Some Kind of Hero

“But I could arrange an introduction, if you wanted.”

“You said she was engaged.”

“Does that matter to you?”

“Yes.”

“A cop with morals,” she mused.

“I’m not a cop,” he said again.

“So you said. But you didn’t say what you are.”

Not wanting to reveal too much about his reasons for being in West Virginia, he opted to try diversion again. “Do you dance?”

She tilted her head. “Is that a hypothetical question or an invitation?”

“An invitation.”

She studied him for another moment, as if considering his motives, then nodded. “All right.”

Joel led the way to the dance floor, reassuring himself that he’d issued the invitation solely to prevent her from continuing her inquiry. He wasn’t ready for her to find out who he was, his real reason for being there. Not until he knew whether or not she was the answer to his questions.

Then Riane put her hand in his, and desire surged through him. Hot and hard. And he knew that however he chose to rationalize the request in his own mind, the simple fact was that he’d wanted to hold her. She was sexy and beautiful and intriguing, and it had been far too long since he’d been with a woman.

The intensity of his own reaction shook him. He was a man of action, in charge of his life, responsible for his own decisions. Yet the moment she turned into his arms, he felt a spiraling sense of panic, a stunning realization that this was out of his control.

He’d only ever felt this way once before—toward the end of the Conroy investigation. Just as all the pieces seemed to be falling into place, he’d known that it had been a little too easy. He’d ignored the instinct, convinced himself it was paranoia.

He’d been wrong.

There was no way he’d make the same mistake again.

Okay, so maybe he was overreacting a little this time. Riane Quinlan was a woman. She might be beautiful, sexy, intriguing, but she was still just a woman.

Yet his instincts warned him that she was dangerous. Very dangerous. Because the scent of her clouded his mind; the subtle curves of her body made him forget his reason for being there; those full, painted lips tempted him to taste. Riane Quinlan made him not just forget, but want to forget, that she was off-limits.

Just a woman?

Like hell. This woman was more dangerous than a roomful of Zane Conroy’s trigger-happy minions with fully automatic Mac 10s.

He misstepped, and her hip brushed against his thigh. The fleeting contact jarred him, and he felt his blood begin to migrate southward. He forced himself to concentrate on moving his feet, determined to avoid any more such accidents so that she wouldn’t notice how affected he was by her.

Not that his physical response should surprise her. He was, after all, just a man, and she was as warm and soft as the scent that clung to her. And she fit in his arms as if it was where she was meant to be.

Joel gave himself a mental shake. It was ridiculous to even imagine such things. Riane Quinlan might fit in his arms, but she could never fit into his life. Nor he in hers. He knew that opposites could attract. He also knew, from personal experience, that they couldn’t coexist for very long.

“How long are you going to be in West Virginia?” Riane asked, breaking the silence that had stretched between them.

“I’m not sure,” he responded, then he made the mistake of looking at her. She’d tilted her head upward to speak to him, and her glossy lips were mere inches from his own. He only needed to lower his head a fraction and he could taste her. It was a tempting proposition. Too tempting. Too dangerous.

He tore his gaze from her mouth, saw that she was watching him. Her own eyes were dark, aware. He’d feel much more confident in his ability to do his job if he could keep his distance from Riane Quinlan. And he wouldn’t be able to keep his distance if she kept looking at him like that.

Focus, Logan.

Somewhere in the back recesses of his mind this niggling reminder from his conscience registered. He knew he was dangerously close to losing his focus, and he couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. Not this time.

“Riane,” he said. “That’s a rather unusual name, isn’t it?”

“It’s a feminine form of Ryan, which is my father’s name.”

His preliminary investigation had revealed that fact, but he didn’t know if the similarity was by design or coincidence. That was what he needed to find out, and that was why he needed to talk to the senator.

“Isn’t your mother usually a supporter of the Quinlan Camp Charity Ball?”

So much for being discreet, he thought, as the question blurted out of his mouth. But he was more worried about self-preservation than discretion at this point.

If Riane was startled by the abrupt change of topic, she gave no indication of it. “Yes,” she admitted. “And I was a little worried that her absence this year would affect attendance, but thankfully it hasn’t been a problem.”

“She won’t be making an appearance tonight?”

“I doubt it.” She smiled at him once more, drawing his gaze back to that luscious mouth, tempting him all over again. “She’s in Thailand.”

“Thailand?”

Riane nodded. “She and my father went on a cruise to celebrate their anniversary.”

Joel expected to be annoyed, even angry, at this revelation. His sole purpose in being here this evening was to contact the senator. But it was difficult to be angry when there was a soft, fragrant woman in his arms. Impossible to be annoyed that his source of information had been wrong.

“How long will they be gone?”

“What is your interest in my mother, Mr. Logan?”

“Joel,” he said, and smiled.

But she’d homed in on the direction of his questions and wouldn’t be deterred. “What is your interest in my mother, Joel?”

“I was just hoping, since I was in town anyway, that I might have an opportunity to meet with the senator.”

“Are you a Republican supporter?”

He realized, with reluctant admiration, that she was trying to trip him up. And had he not done his homework thoroughly, she might have done so with that question. Her mother was a Democrat.

“I’m not a card-carrying member of any party,” he told her.

He wasn’t sure if his response convinced her, but she let it drop. Joel accepted the reprieve, recognizing that he’d have to be a little more subtle if he didn’t want to raise Riane’s suspicions any further.

Preoccupied with these thoughts, he failed to spot the photographer until the flash of the camera’s bulb blinded him. He instinctively stepped away, crushing Riane’s toes in his haste.