Look, But Don't Touch. Sandra Chastain

he’d broken a personal one, as well.

      Tomorrow he’d accept his captain’s punishment. Tonight, watching the most incredible woman he’d ever made love to disappear into another man’s territory was punishment enough.

      AS THE ELEVATOR Cat and the Palace bellman shared shot up the side of the lobby, she was only vaguely aware of the luxurious hotel decor. Her mind seemed to be fused to a simple adobe house behind the church. From riding a Harley in the rain to fussing over the weather, everything about Jesse James Dane had been a contradiction. They’d shared incredible sex, then he’d turned away, glued to a newscast.

      Normally she picked men that were easy to define. But this time she hadn’t picked. This time she’d been slammed into him thanks to a storm and her instincts to be a Good Samaritan. At least he didn’t know she was a friend of his sister Bettina’s.

      As the elevator slowed Cat forced herself to concentrate on the man she was about to meet. Sterling Szachon was expecting her. He’d pay her well and provide living quarters and a liberal expense account. In return, she’d select the sites and photograph the models for his male underwear catalog. To make that happen, she’d forget about Jesse James Dane, Texas Ranger, trouble in every sense of the word.

      At least he didn’t know her name.

      THE ELEVATOR DOOR slid open with a whisper. She realized that they were exiting into a private corridor. The bellman wheeled his cart past the main set of double doors down the corridor and unlocked a smaller door.

      Cat entered the room, caught sight of the elaborate fruit bowl and flower arrangement and knew immediately that this had to be a temporary arrangement. No catalog photographer was provided with such luxurious surroundings.

      “Are you certain this is where I’m supposed to be?” she asked.

      “Oh, yes, ma’am. Mr. Szachon left instructions for us to take you to your room. The top floor houses his personal living quarters, his office and his executive staff. He owns the hotel, you know.” He unloaded her bag and camera equipment, adjusted the drapes, pointed out the television and gave her the special elevator key needed to reach the top floor. She gave him a tip and he excused himself.

      Well, maybe, she decided, but until she met Mr. Szachon she would leave her bags packed. This room made her uneasy. Until she signed the contract, this wasn’t a done deal. And staying in her employer’s quarters was unacceptable, even if the rest of the staff did enjoy the same privilege. She made a list of what she needed, including a sample case of his underwear and an assistant, preferably female.

      By ten o’clock she’d eaten the fruit. By midnight she reined in her frustration at being ignored, pulled off everything but the flannel shirt and her panties, and went to bed. She’d get a good night’s rest and meet with the underwear king in the morning at her convenience.

      But sleep was elusive. She tossed and turned, trying to empty her mind of distractions. It wasn’t her meeting with Szachon but her physical collision with Jesse Dane that kept intruding. He simply marched into her mind and took control.

      He hadn’t taken anything she hadn’t given, but nothing about their lovemaking had been ordinary. It was almost as if she had been the victim of one of those fancy new drugs but she’d had nothing to eat or drink and she didn’t have to be told that Jesse was true-blue and full of propriety. Jesse was a ranger and by definition, followed the rules. A man like that tended to be her least favorite type, unless the man was following her rules.

      And she hadn’t set any.

      She hated to admit it but no man had ever affected her so strongly. Her body still strummed its need for more. She didn’t understand the lingering aftermath of heat.

      She understood control. It was something her father had valued. Control was a state of mind, a kind of self-protection for someone who lived by the book. There were rules of order and, just as her father had done, she was certain Jesse kept every one of them. Except where women were concerned. Apparently he had different standards for one-night stands with perfect strangers. Still, like her, the ranger seemed to be out of sync at the end. Considering he lived by the rules, she was surprised he hadn’t escorted her back to the hotel. For a moment there, she’d been disappointed that he hadn’t.

      Cat forced her attention away from Jesse James Dane to the man who was hiring her, Sterling Szachon, nicknamed Zon by the press when they dubbed him one of the twenty-five richest bachelors in the world. Cat had done a little research of her own. The press could well be right. Mr. Szachon owned a large, successful hotel chain, a major league baseball team, real estate, at least one ranch and a local Texas cable service. But the thing that made him different was that people seemed to genuinely like Zon. With his golden opulence, the women certainly did.

      He had the Midas touch; every new project turned to gold. She could only hope that his underwear business followed that pattern. Shooting his catalogs would be a feather in her cap. And though she’d never admit it to Bettina, she was ready to stay in one spot for a while—so long as she had her photography to use as her get out-of-jail card when she wanted to go.

      Finally she began to relax. Sleep would come. But it wouldn’t be Sterling Szachon who invaded her dreams, it would be a dark-haired Texas Ranger wearing jeans low on his hips, an Ice Man who slept under a down comforter, a man whose kiss still seared her lips.

      Cat was aware of the sudden slowing of her breath. Of the shimmering reminder of what she’d shared with a stranger. She took a great gulp of air and breathed in the ever-present scent of Jesse that still clung to his shirt. With a moan of loss, she caught hold of the sheet and pulled it up to her chin.

      Her last thought before she fell asleep was, What the hell happened to her?