spending the day with Marcus’s boys. He hadn’t planned to be back until late tonight.

“My sisters and brother-in-law are here from New York. Camille got a special deal to come down for a long weekend and decided to surprise me. I came back early to take them to the Dali Museum, and now we’re going to get something to eat. If you’re off work, can you join us? Be nice to let them meet you.” His voice had dropped. “And I’ve missed you.”

She understood. She’d missed him last night, more than she found comfortable.

Happily, her skip assignment for today had turned out to be more absent-minded than criminal and had been an easy recovery. She was free to join them.

What was annoying was the amount of anxiety simmering inside her. Since when had she been worried about meeting anyone?

The Chinese restaurant smelled like garlic and ginger, and Anne’s stomach growled as she crossed the room. She’d skipped breakfast—eating early hadn’t appealed—and had a granola bar for lunch. Now, she was starving.

The red-and-gold Oriental décor barely registered as she approached the far end. Ben sat at a round table with three women about Anne’s age and one black-haired man.

Both men rose. Ben was a good six inches taller than his brother-in-law, and, as always, Anne’s heart lifted at the sight of him. His white, short-sleeved shirt set off his wide shoulders and dark tan, and his jeans cupped his ass delightfully. He’d worn his caramel-colored hair loose over his shoulders, tempting her to perform ill-mannered public displays of affection.

When she stepped close and smiled in permission to touch, Ben put an arm around her waist. “Anne, here are my sisters and brother-in-law.” He motioned toward a tall honey-blonde in a pale green blouse and white capris. “Camille and her husband Leon manage a boutique tourist agency.”

“Which is how we managed to score this trip.” Camille’s wide smile was totally Ben’s. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Leon had a faint lilting Cajun accent.

“And you,” Anne said, meaning it. Ben had told her a few stories of this sister. He was very proud of her.

“My sister, Deanna,” Ben said.

The striking platinum blonde in an emerald tank top nodded with no warmth. “Anne.”

Before Anne could respond, Ben nodded at the last woman seated to his left. “Sheena is a friend of Deanna’s.”

“Oh, and surely yours as well, Ben,” the brunette said in a throaty voice and touched the back of his hand. Her hand lingered on his as she gave Anne an insincere smile. “Deanna had raved about her big brother for years, so I was delighted to finally spend time with him last Christmas.” The subtext was obvious. She and Ben had done more than “spend time.”

“We had so much fun,” Deanna agreed. “Remember that day we went sledding?”

“Oh, such a day.” Sheena caressed Ben’s hand and gazed up at him with big eyes. “I’d have broken my neck if you hadn’t caught me at the top of the hill.”

The woman had probably flung herself into his arms. Charming. Anne glanced at her chair—the empty one to Ben’s right—and Ben moved to hold it for her.

Deal with this, Sheena. Anne edged her chair to the right toward Deanna.

After sitting, Ben scooted close enough to brush his leg against Anne’s. She’d expected his move. Her slave had very assertive behavior, yet she could hardly reprimand him for claiming gestures she enjoyed.

Even better, he now was far enough away from Sheena-the-slut that her irritating, touchy-feely maneuvers would be blazingly obvious.

Leon noted the distance between Sheena and her prey, and the corners of his mouth tipped up. “So, Anne, Ben tells us you’re a bounty hunter. What’s that like?”

“I’m afraid what I do isn’t as exciting as what’s shown on television. Technically, in Florida, the job is called fugitive recovery, because an agent isn’t independent, but employed by a bail bond company. Mostly I do paperwork, computer searching, knocking on doors, and diplomacy. Occasionally, we see some action.”

“Action. I can’t imagine why a woman would want to put herself in danger.” Although Sheena’s eyelashes held enough mascara to resemble hairy tarantula legs, she still managed to look up at Ben through them. “Men are so much stronger.”

“They are?” Anne ran her hand over Ben’s biceps and gasped. “Oh, my. How strong you are! Who knew?”

Ben, Leon, and Camille broke out laughing. Unfortunately, Deanna’s glare was a match for Sheena’s. Naughty Anne. Not good to piss off relatives.

Time to defuse the situation. “Actually, Sheena, I like the action and the satisfaction of tossing the bad guys back in jail.” As Ben put his arm over the back of her chair, Anne turned to her right, put on her company smile, and asked Deanna, “What do you do for a living?”