The Naughty Nine: Where Danger and Passion Collide

by Nina Bruhns

  “Only if I let it.” He gave her a predatory look that made her insides shiver in delighted panic.

  For the first time in her life she felt singled out. Like a female cut from the herd for closer investigation by a dangerous male.

  Her late fiancé didn’t count, of course. She and Jack had practically grown up in each other’s pockets, and if anyone had done any singling out it had been her father. Jack had always been like a son to her dad. Besides, despite being a cop, Jack had been the least dangerous man she’d ever known.

  Not so, Russell Bridger. One look in those dark, beckoning eyes, and a woman knew she didn’t stand a chance against his bad boy appeal. She could only hope to hold him off long enough to find out what he offered in return.

  Not that she would want anything he might be offering. She wasn’t a one-night kind of woman. As for more than one night...well, she’d carefully planned the next few years of her life and a man had no place in it.

  “Shall we get our salads?” he asked.

  The selection was huge, and with Bridge’s advice on the best selections, she loaded her plate with a sample of every imaginable concoction from carrot salad to caviar. As they ate, she told him of her job at the nursery school, and they laughed over stories about the antics of her kids.

  “Sounds like a great job,” he said, chuckling.

  “It is. I love it.”

  “But I’m wondering why some lucky guy hasn’t married you and given you a dozen kids of your own by now.”

  She toyed with her fork for a moment, testing the feelings his question aroused. Sadness, regret. Still a little anger. But surprisingly, not the misery and longing she had felt for so long after Jack’s death. Those terrible emotions which had kept her alone and hiding out with just her job and her roses for company, ticking off items on her Master List, for fear of repeating the hurt with someone else.

  “My fiancé was killed three years ago,” she said quietly.

  He winced. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to bring up something unpleasant.”

  She shook her head. “It’s okay. He was a police officer, gunned down in the line of duty. It was rough, but I’ve gotten through it.” Her mind shut out the pain of thinking about her father’s death, which happened just a short month later. She studied her fork. “In any case, I won’t make that mistake again.”

  “What’s that?” he asked with a puzzled look.

  She looked up, surprised. Had she spoken out loud? She lifted a shoulder. “Loving a cop. Dating a cop. Ever looking at a cop again. Take your pick.”

  Not that she’d stop with just cops. Not in a week of Sundays. No man was worth the hurt she’d been through, three too many times.

  When she glanced up, Bridge had a shocked look on his face, but his expression was back in neutral so fast she thought she must have been mistaken.

  “A wise decision, I’m sure,” he said.

  She paused while the waiter exchanged empty salad plates for sizzling platters. “So, what about you?”

  “What about me?” He continued to avoid eye contact as he dug into his meal.

  She almost laughed at the discomfort he was valiantly attempting to hide. She was pretty sure this was the place in the conversation where most women Bridge dated got all starry-eyed about marriage and family. And he ran for the hills. Little did he know, between the two of them she’d be running the fastest.

  Nabbing a grilled shrimp by the tail, she bit it off and savored the delicious tang. “Why don’t you have a wife and a dozen kids?” She paused, suddenly alarmed. Oh, shit. “Or maybe you do?”

  He held up both hands. “Nope. Not me. Not a wife and kids kind of guy.”

  Ah. There it was, just as predicted.

  She should be glad. Getting involved was not what she wanted. Not in a hundred years. She should be greatly relieved they were on the same page.

  So, where had that sudden stab of disappointment come from?

  “I see,” she said.

  He cut her a look, as if to gauge how she’d taken it. “I don’t have much to offer a family in the way of security. My job—” His words halted abruptly. Then he shrugged. “No woman should have to put up with my lifestyle.”

  “Construction?” she said dryly. “I’d think that would be fairly stable.”

  For a moment he looked nonplussed. Then he shrugged again. “I just hold the stop sign. No building skills involved,” he finally said, turning back to his dinner.

