Irresistible. Сьюзен Мэллери

      

      Irresistible

      Susan Mallery

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Contents

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      CHAPTER FIFTEEN

      CHAPTER SIXTEEN

      CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

      CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

      CHAPTER NINETEEN

      CHAPTER TWENTY

      COMING NEXT MONTH

      One of the most frequent questions I’m asked is how I get my ideas for my books. In truth, they come from everywhere. This particular story was born while I was driving to the grocery store, listening to National Public Radio.

      The news had come on and the reporter mentioned how many soldiers had died the previous day in Iraq. Their names were withheld, pending notification of their immediate families.

      I remember pulling over, suddenly wondering what happened if the soldier in question had no family. Who would be notified and who would mourn?

      In that moment Walker Buchanan was created, and through him, Ben. A hardened solider and a young man with the heart of a soldier. A young man with no family.

      This book is dedicated to those who have given the greatest gift to their country. May you live on forever in the hearts of those who have loved you.

      CHAPTER ONE

      THE GREAT UNWELCOME truth is that there are times when a woman needs a man…or at the very least, an unnatural level of upper body strength. Unfortunately for Elissa Towers, this was one of those times.

      “Something tells me you won’t be impressed by my to-do list, or the fact that Zoe has a birthday party at noon. Birthday parties are very important for the five-year-old set. I don’t want her to miss this one,” Elissa muttered as she leaned all of her weight into the lug wrench.

      She’d been lamenting the extra ten pounds she carried for at least three years. One would think they’d come in handy now, say for leverage. But one would be wrong.

      “Move!” she yelled at the lug nut on her very flat tire. Nothing. Not even a whisper of budging.

      She dropped the lug wrench onto the damp driveway and swore.

      This was completely her fault. The last time she’d noticed the tire getting low, she’d driven to Randy’s Brake and Tire Center, where Randy himself had patched the nail hole. She’d sat in his surprisingly tidy waiting room indulging herself in gossip magazines—a rare treat in her world—not even giving a thought to the fact that he was using some stupid machine to tighten the lug nuts. She always asked him to tighten by hand, so she could take off the flat herself.

      “Need some help?”

      The question came from nowhere and startled her so much, she wobbled and sat down right in a puddle. She felt the wet seeping through her jeans and panties. Great. Now when she stood up, she would look as if she’d wet herself. Why couldn’t her Saturday start with an unexpected tax refund and an anonymous chocolate delivery?

      She glanced at the man now standing next to her. She hadn’t heard stealth guy approach, but as she looked up and up farther still, until their eyes met, she recognized her semirecent upstairs neighbor. He was a few years older than her, tanned, good-looking and at a casual glance, physically perfect. Not exactly the type who tended to rent an apartment in her slightly shabby neighborhood.

      She scrambled to her feet and brushed off her butt, groaning as she felt the wet spot.

      “Hi,” she said, smiling as she carefully took a step back. “You’re, um…”

      Damn. Mrs. Ford, her other neighbor, had told her the guy’s name. Also that he had recently left the military, kept to himself and apparently had no job. It wasn’t a combination that made Elissa comfy.

      “Walker Buchanan. I live upstairs.”

      Alone. No visitors and he didn’t go out much. Oh, yeah. Good times. Still, she’d been raised to be polite, so she smiled and said, “Hi. I’m Elissa Towers.”

      Under any other circumstances, she would have found another way out of her dilemma, but there was no way she could loosen the lug nuts herself and she couldn’t just sit here praying to the tire gods.

      She pointed. “If you could be burly for a second, that would be fabulous.”

      “Burly?” The corner of his mouth twitched.

      “You’re a guy, this is a guy thing. It’s a natural fit.”

      He folded his impressive arms over a rather impressive chest. “What happened to women wanting to be independent and equal in the world?”

      Hmm, so there was a brain behind those dark eyes and maybe the potential for humor. That was good. Neighbors of serial killers always said the guy was so nice. Elissa wasn’t sure Walker qualified as nice, which was, in a twisted way, a bit of a relief.

      “We should have worked on our upper body strength first. Besides, you offered.”

      “Yes, I did.”

      He picked up the wrench, squatted down and in one quick movement that left her feeling both inadequate and bitter, loosened the first nut. The other three followed just as fast.

      “Thanks,” she said with a smile. “I’ll take it from here.”

      “I’m already involved,” he told her. “I can put on the spare in a couple of seconds.”

      Or so he thought. “Yes, well, that’s a funny story,” she said. “I don’t have a spare. It’s big and bulky and really weighs down the car.”

      He straightened. “You need a spare.”

      His statement of the obvious irritated her. “Thanks for the advice, but as I don’t have one, it’s not very helpful.”

      “So what do you do now?”

      “I say thank you.” She glanced pointedly at the stairs leading to his apartment. When he didn’t move, she added, “I don’t want to keep you.”

      His gaze dipped from her face to the large nylon bag on wheels, lying next to her on the driveway. His mouth tightened in disapproval.

      “There is no way you’re going to carry that tire somewhere yourself,” he said flatly.

      Definitely not nice, she thought. “I don’t carry, I drag. I’ve done it before. The tire place I go to is less than a mile from here. I walk there, Randy patches it for me and I walk back. It’s easy. Good exercise, even. So thank you for your help and have a nice day.”

      She reached for the tire in question. He stepped between her and it.

      “I’ll take it,” he told her.

      “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

      He topped her by at least seven or eight inches and he had to outweigh her by a good sixty pounds…every ounce of them muscle. As he narrowed his gaze and glared at her, she had