She's No Angel

by Leslie Kelly

  She almost whimpered.

  “But the truth is, I don’t know you and you don’t know me. I didn’t have any kind of protection on me, and even if I had, it would have been wet from the lake. And we’re both too old to be that stupid.”

  Well. Maybe he was. She nearly pointed out that “protection” was made to withstand moisture, which she could so have provided without any lake water at all. But he wasn’t done.

  “Plus, I’m not a hundred-percent convinced you’re not nuts and I’ve had enough of nutty women in my life.”

  Nuts? He thought she was crazy? Jen’s eyes flew open and her jaw dropped as she thought about that one. Men had called her a bitch before, that was for certain. But insane? She didn’t know whether to be insulted or amused.

  You have threatened murder at least a dozen times since you met this guy, her conscience reminded her. But he had to know she didn’t mean it, not any more than Ivy meant it when she threatened to kill the president for scheduling a press conference during Desperate Housewives.

  Boy. Maybe she was more like her aunts than she’d ever realized. Now wasn’t that a scary thought?

  “I’m not a black widow spider,” she retorted, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice, but judging by the slight tremor, she didn’t succeed. “I don’t mate and then kill.”

  He seemed to have realized he’d hurt her feelings. He moved his hand to cup her cheek, sliding his fingers through her wet hair, plucking out a leaf. God, she must look a mess.

  “I’m not afraid you’re dangerous, okay? That came out wrong. I just meant I don’t do the one-night-stand thing with strangers. Not anymore. I don’t trust immediately, and believe me when I say I have my reasons for that.”

  She wanted to know those reasons because the shadow that crossed his features told her they were legitimate ones. Which suddenly made her feel a little better. But before she could ask him about them, the front door of Ida Mae’s house opened and the wicked woman herself appeared on the porch. “Jennifer honey? What are you doing? And who’s that with you?”

  Jen sat back in her seat and gaped. Aliens had invaded while she was gone, and a kindly pod creature had taken over her aunt’s body. That was the only way Ida Mae could manage such a sweet tone and such a welcoming smile.

  “Why, child, your hair is all wet,” the woman said as she made her way down the steps toward the Jeep. “Come in, come in, before you catch your death of cold.”

  In the ninety-five-degree heat, yeah, that was going to happen. And inside would be worse. Besides, not only did Ida Mae not have air-conditioning, she never opened her windows, either. Jen figured she must be preparing herself for her future in hell.

  At least Ivy’s house had ceiling fans…not that Jen would sleep under Ivy’s roof. Not unless she had a padlock for her door to prevent the old woman from stealing all her jewelry…or smothering her in her sleep as she used to threaten to do when Jen was a child.

  Some people aged into their craziness. Ivy had had it going on for as long as Jen had known her.

  Which was one of the things that had always made the old woman so darned fascinating.

  “That’s one of the lunatic aunts?” Mike said, sounding doubtful. “She seems like any other sweet old lady.”

  Oh, great. Just perfect. Now he almost certainly thought she was nuts and had made up the lunacy that had left her stranded on the road for two days straight. If she didn’t already want to strangle Ida Mae for dumping her, she’d definitely want to now for feeding Mike’s suspicions that Jen was a little past the loony road sign on the highway of life.

  “Remember the fable about the crocodile who played nice in order to eat the trusting frog? Well, believe me, you’re looking at a dozen pair of crocodile boots waiting to happen.”

  “If you say so,” he said with a shrug, a smile lurking on his lips, as if he might be teasing her.

  She knew better. This man didn’t tease, at least not verbally. Physically was another story. Because if a woman had kissed the breath out of a man and then launched away from him, she would definitely be called a tease.

  “Who is your friend?” Ida Mae asked, still smiling. It was a wonder her face didn’t crack from the effort.

  “I’d better go. If I introduce you, she’ll have you in for tea and cookies and you’re better off never having my aunts’ tea and cookies.”

  He glanced down. “I’m not dressed for visiting anyway.”