  Could anyone really be that devoid of ambition? He didn’t exactly look like the typical California surfer dude...but looks could be deceiving, she supposed.

  “Why do you do it, then?” She waved a cherry tomato on her fork. “Holding up a stop sign doesn’t really seem like the kind of job a man of your intelligence would choose.” She hoped she hadn’t offended him.

  “It’s sort of temporary,” he said around a mouthful of barbecued rib.

  She picked up her margarita. “Oh? Did you get laid off?”

  His eyes met hers, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Not recently.” He waggled his brows mischievously.

  She took a sip of her drink and shook a bemused finger at him. “I might have to get out the soap for that kind of talk, young man.”

  “Yeah? I can think of a lot more developmentally appropriate uses for that soap,” he dared, his eyes sparkling.

  She hiked a brow at his use of the term she’d taught him in their earlier conversation about types of learning. “Oh, really?”

  “Yep. I could let you soap me up in more appropriate places, and see what develops.”

  She tried desperately not to blush or giggle, but lost on both counts. “Bridge!” The smile he gave her was bad boy naughty. “Time out?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Okay, how about on the dance floor?”

  She glanced in consternation at the small stage where a four-man band had begun to play without her even noticing. “Um. I’m not the world’s best dancer...”

  “I’ll show you the steps. Come on, Angel. Live dangerously.”

  Like she needed more encouragement.

  He rose and offered his arm, and a guilty thrill of excitement zinged up her spine. Hesitantly, she curled her fingers around the roped muscles of his forearm, praying the heat from his skin wouldn’t melt her common sense quite as easily as it was dissolving her knees.

  Stop in the Name of Love: Chapter Eleven

  As Bridge led Mary Alice onto the wooden floor, the band launched into a typical country tune about some poor guy having loved and lost. He pulled her close to his chest, and at first she resisted his tug. He could tell she’d planned to keep a proper distance between them. But he smiled when after a few moments she slipped into his arms and sighed out loud, nestling close against his body.

  He had to be nuts, letting himself be distracted like this. He really had to get hold of his rampaging hormones, or before he knew it he’d be trying to talk her into things he shouldn’t.

  Still. She was awfully nice. And she smelled so incredibly—

  “How do you like living in the Canyon?” he asked, forcing himself out of his inappropriate musings.

  Sierra Madre Canyon was a narrow, winding alcove crammed with one way streets and every type of home imaginable. The old neighborhood had been renowned for its quirky, artistic bent—and lack of parking—since the fifties. It suited her.

  “I love it. So quiet and peaceful. And I couldn’t ask for better neighbors.”

  Jesus.

  “Something wrong?” she asked when he stumbled at the mention of her neighbor. He’d gotten so wrapped up in enjoying himself that he’d forgotten this date was not a date, but strictly business.

  “Damn. Sorry!” He’d completely lost the rhythm of the dance.

  “We can sit down if you’re tired,” she said, about to step away from him.

  “Hell, no.” He pulled her back to him. “Go on, you were saying something about your neighbors?” He swayed them into the dance ag
ain.

  “Oh, just that everyone is so friendly.”

  He forced his mind back on track. “I gotta say, that guy who lives next door to you seems a little strange.”

  “Charlie? Strange?” she said, surprised. “Not at all.”

  “Charlie?” he said pointedly, leaning backward to look into her face. “You know him well, I take it?”

  She glanced at his frown, and her brows flickered. “Not really. Just in the usual neighbor kinds of ways.”

  “Such as?” he asked, unable to prevent the edge that crept into his voice.

  Thankfully, she didn’t seem to notice. “Oh, you know, he keeps an eye out for suspicious characters lurking about, and such. He’s a really nice guy. He has this lily pond he’s always fussing over.” She rolled her eyes with a grin. “It drives his gardeners batty. He constantly makes Jose and Enrico wade in and pull out the yucky dead lily pads.” Her eyes twinkled. “On the other hand, every Friday he always sends them over do my lawn, so I can’t complain.”

