Midnight Man (Midnight #1)(8)

Or so he presumed. He didn’t have much experience with the species. So here he was, locked into getting through an evening making conversation.

He didn’t want to make nice.

He didn’t want to have to give his opinion on how to decorate his new office. He just wanted to dump the whole problem in those pretty hands of hers and let her take care of it. And he sure as hell didn’t need her input into what security system the building needed. He was fine with that.

What he wanted was to skip dinner and go straight to bed. Feel those long, slender legs wrapped around his waist. Sink into her. She’d be hot and tight…

He sighed and shifted, jaws clenched. It was altogether likely that getting into her building was easier than getting into her bed.

The door swung open and there she was, Suzanne Barron, as of this morning his new landlady and just about the most desirable woman he’d ever seen, silhouetted in the frame, warm fragrant air from inside the building condensing in the cold night.

Damn! His stomach clenched. Did the whole freaking building smell like her?

She looked up at him, one foot in, one foot out, stunning and anxious, as if she could read his thoughts, which, please God, she couldn’t. Her long coat was open; revealing a pale pink blouse with pearl buttons opened enough to show the round swell of ivory breasts. His hands fisted.

“Hi.” She couldn’t read his mind but maybe some of his sexual energy was coming through because she looked a little apprehensive. Maybe he should have taken two cold showers.

“Good evening,” he rumbled in reply and she smiled, some of her tension easing.

Right response.

Good.

He could do this. He could. For a few hours at least.

She bent to carefully lock the door he had cracked in three minutes flat. She straightened and as she turned her head up toward him, perfumed strands of dark honey-blonde hair caught on the dark wool of his coat. He lifted them off carefully and they ran like silk through his hand. She watched him with wide gray eyes as if he was about to eat her up.

Nothing he’d like more. Just spread her out and dip in. Get her ready before mounting her…

He took her elbow and a deep breath. First things first. He had to feed her and strangle out some conversation before climbing on top of her.

It was going to be a long evening. The first of many long evenings.





“Thanks for ringing the bell and not picking the lock.” Suzanne looked up—way up—at the man walking beside her down the path to the front gate.

His mouth twisted and lifted in a half smile. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m sure you were tempted.”

“No. I’d made my point.”

He certainly had.

He was so close she could see the individual drops of rain in his black close-cropped hair. What a surprise when she’d opened the door a few minutes ago. This morning he’d looked dangerous and disreputable. She’d agreed to sign a lease only because he was an officer, if probably not a gentleman.

This evening she had no problem believing he ran a successful company. Wow, did he clean up nicely. He looked just as powerful as this morning, only clad in a fine wool suit and gray cashmere overcoat, he seemed…respectable. Like someone she could be going out to dinner with, without worrying he’d eat her up and spit out the bones.

He offered her his arm as they walked down the steps, stopping under the porch covering the gate. It was raining heavily now, a steady Portland rain, out of sullen low gray clouds.

John had produced a heavy oversized umbrella but waited a moment for the rain to abate a bit before walking out into the downpour. Suzanne glanced down. He wasn’t wearing combat boots like this morning, but he did have on heavy highly polished elegant shoes suitable for the rain pelting off the sidewalk.

Unlike her Rossetti pumps. She sighed. The pumps had been expensive and she was going to ruin them.

Never mind. She lifted her gaze and automatically scanned the street, as she always did.

Two blocks down and one block over was a trendy new gallery and three blocks the other way a fusion Asian restaurant was slated to open next week. The Pearl was coming up in the world.

But this particular stretch of Rose Street was dark and run-down. Suzanne often hesitated before making the plunge into the street toward her car and she never went out alone after dark.

She didn’t feel afraid now, though. Hand on John Huntington’s powerful arm, with him by her side, she felt absolutely no fear. None at all.

“Let’s go.” Holding the umbrella over her with his right hand, he placed his left arm around her waist and hurried them to his car.

Truck, more like it. Suzanne looked with dismay at the open door of the passenger side of the Yukon then up at him. From this angle and in the darkness all she could see was a large jaw.

She barely had time to contemplate the distance and the impossibility of climbing into it in her tight black skirt when John swung her up in his arms and placed her gently on the seat.

She was an adult woman and he had picked her up with no more effort than if she had been a child.

Again, she had to marvel at how quickly the man could move. She was still adjusting her coat when the driver’s door opened and closed quickly, letting in a swirl of cold air. He turned on the ignition.

“Where are we going?” she asked when they reached Brandon Avenue.