Heated Rush. Leslie Kelly

She clenched her keys in her hands, the longest, sharpest ones between her fingers, and suspected Tara’s fingers were resting lightly on the small can of mace she always carried.

      What a couple of Charlie’s Angels. If a thug with a knife approached, they’d probably both toss him their purses and run like hell back toward the elevator. Frankly, that was the smart thing to do.

      But for some sicko who wanted more than a purse? Well, the keys-as-spikes and mace were basic necessities when living in the city. Besides, she liked to at least think she was tough, if only to avoid letting her family’s constant worries that she wasn’t get her down.

      They’d predicted robbery, rape, mugging…nearly everything except mutilation when she’d informed them she was heading for Chicago, fresh off the farm, after four years of commuting to a small, local college. In the five years since she’d arrived, she’d had her purse snatched, and her first apartment burglarized. Twice.

      But otherwise, she’d managed to avoid getting herself murdered and proving them all right, which would have prompted the ultimate—if tearful—“I told you so” from her mother.

      Her mother was going to like Sean Murphy. If he showed up.

      Her father would like that he was a rescue worker. Albeit, the most elegant, well-dressed rescue worker any of them had ever seen. Again, if he showed up.

      And her brothers would like that he was big and strong, and probably knew all about sports—even if it was Irish sports like rugby rather than football. If he showed up.

      Her three annoying siblings would definitely consider him a step-up from one guy Annie had dated in high school. That had been back when she thought she wanted to marry the current-day version of Lord Byron, someone soft, soulful, vulnerable and emotional. Blech.

      Although Sean Murphy was a gentleman—her instincts told her that—there wasn’t one soft spot on that incredible body, nor an ounce of vulnerability in his cocky smile.

      He was all mouthwatering, turn-your-insides-to-mush man.

      “Earth to Annie?”

      “Sorry,” she mumbled as they reached her minivan.

      “Tell me about his voice.”

      Remembering the question Tara had asked, she admitted, “He has an accent. The program didn’t mention it—” which she found odd “—but he’s foreign.”

      “Oooh, sexy. French?”

      “Irish.”

      “Even better! Like James Bond.”

      Remembering her conversation with Sean, Annie had to chuckle. “Nope, Bond is English. Or Scottish. We never quite nailed that down. Sean’s one of those black-haired, blue-eyed Irishmen who rolls his R’s and sounds like he’s taking a soft bite out of each one of his words as he utters it.”

      Tara’s mouth fell open. “Good God, woman, did you spend twenty minutes with him or the entire night? You sound like he’s been taking soft, sexy bites out of you.”

      Feeling her heart thump in her chest at that visual, Annie purposefully ignored her friend. And she managed to continue ignoring her as they got in the van and left the garage, heading toward Lincoln Park, where they both lived.

      But once she’d dropped her friend off, watching to ensure she got up into her apartment safely, Annie could no longer ignore the voice in her head that had been echoing Tara’s. She had felt like Sean Murphy had been taking sexy little bites out of her.

      Removing bits of her self-control, morsels of her insecurity, and big, huge chunks of her resistance.

      “I want him,” she whispered as she entered her own quiet apartment.

      Her four-year-old tabby, Wally, heard her and deigned to come to the door for a quick greeting, if only to see whether she had anything interesting to eat. Given her carryout lifestyle, she usually did.

      Bending to pet him, she repeated, “I really want him.”

      And not just as a cover for this weekend’s family gettogether. She wanted him physically, as she hadn’t wanted anyone in a long time. Including her creepazoid ex.

      Given her recent track record, she had no business wanting anybody, or trusting her own faulty judgment. But that didn’t change the way her thighs quivered and her panties tightened against her sex at the mere thought of Murphy nibbling her from top to bottom. Especially since she knew just how soft and warm his lips were. How delicious his tongue.

      It was dangerous, unexpected, outrageous. But she couldn’t help wondering if that chemistry he’d mentioned would be enough to spark something physical between them this weekend.

      And whether she’d let it.

       3

      “OWNER AND MANAGER OF Baby Daze. Saints preserve us, she runs a nursery school.”

      Sean stared in disbelief at the small white business card in his hand. He hadn’t read it carefully last night when Annie Davis, his pretty “winner” had slipped it to him after the auction. Now, though, since he’d decided he couldn’t possibly wait until Saturday to see her again, and had dug it out searching for her phone number, he’d noticed what the woman did for a living.

      Day care.

      On Sean’s personal list of things to be avoided at all costs, babies were two steps below jealous husbands and three above yappy dogs that piddled themselves the moment you bent to pet them.

      “And she works with them. On purpose.”

      All the more reason for him to call the woman and tell her she’d been out of line insisting he spend an entire weekend with her—on a farm, for God’s sake—rather than just the dinner date he’d offered for the auction.

      To be honest though, calling her to discuss the matter was only the excuse. Calling her was his main objective. He had thought of nothing else but the way she’d felt in his arms since they’d parted company last night.

      But…babies?

      He didn’t do that.

      Something inside him forgot that fact, however, as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and punched in Annie Davis’s cell number. It was two o’clock in the afternoon. The little buggers usually took naps around this time.

      He hoped.

      When she answered on the third ring and he heard the crying in the background, he realized he’d guessed wrong.

      “Yes?” she snapped, sounding out of breath. “Hello?”

      He cleared his throat. “Sorry. I’ve caught you at a bad time.”

      “Sean?” she yelped, sounding shocked. “I mean, Mr. Murphy?”

      “Sean’ll do.”

      “It is you. Wow.”

      Screech, whimper, yowl…He heard all of the above in the background as he said, “I should call back.”

      “Probably. Yes. I mean, I don’t usually even answer this phone during the day, but I happened to have it in my pocket and heard it ringing. No, honey.”

      Honey? “What?”

      “Sorry. I’m holding a squirming bundle of male energy and he’s trying to bite my ear.”

      He’d like to bite her ear. And he had a lot of male energy. Sean suddenly found himself envying that squirming child, though that didn’t, of course, mean he’d ever want to hold one himself. His younger half sister was perfectly capable of filling their ancestral home with little Murphys. He felt quite sure their father would be able to pay off any future husband to allow the tykes to carry on the family name.

      “I,