  “Mighty generous.” Bridge wondered what she was expected to do in return.

  “You haven’t seen my attempts with a lawn mower,” she muttered as he led her back to the table when the song ended.

  “Call me next time and I’ll come watch,” he drawled, and held her chair for her. “So, I hear ol’ Charlie throws some wild parties.”

  She grinned. “Once a month, like clockwork.”

  “Doesn’t the noise bother you?”

  “Nope. He always invites me.”

  He choked on a gulp of margarita and stared at her. Well, well. The pretty nursery school teacher certainly had a penchant for the unexpected. That angelic image was beginning to wilt big-time.

  Perhaps he should do some re-evaluating of his strictly business angle.

  As they finished eating, Bridge wondered what other surprises he might uncover if he dug deep enough. Good ones or bad?

  He wasn’t sure he was up to finding out. He’d be sorely disappointed if Mary Alice was even remotely involved with a scumbag like Charlie Watson.

  He didn’t think that was possible. He hoped it wasn’t.

  Either way, her impish innocence might just be Bridge’s own downfall. He was already way too attracted to this woman. He needed to be careful.

  Promises aside, he wasn’t cut out for serious relationships. She was absolutely right. Cops made terrible husband material. His parents’ marriage had proven that. His mother had been so young, and she’d loved his father so much. But every time Dad was late from work, Mama had withdrawn from them both a little more. As a boy, Bridge couldn’t understand the debilitating stress she’d felt from not knowing if something had happened to Daddy out on the mean streets of L.A.. Slowly, bit by bit, her nerves had deteriorated. In the end, the anxiety became too much.

  Dad’s job as a cop had killed her just as surely as Mary Alice’s fiancé had been gunned down in the line of duty. And he’d made his mama a solemn promise not to let another good woman share her sad fate.

  He glanced over at the sweet woman sitting across from him.

  And yet, could any man with a pulse possibly resist Mary Alice’s cute freckles and the prospect of holding her enticing, satin-covered curves close to his body?

  He sighed ruefully. Not this man.

  The band returned from a break, and the first riff of a lively two-step sounded over the speakers.

  “Come on, let’s work off some of all this food,” he suggested.

  When she rose, she discretely wiped a bead of perspiration from her brow.

  “Why don’t you take off that jacket?”

  “Oh, I don’t think—”

  “What’s the matter? Shy?” he challenged.

  Her chin went up, just as he’d known it would. “Of course not.” She shrugged off the jacket. “It did get a little warm out there last time.”

  He let his gaze glide down the smooth, slippery fabric of her barely-there dress, and back up again. Damn. It was likely to get downright scorching out there this time.

  Oh, yeah. Definitely time to re-evaluate.

  The band played a cotton-eyed Joe after a couple of two- steps, and then a country swing number. He couldn’t remember having so much fun in ages, teaching her the steps and feeling her become more and more confident whirling in and out of his arms. When the last strains of the swing tune faded, they were laughing like a couple of teenagers.

  She reached up, attempting to put right the confining bun their dancing had loosened. Her mass of red hair curved upward, wild and loose, to the top knot, tendrils curling about her temples, like the sensual model in some old-fashioned painting.

  “Lord, you’re good on your feet,” she said with a grin, catching her breath.

  He chuckled. “And on my knees, and lying down...” He hardly recognized his own voice, it had suddenly turned so deep and suggestive.

  She froze on the dance floor, and a deep blush started at the apples of her cheeks and spread outward. Mesmerized, his gaze dipped and followed the rosy stain as it fanned across the exposed swell of her breasts.

  He met her eyes and slowly raised his hands to her. “My God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured as she melted into his arms.

  The next dance was slow and romantic, and the woman he held was warm and soft. He wrapped himself around her and surrendered to the moment, drowning in the feel of her silky body under his hands, her curves pressing enticingly into him, surrounded by the intoxicating scent of strawberries and desire.