  Without another word, Jen hopped out of the Jeep. Somehow, she managed to avoid choking on her heart as she watched him drive away.

  Okay. Heart was a stretch. Her libido was what went into overdrive whenever she thought about that kiss in the water. And she had a feeling it would be revved up for a long time….

  WHEN MIKE GOT BACK to the house, he hoped he’d be able to slip right up to his room, grab a change of clothes, then hit the shower. He didn’t want to answer any questions, such as why he was barefoot and shirtless. Why his hair was wet…not to mention his jeans.

  But luck wasn’t on his side. The minute he stepped into the house, carefully pushing the front door closed behind him, he was startled by the braying of a stupid cuckoo clock—one of the few remaining ones that had come with the house—right beside his head. He instinctively jerked, dropping his boots.

  And obviously getting his grandfather’s attention.

  “There you are!” Mortimer called as he emerged from his office. “Did you have a nice time?” He looked Mike over, from head to toe. “Oh. Got caught in a bit of a rainstorm, did you?”

  Yeah. Sure. Rain. He’d just stripped shirtless and done a barefoot dance in the rain, which was the only way he should be as sopping wet as he was. His jeans were sticking to him, clinging as tightly as if they’d been shrink-wrapped. Worse, despite the lapse of ten minutes since he’d dropped Jen off at her aunt’s house, his hard-on hadn’t diminished one bit.

  He honestly didn’t know how he’d been able to get into a sitting position in the wet jeans considering his dick was practically bursting out of his pants. It had been that way since the moment he’d noticed that woman devouring him with her stare in the lake. Kissing her—it had been amazing. Intense. So damn good.

  But ending it had been wise. Smart.

  So damn painful.

  He’d regret it, he knew that much. Hell, he already regretted it. But he knew he’d done the right thing. He wasn’t here to hook up with a woman, no matter how much he wanted her. Not so soon—not until he’d at least decided whether he could trust her or not. After all, Jennifer Feeney had been threatening murder one day ago.

  “Must have been a downpour, you’re quite drenched, boy.”

  Thankfully, Mortimer wasn’t wearing his glasses. And the wet fabric of his jeans should disguise any, uh, unusual bulges. So if he wanted to think Mike had been caught in a storm to rival Noah’s, that was okay by him.

  “You look like you’ve just climbed out of a well, much like I had to when I leapt into one to avoid some Nazi soldiers scouting the French countryside. That was right after D-day, when Rod and I first met, both of us having lost the rest of our platoons during our jumps.”

  He knew how the two men had met—both of them being paratroopers, Mortimer for the U.S. and Roderick for the Brits. From what it had sounded like, they’d saved each other’s lives that day…and many more days after.

  “Roddy was so young, just a boy, really, having lied about his age to enlist. But his French helped us avoid getting shot.”

  Mortimer’s expression grew wistful; he was winding up to tell a tale. Normally, Mike loved to hear them. If Grandpa wanted to relive his days with soldiers, bandits, harem girls and Bedouins, Mike had no problem with it…when he was dry.

  And not totally turned on by the memory of a sexy brunette in a soaking-wet pink top. The one that had clung to her full breasts and outlined her hard nipples so much he couldn’t keep his eyes off them. In fact, he’d barely been able to keep the Jeep on the road during the silent te
n-minute drive back to her place after their impromptu swim.

  “I must tell you all about it,” Mortimer said, clapping his hands together in anticipation.

  “Absolutely, Grandpa. Once I’m changed, all right?”

  He truly couldn’t think of a better way to spend an afternoon than listening to the old man’s stories of his life. Well, perhaps with the exception of going for another swim with Jennifer Feeney. With no clothes at all, this time.

  Uh-uh. No time for that. No time to get to know her enough to trust her. No time to trust her enough to have her.

  Unless…Unless he looked her up back in the city. Which suddenly sounded like the best idea he’d had all year. He smiled at the thought, certain he’d be able to track her down. Sometimes being a cop came in very handy.

