Tall, Dark and Filthy Rich. Jill Monroe

      Cole turned and drew her back onto the sidewalk. “Forget it,” he said.

      She tugged her sunglasses onto her nose and cautioned herself that the warm hand at the small of her back was some alpha male show of courtesy.

      “You might as well give it to me. I’m a private detective, after all. I have my ways, you know.”

      “You’ll just have to use them. I’m not about to make this easy for you.”

      She wouldn’t want it any other way.

      He led her to a building with a large sign proclaiming Latitude 33. Before Cole could even open the door, Jessie heard the low roar that could only be a crowd enjoying happy hour. She stepped inside. Yes, definitely a sports bar. Rows of televisions playing football, soccer, baseball and golf littered the place. Decorations representing every conceivable sport hung from the ceiling, draped over doorways and lined the walls. From the back of the room she heard the break of pool balls on one of the six green-felt-covered tables.

      And the tempting smell of nachos. Her mouth watered.

      Someone tapped her on the shoulder and she turned to find Eve. “So, what do you think?” she asked.

      “Wow. It’s like man heaven.”

      “You haven’t even seen the upstairs. That’s where they have the interactive games. You can try your hand at golf or the batting cages. Nothing like slamming a ball into the wall to relieve a little stress. It’s actually a lot of fun.”

      “Just don’t let that secret out on your show or men might start thinking sports bars are the perfect setting for proposals, birthdays and anniversaries.”

      “Good point. Ah, there’s Nicole. She was finding us a table. I’ll introduce you to everyone else. And they can’t wait to meet you.” Eve glanced toward Cole with a playful smile. “We’re having a bet on who can get the best story from you about Cole.”

      He rolled his eyes, but took the ribbing good-naturedly.

      “You should be worried,” Jessie warned him. “I can be bought. Maybe you giving me that article doesn’t sound half-bad now. You know I can do some damage to you.”

      JESSIE WAS RIGHT. She could do a lot of damage to him. Ever since the word fling had come from her beautiful mouth, he’d been trying not to picture her naked. Although that was just an excuse. He’d been picturing her naked since he’d spied those sexy legs of hers in the conference room.

      This was not the awkward, innocent girl from his past. This was a woman who was smart, knew what she wanted and didn’t make a man look twice at her, because no man would be fool enough to take his eyes off her in the first place.

      This evening had become sweet agony. Sweet because she fitted into his network of colleagues and friends so easily. Over the past hour they’d laughed, ate and generally enjoyed each other’s company. Agony, because he couldn’t get his mind off the potential softness of her lips. Or that spark of sexy mischief in her dark brown eyes. Or how she shifted in her seat, providing him a new, painful glimpse of her thigh. It should be illegal for this woman to wear short skirts.

      In public, he amended. With him, in private, she could wear or not wear whatever she damn well wanted to.

      He watched as Eve laughed about something Jessie had said. Jessie drew him. Looking back now, he realized she probably always had. Any number of people could have helped him with his Latin. Any number of people weren’t the police chief’s daughter, and yet still, he’d needed her company. He’d been attracted to her openness and giving spirit before. Jessie had always reminded him of sunshine.

      But now…

      Now the hints of what could happen in the darkness joined her sunny promise. Suddenly he wanted her more than he’d wanted anything in a long, long time. And it was futile. Like the tense of those Latin verbs she used to help him with, everything about this situation was imperfect. The past was the past. He’d been an idiot to bring it into the present.

      Anyway, it didn’t matter, because he had to get out of there. A new hell was starting in the bar. Karaoke.

      5

      THERE WERE TWO THINGS Jessie did really, really poorly in a bar. She couldn’t tie a cherry stem with her tongue and she couldn’t sing karaoke. Why she was expected to do either one, she didn’t know. The first, she probably wouldn’t have to attempt today. The second, well, “The Love Shack” was playing, and Penny wanted to hop on the stage and drag Jessie along with her.

      “I’d pay cash money to see Eve up there,” Cole said.

      “You’d need a lot,” Eve told him.

      He laughed. “I just happen to have a winning lottery ticket.”

      “Which right now isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on. And it still wouldn’t be enough.”

      “You guys are so boring. I’m going to request ‘These Boots Are Made for Walking.’ Jessie, you’ll sing with me, won’t you?” Penny asked.

      “She just agreed to play darts with me,” Cole said, standing.

      Jessie turned her head and mouthed “thank you” to him, because her singing voice could clear the room. Cole offered his hand and helped her to her feet. His fingers wrapped around hers.

      To be honest, Jessie had always expected to feel some cheesy clichéd sensation, such as a zap of electricity, if he ever held her hand. She was right. It was cheese on top of cheese, because her whole body experienced a high voltage shock thanks to this man’s touch. She wanted to pull away quickly or hang on tighter all at the same time.

      She tried to gauge from his expression if he’d felt the same thing, but he was already leading her through the bar to the game section.

      Upstairs, the lighting was low, allowing the LED displays on the various games to glow brightly. What would they do? What would they talk about? She was reminded of those times she’d wait for him at the diner. The sole dating advice her mother had ever offered consisted of the woman’s responsibility to keep the conversation flowing. Jessie had been filled with nervous anticipation.

      Now she was just curious. Curious about Cole. About his divorce that no one back home seemed to know about. Which probably wasn’t surprising since he had no family left in their hometown of Thrasher.

      As a young girl she’d wondered how his lips would feel against hers. As a woman, she wondered what kind of lover he’d be. How he’d use his hands. Stroke or caress? What his skin would feel like beneath her own fingertips. Whether he’d be quick to get—

      “Steel-tipped or soft?” he asked.

      She blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

      He nodded toward the darts. Good thing the lights were low in here, because she felt an embarrassed blush on her cheeks. She’d gotten a bit carried away with her thoughts.

      She could play this off. No problem. “What’s the difference?” she asked, her voice growing husky.

      “Soft is best if you’re not as experienced. No one gets hurt with a wild throw. The steel-tipped darts are harder and penetrate the board easier, but are a lot more dangerous.”

      Jessie swallowed. Harder. Penetrate. Oh, my. “Maybe we should stick with the soft.” And maybe she should get a grip. What was wrong with her? This was darts. In a bar, for crying out loud. Not everything had to remind her of sex.

      He handed her a dart and she smiled in thanks. She gave a quick practice toss, then fired. Missing her target by a mile.

      Cole laughed. “You’re really bad at this.”

      Jessie laughed with him. “You know what makes it worse? As a P.I., I have a license to carry a gun.”

      He groaned.

      “Okay, in all