Fit for a Sheikh

“No wife or girlfriend waiting for you? Or are you the kind of guy who has a girl at every stop?”

“I have no ties.” He wanted no ties.

“What about your parents?”

“Both dead.”

She looked sympathetic. “I’m sorry. My dad died when I was young, but my mom’s still alive. She taught me everything I know about bartending because that’s how she supported us. She makes the best gin martini in the good old U. S. of A. Probably in the world. She also taught me how to fight when the situation called for it.”

Her ability to fight had been apparent to Darin when she’d taken on Birkenfeld in the alley. At least he was somewhat assured she could handle herself during a dangerous situation—but only to a point. He would make certain she was not faced with that prospect again—all the more reason for him to make a quick exit from the apartment and her life.

A bark and a whine came from the room at the same time the knock sounded, saving Darin from having to answer questions of a personal nature. He had already revealed more to her than he should.

When he started to stand, she pointed a finger at him and said, “Don’t get up. It’s just Peg.”

“Make certain before you open the door,” Darin cautioned. “Birkenfeld could have followed us.”

She frowned. “And I’m so sure he would be polite enough to knock before he kicked down the door.”

When Fiona walked to the entry, Darin withdrew his gun from the discarded holster on the table and laid it on his lap. He, too, greatly doubted that Birkenfeld would knock, but he intended to be prepared for anything, although he had not been prepared for this woman named Fiona.

He questioned his wisdom in spending the night with her—a woman who had sparked his imagination and effectively lowered his guard, something that could prove costly if he did not practice more care. Yet the prospect of giving her one night of pleasure beyond the limits caused his body to stir to life once more. He was in no shape to chase after Birkenfeld tonight, but he wasn’t totally incapacitated. Despite his caution and his wounds, he would most gladly make love to her in ways she would not soon forget.

But only if she agreed to the terms. No ties. No emotional entanglement. No promises. Whatever happened between them during those hours between dark and dawn would be solely up to her.

Tomorrow he would return to his solitary existence where nothing mattered beyond the mission. He had no need for a permanent relationship—even though at times he longed for that very thing.

Fiona peeked through the peephole to see fifty-something Peg standing on the threshold dressed in baggy red-heart-spattered white pajamas, her brown hair shooting from her scalp like frizzy fireworks. “It’s her,” she told Scorpio without turning around.

She opened the door only far enough so she could slip outside to join her neighbor on the porch, closing the door behind her. “That was fast.”

Peg held up a brown bag. “This is what I had on hand. A few butterfly closures, gauze wrap and tape and some antibiotic samples. I wasn’t about to go traipsing down to the clinic this time of night and risk setting off the alarm.”

Fiona took the bag and looked inside. “Thanks, Peg. You’re a jewel, as always.”

“So where is it?” Peg asked.

“Where is what?”

“Your cut?”

“I don’t have a cut.”

She nodded toward the bag clutched in Fiona’s hand. “Then who is that for?”

“A friend.”

Peg frowned. “A friend? Fiona, you better hope your ‘friend’ isn’t allergic to penicillin. I don’t want to be responsible if they go into anaphylactic shock. I could lose my job.”

“I’ll be sure to ask him.”

Peg’s wide smile farther inflated her dumpling cheeks. “Him? You got a man in there?”

Boy, Fiona had really done it now. “Yes, and don’t start making assumptions.”

Before Fiona could issue a protest, Peg stepped to one side on the porch and peered into the picture window through the break in the curtains. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes went wide. “You have a half-naked man with a gun on your couch!”

“He has his gun out?” Fiona moved behind Peg to confirm that fact.

Peg turned, alarm in her blue eyes. “Is he holding you hostage?”

In a manner of speaking, at least her libido. “Of course not. I would’ve called the police. In fact, he is the police, working undercover.” And she could imagine how well he would work under the covers. “That’s why he has the gun. He got into a fight at the bar and he doesn’t want to blow his cover by going to a hospital.”

Peg turned back to the window. “Impressive gun. Impressive guy. How well does his other pistol work?”

Fiona took Peg’s pudgy arm and pulled her back around and away from the window. “This is not what you think, Peg.” Unfortunately.

Peg smirked. “Are you sure the sex didn’t get a little wild and you clawed him?”

“In my dreams.”

“Well, if I were you, I’d make those dreams a reality. You’re already halfway there. You got him naked.”

“He got himself naked.”

Peg shrugged. “A minor point. Now all you have to do is get yourself naked and climb onboard the temptation train.”

“Don’t be obtuse, Peg. He’s beat-up. He’s not interested in sex.”

Peg released a metal-scraping laugh. “And don’t be stupid, Fiona. I don’t know one man who would let a little cut stop him from having sex.”

“It’s not a little cut, Peg. It’s three cuts, and one’s pretty bad. That’s why I need you to take a look, as long as you promise not to ask any questions.”

“I promise.”

“And no snide remarks.”

“I’ll try,” she said with less conviction.

Fiona opened the door and Peg followed close behind her. Scorpio was still sitting on the couch, the throw now wrapped around his waist. Fortunately, he’d put the gun back in its holster.

Fiona gestured at Peg and said, “Frank, this is my neighbor, Peggy Jones. She’s going to see what she can do about your cuts.”

Scorpio nodded at Peg. “I would be grateful for your aid.”

Peg elbowed Fiona aside and plopped her hefty frame next to Scorpio. “No problem. Now show me where it hurts.”

He lifted the throw, exposing his thigh to Peg’s scrutiny. “This isn’t going to do,” she said, and began ripping away the bandages. Fiona figured the poor guy’s thighs would be stripped of hair before Peg was done with him, yet Scorpio’s expression remained impassive. Obviously, he had a high pain threshold.