A Noble Pursuit. Meg Lacey

woman could take that type of insouciant challenge lying down. If he thought this was over, he was sadly mistaken. Before the night was done she’d have him. Her family history dictated that the Fortiers fought for whatever they wanted, and she wasn’t about to let her ancestors down.

      She wanted Shay.

      SHAY KNEW HE’D BEEN playing with fire. Of all the stupid, unprofessional, brain-dead things to do! He’d known better than to kiss her. It was bad enough that he’d carried her inside, even though it had served a purpose. He was trying to shock her and see if her memory would return. At least that was part of it. But the rest—ah, the rest… He couldn’t resist the thought of getting his arms around her any way he could.

      Shay could feel her eyes boring a tunnel through his back. He wondered what she was thinking, then decided he didn’t want to know. Instead he walked over to the end table and picked up one of the coffee cups he’d set there a few moments before. He turned and held it out to her. That’s when he got his first real view of her wearing his bathrobe.

      “Son of a—” He choked down the rest of his words.

      He would never be able to wear that robe again without imagining her in it. He’d almost thrown it out a few days before, but now that he’d seen it on this woman he might have to frame it. The thin terry caressed her curves, molding them and beckoning him closer. He wanted to hold her, to keep her safe from life’s harm. What was she doing out on her own, anyway? Some man should have tucked her in his jacket pocket and not let her out of his sight. She looked slender and delicate, but not breakable. He took a closer look. No, definitely not breakable. There was something different about her, a glint in her eyes that put his senses on high alert. He didn’t have the vaguest idea what was going on, but he suddenly knew that if he had any sense, he’d run for his life. He strove to get the situation back to normal. In other words, back under his control. After all, controlling events was what he did best.

      “Here’s your coffee, Red.”

      She walked toward him with a disturbing swish of her hips, reminding him of a cat on the prowl. Now that he thought about it, she had the look of an exotic feline, with those slightly tilted vivid blue eyes, winged black brows, high cheekbones and triangular face. He could only pray she wouldn’t lick her lips like he was a saucer of cream, because that darting little tongue was what had set him off the last time. Her fingers touched his as she cupped the mug.

      “Thank you,” she said with a slight smile. Lifting the china to her lips, she took a tiny sip. “Mmm, that’s delicious.”

      Shay had to look over her shoulder, resisting the temptation to crush her mouth under his. He thrust a hand through his hair. “I grind—”

      “—your own beans. I remember.”

      Shay was positive his face was turning red. Either that or it was hotter in here than he’d thought. “Glad you remember something,” he mumbled.

      “I’ve also remembered that I really love coffee. Real New Orleans coffee, hot and so strong it could blast the top of your head off.”

      She said it with an innocent tone, but when he glanced at her, she looked anything but innocent. She looked as if she knew that his head was ready to blow any minute, and if she didn’t knock it off he was going to haul her into his lap and make love to her until she didn’t care if she ever remembered anything but him. Unable to think of a comeback, an unusual circumstance for a man in his line of work, Shay grabbed his own cup of coffee from the sofa table and indicated a chair.

      “Make yourself comfortable.”

      Carefully he stepped around the table to sit on the sofa, only to jump up a moment later when she sat down next to him. With hasty steps he crossed to the bright colored armchair at right angles to the sofa and perched there like a confused parrot.

      With an amused smile, Juliette curled up on the sofa, legs tucked under her, making herself right at home. “I won’t bite.”

      “No. I know. I just didn’t think…”

      Man, was that the truth. If he’d thought at all, used even one-tenth of the brains God gave him, he would’ve minded his own business earlier this evening. Even though he suspected he’d been given a poor tip that wouldn’t amount to anything at all, if he’d only used his brains he’d still be staking out the park where he could see the action…and possibly even glimpse his suspect. If he’d only used his goddamn brains he’d have left this lost waif—who was looking less lost by the minute—on the park bench instead of parked all nice and cozy on his living-room sofa.

      He took a gulp of coffee and practically spat it back into the cup as the heat hit his mouth and tongue. He’d obviously underestimated the power of the reheat setting on his microwave. He swallowed, feeling as if his throat was on fire.

      “Are you all right?”

      Her concerned voice exacerbated his temper. When he could talk again, he said, “No, I’m not all right.”

      He glanced over at her, and her appealing look made him want to kick himself. What the hell was the matter with him? The woman had amnesia, for cryin’ out loud; he couldn’t have walked away from her. As a cop, he might be a real hard-ass, but as a man…well, he’d recently rescued a kitten from a Dumpster in Cincinnati and taken it home. So how could he live with himself if he didn’t rescue, a two-legged creature? Especially one with such great legs, he thought as he caught a glimpse of bare skin showing through the robe as she adjusted her position on the sofa. Whoa, boy—forget that. You’re here to serve and protect.

      Juliette patted the sofa next to her. “Why don’t you come sit with me?”

      “That’s not a good—”

      “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

      Shay’s spine snapped to attention. “Of course not.”

      “Well then?”

      She smiled, and Shay could swear he saw the remnants of an age-old Greek siren in that smile, the type of woman who lured sailors to death on the rocks. Somehow he was on his feet moving toward her without having any idea how he’d gotten there. He sat beside her, taking care to leave plenty of room so their bodies didn’t touch. Pretending to be at ease, he leaned back, crossing his ankle over his knee, unwittingly exposing his ankle holster.

      “Is that a gun?”

      Ah hell, he’d forgotten about that. He’d automatically put it back on after he’d changed into dry jeans. “Yeah, but don’t worry, it’s legal. I have a license and everything.”

      “I’ve never known anyone who had a gun, except hunting rifles, of course.” Obviously shaken, eyes round as doughnuts, she pointed at his ankle. “Do you still call it a handgun if you wear it on your foot?” She grimaced. “And why do you have a gun in the first place?”

      Trying to relax her, he teased, “Well, I could be an escaped convict or some…” He stopped, realizing what a stupid thing he’d just said. Here she was, unable to remember anything, sitting in a stranger’s house, wearing a bathrobe. He opened his mouth to reassure her when she tilted her head, saying thoughtfully, “You don’t seem like a criminal.”

      “Why not? What do you think a criminal seems like?” God, he’d never known anyone so naïve. It scared the bejesus out of him.

      She nibbled on her fingernail as she studied him. “I don’t know, but not like you. You seem to have too many principles.”

      “Then maybe I’m a cop. Cops have principles.” And he’d better remember them fast if he knew what was good for him. Never mix business with pleasure, remember?

      “You’re not a police officer.”

      “I’m not? Why not?” Not seeming like a cop was his stock in trade, so at least something was working right tonight.

      She took a sip of her coffee, eyeing him over the rim for a long moment. “You could be, I suppose, but I can’t