Savor the Danger. Lori Foster

so. That is, he seemed a little off, but still—”

      Trace suddenly lost it. With disbelief, he said, “Jackson, Alani? Really?”

      She shouted right back, “Yes, really.”

      “Without a single date? Without a damn clue? Or is that something you’ve kept from me?”

      “No!” Then she flushed and cast a harassed look at Jackson. “That is…”

      “He knows what it is, honey.” Not about to let her brother badger her into ending things before he even had a chance to figure out what he wanted, Jackson narrowed his eyes. “Get used to it, Trace.”

      Dare held up a hand. “Do you think we could keep it civil so we can figure out what happened?”

      Jackson shrugged. “Fine by me.” Never mind that he’d been slipped a mickey, that his head still pounded and his strength hadn’t completely returned. Alani was a warm, soft weight on his lap.

      With every breath, he inhaled the unique perfume of her body. For the first time ever, he was able to stroke his fingers through her long blond hair, as he did right now. He could touch her skin, kiss her—and he did, lifting her delicate hand to brush his mouth over her knuckles.

      She shivered, but otherwise tried to pretend the kiss meant nothing.

      Trace looked apoplectic, but what the hell? Jackson couldn’t stop himself. Her brother was damn lucky he hadn’t already thrown him out so that he and Alani could get back to business.

      But then again, why kick Trace out when his presence goaded Alani into showing her true feelings?

      At any other time, having a woman—having anyone—act protective would insult the hell out of him. He could damn well face any problem head-on without help; he’d been doing it all his life. He didn’t need anyone shielding him.

      But Alani wasn’t just any woman. She was special, so he relished this new twist. It beat the hell out of her telling him “no” any day.

      Dare said to Trace, “Well?”

      “Fine. But let’s get on with it.”

      “Stop rushing him. He’s been through enough.”

      Jackson hid his grin. When he’d first met Alani, he’d known she wasn’t the fainthearted flower her brother made her out to be. Sure, she was a delicate little thing, especially compared to his height and physicality. But she had the same strength of character, the same conviction, stubbornness and independence as Trace.

      Losing their parents young had to have been rough. But Trace had overcompensated. He’d sheltered Alani more than she needed, pampered her beyond reason.

      And then she’d been taken by human traffickers, and…

      Jackson put his arms around her and pressed his face into her neck. He hadn’t known her then, but he couldn’t think about it without wanting to kill men who were already dead.

      Mistaking his reaction for something altogether different, Alani touched his hair with a gentle hand. “Jackson, are you okay? Do you feel sick again? We can put off the inquisition until later, if you need more time.”

      Trace growled in annoyance.

      “He’s fine, Alani.” Dare gave Jackson a pointed look until he sat up straight again. “But he won’t be if he doesn’t start explaining soon.”

      “Can’t.” Knowing more discussion would embarrass Alani further, but seeing no help for it, Jackson rolled a shoulder. “All I remember is finding Alani in my bed. I was wasted, she walked out on me, and that’s all I know. You’re going to have to grill her for the nitty-gritty.” And maybe in the bargain, he’d find out a few things, too.

      Her elbow came back sharp and hard into his ribs. So much for her concern.

      Trace’s face went red. Jackson knew he wanted to curse, but he tried hard to curb his language around his sister.

      “Then it’s up to you, hon,” Dare said to Alani. “Did you notice anything off, anything different, when you went to his place?”

      Alani licked her lips. “Actually, I did.” She cast a furtive glance at Jackson.

      “He acted different? Drugged?” Trace asked. “And you still slept with him?”

      She glared at her brother. “No. That is, other than seeming somehow…more sincere—”

      “I was ever insincere?” Jackson asked her.

      “Will you all stop interrupting?”

      Dare encouraged her, saying, “Go on, Alani.”

      With an effort, she gathered herself. “Jackson mostly seemed the same as always. Cocky, flirting, trying to charm the pants off every woman.”

      Trace said, “I don’t need to hear this.”

      “I don’t mean me.” But then she added, a little abashed, “Well, yes—me, too—I guess.”

      Jackson gave her another squeeze.

      “But I was talking about his neighbor.”

      Everyone spoke at once, with Dare asking, “What neighbor? A woman?” and Trace saying, “You saw him flirting with her and still you stayed?”

      Jackson announced, “I don’t flirt with my neighbors.”

      Still on his lap, Alani raised a hand to quiet them all and then twisted to face Jackson. “I was going to tell you about this, but I wanted you to eat first.”

      “He doesn’t need to be babied,” Trace grumbled.

      “You be quiet!”

      Her outburst left Trace bemused—and silent.

      Hoping to calm her, to be a contrast to Trace’s animosity, which wasn’t winning him any points with Alani, Jackson bit back his automatic rebellion against her concern. “He’s right, honey. I keep telling you I’m fine.”

      She turned back to Jackson. “You were really sick.”

      “Yeah.” He pulled her closer to whisper, “Otherwise we’d still be in bed right now.”

      Though he couldn’t have heard, Dare said, “Knock it off, Jackson. You’re wasting valuable time.”

      Grim, Jackson said, “The only female neighbor I talk with much is Mrs. Guthrie, but she has to be sixty.”

      Alani shook her head. “I assumed she was a neighbor because she was barefoot.”

      The men all shared a look. If she’d been barefoot, maybe it was for the sake of stealth.

      “But I didn’t watch her leave,” Alani explained, “so I don’t know where she went after she walked out your door. Maybe she wasn’t a neighbor. Maybe she was a…a date.”

      Unable to think of any woman he’d have invited to his apartment, Jackson said, “Describe her.”

      Alani shrugged. “I’d say in her early thirties.”

      “No.”

      She frowned. “Being thirty removes her from your radar?”

      Not since meeting Alani had he gotten overly involved with anyone. He took care of business and ended it there. Period.

      He did not invite any woman into his home.

      No way in hell would he admit that to Alani, though, much less in front of Trace and Dare. “I’m just saying I’m not seeing any women in their thirties.”

      “Short brown hair.”

      “How short?”

      Her face pinched with annoyance. “Pixie cut.”

      He shook his head—and lifted