One Sizzling Night. Jo Leigh

He rubbed a hand over his face. Mike, a former army ranger, had been with them a year now and was adjusting exceptionally well.

      “Give me your word you won’t find a reason to come back early.”

      “I can’t do that. But I promise I’ll do my best to get some R & R.”

      “All right. As long as you’re serious about making the effort.”

      He knew she was right. Working nonstop for as long as he had wasn’t in his best interest. But, truth be told, he hadn’t figured out how to turn off in the way she meant. It wasn’t that simple. Years of covert work where there were no days off—no seconds off—had instilled in him pathways of thinking, of being. Going to the supermarket could be an ordeal. The first year back he hadn’t been able to make it through a quick shop without wanting to pull his weapon or call for backup. Things were much better now, but not easy.

      Lisa understood, though. She was a former cop and had difficulty in the same arena. But now that she was with Daniel, she seemed more at ease.

      “I know you love me to pieces,” she said. “We’ll be fine here. And you’ll do great. Oh, and by the way, please tell the famous Sam that I’m going with you next time to stay in that smart apartment of hers.”

      “Neither of us could afford to stay there after this beta test phase is finished.”

      “Way to burst every balloon in the world, Logan.”

      “I’m valued for my ability to ruin people’s day.”

      “You’re valued because you’re amazing,” she said.

      He had no idea where his kid sister got her ideas. He wasn’t amazing. He was simply good at his work. Because he remembered what it had been like to have no purpose. No use for his skills. It was like being in solitary confinement without hope of parole.

      * * *

      BY THE TIME Logan reached Boston, he couldn’t wait to grab a hot shower and drink a nice cold beer. Even so, after he got out of the cab he paused to take in his surroundings. The street itself consisted of old brownstone row houses, except for Sam’s place. Her building was set back, with a brick walkway and heavy trees that lowered the June warmth by at least ten degrees. Sam was lucky to have found it.

      He’d heard from his college buddy Rick that the apartment was fully intuitive, and damn, Logan needed something to help him relax. The short flight from New York had made him grumpy as hell. He hated commercial flying. Everything was too crowded, too expensive, too noisy.

      And while he’d tried the mindfulness exercises the company’s shrink had taught him, the kid behind him kicking his seat the entire flight had turned his meditation into a long list of reasons why he should never have children.

      As soon as he opened Sam’s front door, perfectly placed lights came on in the apartment. The temperature was a few degrees cooler than outside, without a trace of humidity. He immediately liked the open floor plan with the foyer spilling into a room that was both modern and welcoming, with expensive-looking artwork on the walls. But the art couldn’t compete with the magic happening inside the walls—they changed color as he walked through the sleekly furnished living room.

      Just to make sure he hadn’t lost his mind, which was a legitimate concern, he went back to the marble foyer. Sure enough, the wall colors shifted from a pale blue to a paler blue, then a faint green and finally beige. When he returned to the living room, it was different again. This time the walls turned from pale pink to violet.

      It wasn’t just a gimmick, either. Sam had explained that the walls contained body sensors, and Logan really did feel calmer as he walked into the open kitchen. It was high-end in every way, and when he opened the pantry door, he realized he could stay there for a month without missing a single meal.

      Sam was going to make a fortune with this place. He found the master suite at the end of a short hallway. It was huge and the bed was a California king. Man, it just kept getting better. He dumped his duffel bag on the bed and put his computer case on the floor.

      Goddamn, one look at the shower insured he’d be taking his time. No door to speak of, a boatload of sparkly tile, and more jets than La Guardia. All that was missing was an ice-cold beer...which was probably in that industrial-sized refrigerator in the kitchen. He’d have to go grab that first.

      Yep, he found the beer. His favorite brand, too. There was a lot of delicious-looking food in the fridge, but there was only one thing he cared about at the moment. He popped the top and took a drink, a burst of hops hitting his nose. When he lowered the can, he froze.

      A woman stood in the living room staring back at him.

      Tall. Blonde. Gorgeous.

      And naked. Almost.

      A white towel covered most of her breasts, but if she bent in pretty much any direction...

      Looking away would be the right thing to do. Only, he didn’t know who she was or why she was there.

      Logan wiped his mouth. “I think you might be in the wrong apartment.”

      “No,” she said, weirdly calm for a woman wearing only a towel and facing a strange man. “I’m sure I’m just where I’m supposed to be.”

      “Well, hell, you’d better be a hologram.” Logan nearly choked at the crazy thought. “Although Sam did say the apartment came with everything.”

      “Excuse me?” The woman narrowed her eyes. They looked green but he had to get closer to be sure.

      “Are you...real?” He moved a step toward her. With all of Sam’s tech voodoo he honestly couldn’t tell. “Can I touch you?”

      “Not if you want to live to finish that beer.”

      Logan smiled. “Sam knows I like feisty women.”

      “I wish she’d warned me that you’re delusional.”

      Okay, so she knew Sam or at least that Sam was a she. “What am I supposed to think with you greeting me in a towel?” He checked out her legs. Man, they were long. “For the record, no towel would’ve been better,” he said and took a pull of beer. Then swallowed quickly. “Wait. It was Lisa. She sent you, didn’t she?”

      “No one sent me.” She inched back, daring him with a glare. “I’m beginning to seriously hope you aren’t Logan.”

      “Guilty as charged.” He didn’t know what to think at the moment. Except that since she knew Sam and who he was, she probably wasn’t trespassing. “What’s your name?”

      “Kensey. I’m here for the conference but I couldn’t find a room anywhere in the city,” she said, shifting slightly to her right. “You’re early.”

      If she moved another centimeter, he’d be seeing her religion. It was bad enough that the image of her shapely legs was now burned into his brain, and all of his conversational abilities had been overtaken by the potential movement of that small towel.

      He needed that shower ASAP. Or ten minutes of privacy. Either one would do.

      “Who’s Lisa?”

      “My kid sister.”

      “And you think she sent you a hooker?” The woman raised an eyebrow. A lovely eyebrow. All the parts of her that he could see were lovely. He doubted he’d ever used or thought that particular word before, but this gorgeous blonde in the tiny towel brought out the poet in him. Among other things. “Interesting family,” she said, with a look that didn’t just dismiss him. It dismissed him with prejudice.

      “I don’t have to play nice with you,” he said. “I have no idea who you are. Until I speak to the owner of this apartment, I get to assume anything that makes sense to me.” He moved a few inches to the right and said, “Call Sam.”

      Just like that, a screen appeared on the wall behind her. It looked like a large computer