  Until then, stories and a few beers with Mortimer would do pretty well. The man had more tales to tell than anyone else he’d ever known, and his adventures were legendary, even, as recently as last year, when he’d been briefly kidnapped by two…“Old ladies,” he muttered, suddenly going still.

  “What?”

  Shit. Old ladies. How on earth hadn’t he realized it sooner? “I can’t believe this,” he whispered, his mind spinning as he put everything together. Jen’s crazy, horny old aunts. The terrifying two days his grandfather had gone missing last year. Connected?

  “What was that?” Mortimer asked.

  “What were the names of those two women who drugged you and kept you tied up last year?” In their bedroom.

  Mortimer’s bushy brows pulled down in a fierce glare. “I told you before, I’m not telling. I don’t want you doing your police thing, it was a misunderstanding.”

  Sure. A misunderstanding.

  His brother’s frantic messages about Mortimer’s disappearance last summer had scared Mike so much, he’d come running as soon as he could. As had Morgan—who’d come all the way from Cairo. Only to find Mortimer grinning like a high-school football player laid by the whole cheerleading squad.

  “I wasn’t an unwilling participant,” Mortimer insisted.

  Mike gritted his teeth, well used to the argument. He had tried everything from pleading to browbeating to get the old man—or even his brother, Max—to give him enough information to go after Mortimer’s kidnappers legally. But Mortimer was stubborn. He’d refused to even name the women, and had threatened Max with a decade’s worth of the silent treatment if he did. He’d also donated new office equipment to the local police just so Mike couldn’t get any help there, either.

  “I’m not asking in an official capacity,” Mike said, trying to keep calm. “I simply want to know their last name.”

  Mortimer kept frowning, appearing suspicious.

  “You know I’m working cold cases now, Grandpa, in another state. There’s nothing I can do to them.” As much as he’d like to. “I give you my word.”

  “Well, that’s a different story, then. I know your word is good.” The old man had the audacity to smile. “I shared a few exciting days with the always delightful Feeney sisters.”

  “Feeney.” He stared in shock at his grandfather.

  It was true. Jen’s aunts had been the ones who’d drugged and kidnapped his grandfather for a geriatric orgy.

  “Those two lunatics are still on the loose?”

  “Ida Mae and Ivy are a danger only to themselves.”

  “And their niece,” he mumbled.

  But Mortimer’s hearing, like his vision, was sharper than he liked to let on. He immediately stepped closer. “Their niece? What do you know about her?”

  “I know they stranded her out in the middle of nowhere and I had to drive her into town last night. Then they ditched her again this morning, so I had to give her another ride.”

  Mike didn’t add that he’d given her a little more than that in the lake. And a lot more than that in his long, restless dreams the previous night.

  It was probably a good thing he hadn’t known the identity of her maniacal aunts. If he had, he might have taken Jen’s death threats a whole lot more seriously—not only because he suspected they’d drive anyone to murder, but also because crime obviously ran in that family. As, it seemed, did insanity.

  He suddenly rethought his idea of looking her up in the city. Mike had had quite enough of crazy, determined women who didn’t let anything stand in the way of what they wanted. The way Jen had taken what she’d wanted today in the lake proved she was as determined as she said she was. And just about everything else she’d said or done since he’d met her told him she was a little crazy, too.

  “Pretty, isn’t she?”

  “Very,” he replied before thinking about it. Then he narrowed his eyes. “Don’t even think about trying that matchmaking crap on me, Grandpa. Max put up with it. I won’t.”

  Mortimer brought a hand to his chest, his mouth dropping open, as if shocked at the idea. Mike recognized it as complete acting. “I mean it.”

  “Oh don’t be ridiculous. The girl’s not your type at all.”

  Right.

  “You wouldn’t be interested.”

  Of course not.

  “You have nothing in common.”

  Not a damn thing.

  “And she’s much too strong.”

  Mike flinched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, I thought you liked more…biddable girls.”