  He wanted more.

  Damn, he wanted her.

  He knew he was treading on dangerous ground. He’d never been drawn to a woman like her before. He knew she’d want more from him than just hot sex. A lot more.

  And for the first time ever, he was suddenly afraid he might want to give it to her—to try a normal relationship with a real woman, not a quick fling with some superficial chick who was only attracted to his badge or his overrated charm.

  No, Mary Alice was different. She was genuine and honest and pure. Her quiet grace and innate goodness reminded him a lot of his mama. That alone should scare the hell out of him.

  Not to mention the fact that Mary Alice hated cops with a passion.

  How ironic was that?

  Hell, no, it would never work. Everything was stacked against them. Bridge had no business toying with her, for both their sakes.

  But dammit, he was only a man.

  And the loneliness in his soul called out to him.

  Once, just once in his life, he’d like to touch a woman who turned his hard, harsh world to wonderfully tender mush, and eased the aching in his heart.

  When the song ended, he whispered in her ear, “It’s getting late. Shall we go?”

  The only question was...did he dare?

  Stop in the Name of Love: Chapter Twelve

  Mary Alice was sure Bridge would kiss her right there on the dance floor.

  When he turned away, she hadn’t known whether to be disappointed or immensely grateful. The memory of their earlier get-it-out-of-the-way kiss lingered in her blood, trying to obliterate what was left of her good sense.

  She should under no circumstances let him kiss her again. He was a laid-back charmer and an obvious player. Not the kind of man to take a chance on.

  She’d had all the misery she could take for the past few years, and had no intention of setting herself up for more. The three most important men in her life had been cruelly taken from her, and she couldn’t stand it if she fell for another man, only to have her heart ripped to shreds once again. Better by far to leave the whole thing alone before it ever got started.

  And if for some crazy reason Bridge felt differently, she could use his own words against him. He wasn’t really interested in her. Not seriously. He’d said as much plain as day just moments ago.

  Still, she couldn’t help but wish for just one more lingering taste of Russell Bridger’s talented lips before she said good-bye. He had the most uncanny way of disarming h
er defenses with his hard, masculine body, and making her long for things she hadn’t let herself think about in three years.

  By the time he parked his truck in front of her house, her pulse had doubled. He set the brake, killed the engine, and looked over at her.

  “I had a wonderful evening, Bridge,” she said, reaching for her purse. “Thanks so much.”

  “My pleasure.” After releasing his own seat belt, he squeezed the button to free hers. His eyes followed the belt as it glided up and over her breasts to the roll-up casing. “I hope we can do it again soon.”

  She fiddled with her purse strap. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  His surprised gaze sought hers. “No?”

  “It’s not that I don’t like you,” she rushed to explain. “I do. You’re very attractive and...” She cleared her throat. “But, well, I’m just not—” She looked up, helpless to get the words out.

  He turned to lean his back against the truck door, searching her face contemplatively. “Not that kind of girl?”

  “Let’s just say I’m not in the market for a...casual relationship.”

  “Mm-hmm.” He moved his arm up and rested it along the back of the bench seat, running a finger over the shoulder of her jacket. “It sure would be a shame to waste it, though.”

  She was almost afraid to ask. “Waste what?”

  “All the incredible electricity we’re generating with each other.”

  Oh, no. Now she was in trouble. “Sorry. I’m not into flying kites in the rain.” She smiled feebly. “Too dangerous.”

  His finger left her shoulder and strayed onto her neck, and he lightly drew his fingernail along the bare skin of her nape. Thunder and lightning streaked down her spine. She could practically hear the clouds of hormones crashing together in the cab.

  He pursed his lips. “So, you prefer the more domestic variety of electricity, eh? Flip a switch in the comfort of your own home and, voila, a safe, predictable turn-on.”

  She tried not to be offended as she struggleded to ignore his nail softly scoring her neck. “There’s something wrong with wanting safe?”