Sheerly Irresistible

“Hey, keep out of this,” the man said. “I was just starting to have some fun.”

Both women lashed out at each other with skinny arms and bony fists. Mitch held them just far enough apart to keep them from doing any serious damage.

“If this is the kind of fun you want,” Mitch told the man between clenched teeth, “then go somewhere else to have it.”

The man took a step toward him. “Make me.”

The unmistakable challenge in his tone made both women stop struggling and shift their focus to Mitch. He let go of them and faced the man on the dance floor. “If you’re smart, you’ll just turn around and walk away.”

But Mitch knew there was little chance of that happening. This guy was like too many of the men he’d seen while living on the streets. Too macho to keep out of trouble until they were in it neck-deep. He glanced over at the bar and saw Vandalay nod.

Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a beefy fist shooting out toward his jaw. Mitch twisted just in time to avoid the blow. Then he delivered a swift kick to the back of the man’s knees, causing him to crumple to the floor.

Mitch’s early education in street fighting was only enhanced by the combat moves he’d been taught when he’d gone into law enforcement. This loser wasn’t going to win this fight. Mitch just hoped the guy would be smart enough to figure that out before Mitch really had to hurt him.

No such luck.

By the time Mitch had scraped the guy off the floor and dumped him in the back of a taxicab, the two woman who had been fighting were back on the dance floor once more, with two new guys.

Donna Cummings, a blond waitress with an eternal wad of gum in her mouth sidled up to him. “You look like you could use a drink, Mitch.”

He rubbed his knuckles. “I could use a night off, but I’ll settle for a drink. Make it the usual. In fact, make it a double.”

She grinned. “One grape soda coming up.”

Mitch walked back to his post at the door, sensing that it was going to be another long night. He’d rather be watching a Clint Eastwood marathon on television. Anything but hanging around a bunch of lonely, desperate people trying to find love.

What really disgusted him was that he used to be one of them. Trolling the bars for women had been one of his favorite hobbies. His friends had joked that he must be related to Sam Malone, the famous womanizer on Cheers. But in the last year or so, that lifestyle had lost its appeal.

He’d successfully avoided the flirtations and not-so-subtle invitations of the women patrons of The Jungle during his first two weeks on the job. By now most of the regulars knew he was off-limits. Although Donna, recently married and ready to confine everyone she met to that institution, still tried to play matchmaker.

“Here you go,” she said, handing him a drink. “Did you see the blonde at the bar? She’s cute.”

“Too skinny for my taste,” he said.

“You’re too picky,” Donna said. “Why don’t you try to find a nice woman, Mitch? Someone who can make you happy.”

“Women are like potato chips,” he said with a smile. “I can’t stop at just one.”

She rolled her eyes. “Potato chips?”

“Maybe I should have said M&M’s.”

“Maybe you should quit trying to con me, Mitch Malone. I think you’re one of those old-fashioned romantics, the type I never see in this place anymore. You actually want more from a woman than her body.”

Mitch shook his head. “Donna, you’ve got me all wrong. I’m a connoisseur of the female body. The only reason I work here is because of the view.” He motioned to the scantily clad women on the dance floor. “I get a great show every night.”

Donna folded her arms across her chest. “Then why don’t you ever take one of them home?”

“I would, but my place is a mess.”

She laughed. “As if any woman in her right mind would care. You’re a romantic, Mitch, just admit it.”

“I plead the fifth.”

She shook her head. “You’re impossible.”

Time to go to work. “Hey, that’s better than desperate. Actually though, I hear this is the place to score some help in the romance department. Some of the guys I’ve talked to come here to pick up bootleg Viagra, hoping to boost their…vitality.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? Who?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t get any names.” Then he grinned. “Why, does you new husband need a boost?”

“Hardly,” she huffed, then smiled. “I have no complaints in that department.”

He nodded, then looked around the bar. He was walking a thin line, trying to gain information without arousing suspicion. “I may have to give the stuff a try sometime. See what happens.”

Her brows rose. “Couldn’t that be dangerous?”

“Exhausting, maybe. But not dangerous.”

“Still, it’s illegal. No silly drug is worth going to jail.” Then she turned and walked back to the bar.

Mitch mentally crossed Donna’s name off his list of suspects. She hadn’t taken the bait. He didn’t like deceiving her or the other employees of The Jungle. But if he wanted to succeed in his investigation, subterfuge was part of the job.

Still, he stuck to the real facts about his life as much as possible. He’d told people he’d grown up on the streets, raised by his grandmother after his parents abandoned him when he was nine years old. He admitted that he’d gotten into some trouble as a juvenile and received his Graduation Equivalency Diploma. What he left out, though, was the cop who had been his boxing coach, a man who had steered him into a career in law enforcement. But absolute truth was simply a luxury Mitch couldn’t afford right now.

The sound of a glass breaking broke his reverie. He looked toward the bar and saw a beer mug laying in pieces on the floor. A sudden stillness came over the room, though music still blared from the jukebox. The lights from the disco ball glittered over an empty dance floor. Most of the patrons were staring at the door. He followed their gazes and saw an eerily familiar woman standing just inside the room.

He stared at her and swallowed hard. His gaze took in everything at once. The long toffee-brown hair, the big brown eyes, and the modest curves that shouldn’t make a man stare—but they did. His eyes fell to the short, tight black skirt that revealed a pair of incredible legs. He blinked and looked again. The skirt was so sheer, he could damn well see through it! Heat kindled low and spread through his body like a brush-fire.

It was the woman from the back alley, though he couldn’t remember her name. Hell, he could barely remember his own name. But he knew what to call her as soon as she started walking toward him.

Trouble.

4

THE BLACK SKIRT CARESSED Claire’s thighs as she walked into The Jungle. She was intrigued by the odd sense of power it gave her. The way the silky fabric molded to her body. She loved the way it made her legs seem longer and her hips slimmer. But most of all, she loved the smolder of desire she saw in Mitch’s eyes. Eyes that looked even bluer than she remembered.

Unfortunately, he wore a shirt tonight. It was a black T-shirt, stretched a little taut at the shoulders, with the name of the nightclub emblazoned across it in white letters. And it was accompanied by a pair of snug black denim jeans. Mitch Malone didn’t need any magic clothes to make her smolder.

He watched her approach him, his gaze trickling down her body like warm syrup.

“Hello,” she said, holding out her hand. She’d better get used to approaching strange men if she wanted this study to be a success. “I’m Claire Dellafield.”

“Claire,” he echoed, in a way that told her he’d remember it this time. His hand swallowed hers whole and a delicious zing shot through her body. According to her initial observations, the skirt was definitely causing a chemical reaction.

So far, both Mitch and her cabdriver seemed to be affected. The cabdriver had even followed her into the nightclub.