  He wasn’t exactly sure what biddable meant, but it didn’t sound good. “How do you know what kind of women I like?”

  “There was the one you brought to Easter dinner a few years back.” Mortimer crossed to the window and peered outside, not appearing terribly interested in their conversation. “I almost mistook her for a costumed rabbit who entertained children, she was so silent and colorless, with those pinkish eyes.”

  “She was a kindergarten teacher.” A pale one.

  Mortimer nodded, as if his point had been proved.

  “I’ve dated other women. And I’ve got the scars to prove it,” he added, his hand rising to his shoulder. Mike rubbed the scar there, still almost able to feel the bullet going in, remembering his complete disbelief at what was happening.

  “But it wasn’t your girlfriend who shot you, was it?” his grandfather asked. “She was a tiny little thing who you met after she’d witnessed a crime, if I’m not mistaken. Yes?”

  Mike didn’t like to think about that part of the whole mess. He’d been stupid to get involved with a witness in need of protection. Maybe he’d deserved what had happened later for breaking such a basic rule of law enforcement. “Yes.”

  “She baked cookies that were hard enough to break my dentures,” Mortimer said, shaking his head in disapproval. “And she was so sweet she made my few remaining real teeth ache.”

  Mike couldn’t help grinning. His grandfather had very specific tastes in women. From what he’d heard, his grandmother had been hell on wheels. As had the two other women Grandpa had married after his first wife had died giving birth to Mike’s mother.

  “Her strange friend was the one with the gun, wasn’t she?”

  Mike couldn’t deny it. Mortimer knew the whole story—he’d been right there for Mike at the hospital.

  Whenever Mike had ever envisioned himself taking a bullet, he’d figured it would be doing something important. Stopping a bank robber, a suspected killer. Not diving between a psycho slut and his girlfriend, whom she blamed for Mike’s lack of interest in her. Hell hath no fury, and didn’t he know it. The guys at work loved reminding him of it.

  “Well? Am I right?” Mortimer prodded.

  “You think I should have been dating the one with the gun?”

  “Never underestimate the attraction of a dangerous woman.”

  Like Jennifer Feeney, who’d been armed and threatening murder when he’d met her. All the more reason to stay away from the woman. He’d had enough to do with unbalanced females to last his whole life. And judging by her aunts, there was a serious lack of balance in that family.


  “But I know you do like your shrinking violets.”

  Mike snorted. “I don’t like weak women.”

  “No,” his grandfather conceded. “You just like the ones who need something from you. Like protection.”

  Grandpa watched closely as Mike thought about his words. He’d heard them before. “You’ve been talking to Max and Morgan.”

  “Enough to be quite sure young Miss Feeney isn’t your type…She’s no wilting flower.” A concerned frown tugged at the old man’s brow. Lifting a hand to his grizzled chin, he rubbed it and mumbled under his breath.

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just…something about the girl. Something her aunts mentioned.”

  That she’s feisty and tough and hot with skin like silk and a mouth made for pleasure?

  “She seems to have attracted some negative attention through her work. Not that it’s any of your concern, of course.”

  Mike had a feeling he was being played. But he still wanted to know more. Because usually, even in Mortimer’s wildest fabrications, there was some kernel of truth to be found. You simply had to dig for it. “What are you talking about?”

  His grandfather walked away. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Just threats, I’m sure, because of her fame. Or infamy.”

  That really got his attention and he followed, not caring that he dripped water across the foyer. “Would you stop pretending you don’t want to tell me what it is you’re talking about and spill it?”

  Mortimer paused in the doorway to his office and turned around, his eyes widened in innocence. Mike believed that about as much as he believed his grandfather didn’t occasionally sneak out to smoke cigars against the doctor’s strict orders. “You mean you didn’t recognize her?”

  He’d asked her if she was an actress. She’d said no…but maybe she was trying to hide her identity. “No.”

  “She’s a famous—notorious some would say—writer. She’s had a couple of very funny, slightly racy advice-to-women books that poke fun at men.”