Not Just For Christmas. Debbie Macomber

successfully avoided the flirtations and not-so-subtle invitations of the women patrons of The Jungle during his first two weeks on the job. By now most of the regulars knew he was off-limits. Although Donna, recently married and ready to confine everyone she met to that institution, still tried to play matchmaker.

      “Here you go,” she said, handing him a drink. “Did you see the blonde at the bar? She’s cute.”

      “Too skinny for my taste,” he said.

      “You’re too picky,” Donna said. “Why don’t you try to find a nice woman, Mitch? Someone who can make you happy.”

      “Women are like potato chips,” he said with a smile. “I can’t stop at just one.”

      She rolled her eyes. “Potato chips?”

      “Maybe I should have said M&M’s.”

      “Maybe you should quit trying to con me, Mitch Malone. I think you’re one of those old-fashioned romantics, the type I never see in this place anymore. You actually want more from a woman than her body.”

      Mitch shook his head. “Donna, you’ve got me all wrong. I’m a connoisseur of the female body. The only reason I work here is because of the view.” He motioned to the scantily clad women on the dance floor. “I get a great show every night.”

      Donna folded her arms across her chest. “Then why don’t you ever take one of them home?”

      “I would, but my place is a mess.”

      She laughed. “As if any woman in her right mind would care. You’re a romantic, Mitch, just admit it.”

      “I plead the fifth.”

      She shook her head. “You’re impossible.”

      Time to go to work. “Hey, that’s better than desperate. Actually though, I hear this is the place to score some help in the romance department. Some of the guys I’ve talked to come here to pick up bootleg Viagra, hoping to boost their…vitality.”

      Her eyes widened. “Really? Who?”

      He shrugged. “I didn’t get any names.” Then he grinned. “Why, does you new husband need a boost?”

      “Hardly,” she huffed, then smiled. “I have no complaints in that department.”

      He nodded, then looked around the bar. He was walking a thin line, trying to gain information without arousing suspicion. “I may have to give the stuff a try sometime. See what happens.”

      Her brows rose. “Couldn’t that be dangerous?”

      “Exhausting, maybe. But not dangerous.”

      “Still, it’s illegal. No silly drug is worth going to jail.” Then she turned and walked back to the bar.

      Mitch mentally crossed Donna’s name off his list of suspects. She hadn’t taken the bait. He didn’t like deceiving her or the other employees of The Jungle. But if he wanted to succeed in his investigation, subterfuge was part of the job.

      Still, he stuck to the real facts about his life as much as possible. He’d told people he’d grown up on the streets, raised by his grandmother after his parents abandoned him when he was nine years old. He admitted that he’d gotten into some trouble as a juvenile and received his Graduation Equivalency Diploma. What he left out, though, was the cop who had been his boxing coach, a man who had steered him into a career in law enforcement. But absolute truth was simply a luxury Mitch couldn’t afford right now.

      The sound of a glass breaking broke his reverie. He looked toward the bar and saw a beer mug laying in pieces on the floor. A sudden stillness came over the room, though music still blared from the jukebox. The lights from the disco ball glittered over an empty dance floor. Most of the patrons were staring at the door. He followed their gazes and saw an eerily familiar woman standing just inside the room.

      He stared at her and swallowed hard. His gaze took in everything at once. The long toffee-brown hair, the big brown eyes, and the modest curves that shouldn’t make a man stare—but they did. His eyes fell to the short, tight black skirt that revealed a pair of incredible legs. He blinked and looked again. The skirt was so sheer, he could damn well see through it! Heat kindled low and spread through his body like a brush-fire.

      It was the woman from the back alley, though he couldn’t remember her name. Hell, he could barely remember his own name. But he knew what to call her as soon as she started walking toward him.

      Trouble.