Her 24-Hour Protector. Лорет Энн Уайт

She rose majestically to her feet. Tall and elegant.

      Then with a gracious tip of her head, Mercedes deferred to Jenna and touched her assistant’s broad shoulder. At the matriarch’s signal her bodyguard rose and escorted his charge toward the grand gilt-engraved doors. He held them open for Mercedes, and she seemed to float from the room. The doors swung slowly, silently shut.

      “Sold! To the lady in red.” The gavel hit the block, and the crowd erupted, music exploded and Jenna’s heart thudded wildly. “Special Agent Lexington Duncan fetches a record winning bid for the night, ladies. Please come up and claim your man, 159,” the auctioneer said, referring to the number on Jenna’s paddle.

      “Damn, that was close,” she whispered into Cassie’s ear as she bent down and took a deep gulp of champagne from her glass. She then pressed her palms down on her hips, trying to remove the dampness and straighten out her nerves as she walked up to the stage. Agent Duncan stood shirtless, waiting to see the lady in the red dress who’d bought his pleasure. He removed his shades as she neared.

      Jenna reached her hand up to him, and he clasped it. His grip was hard, rough, all power as he jumped down from the stage, landing beside her with a thud. Jenna’s heart did a crazy little squeeze that made her catch her breath. Must be the adrenaline, she thought. But when she looked up into his moss-green eyes she knew it was more. Lots more. He raised her hand slowly to his lips and kissed the backs of her fingers lightly. “Touché,” he whispered. “I’m yours for a night.” Heat arced along her arm and stabbed into her heart like a jolt of pure electric current. She felt as if she’d just been sucker punched. One look and FBI Agent Lex Duncan had rendered Jenna Jayne Rothchild utterly—and uncharacteristically—speechless.

      Cameras flashed blindingly, adding to her strange and sudden sense of confusion.

      He bent down, mouth near her ear. “Just name the time and place for our date, and then I can get the hell out of here,” he growled.

      A smile curled slowly over her mouth. “Why, but you sound pissed, Agent Duncan. Are you unhappy with your date?”

      “Lex,” he said. “And it’s not you—this is not my thing.”

      “Jenna,” she said softly. “Jenna Jayne Rothchild.”

      He stiffened, recognition suddenly hitting him square between the eyes. He swore viciously under his breath.

      “What’s the matter? You have something against the Rothchilds as well as bachelor auctions?”

       Hell yeah!

      He’d just been “bought” by the heiress of the family he was investigating in connection with murder—a professional conflict of interest that could blow the whole damn case. He was instantly furious. He had to extricate himself ASAP.

      “Look,” he said hastily. “There’s been one huge mistake. I need to bow out—”

      “Oh, but you can’t, Agent Duncan,” she crooned. “I’ve just paid two hundred fifty thousand dollars for the pleasure of your company. You signed an agreement.”

      “This is a conflict of interest, Ms. Rothchild. I’m handling the investigation into your sister’s homicide. And you know it.”

      She placed her cool, smooth hand on his amped forearm. “Do you want the Nevada Orphans Fund to be a quarter of a million poorer than it is right now?” she asked with a soft and flirtatious smile, her big dark eyes twinkling. “That money could be targeted specifically to your at-risk coaching program—the one you volunteer for two days a week.”

      She knew. Damn her. She knew enough about him to…a dark thought suddenly hit Lex. Jenna Jayne Rothchild was the events planner at the Grand Hotel and Casino, her father’s largest Strip operation. She was renowned for her parties, each one more extravagant than the next.

      “Was it you who organized this auction event, Ms. Rothchild?”

      “Jenna,” she reminded him, smiling sweetly. “And yes. It went rather well, don’t you think? We must have raised close on—”

      “You set me up.”

      “And why would I do that?”

      To compromise my investigation, to send my case down the legal tubes if it ever reached court. Hell alone knew. Whatever her motive was, Lex was going to find out. Sexy little Jenna Jayne Rothchild had just made herself a key person of interest in his homicide investigation. He removed a card from his back pocket, slapped it onto the white damask linen that covered her table. “Call me when you’ve decided whether you can afford the donation—without the date. Because the deal is off.”

      “But—”

      “Sorry,” he snapped. “Can’t mix business with…” He hesitated as she moved her sexy body closer to his amped one. “You were going to say…pleasure?” He felt heat. Swallowed.

      “Because it sure wasn’t business that I had in mind, Agent Duncan.”

      His throat began to thicken, and his brain headed south. “Sorry, no can do.” But be damned if right at this insane moment Lex was suddenly feeling it was all he wanted to do. This woman, up close, was pure bewitchment. He had to get out of her aura, suck in a dose of desert air, figure out what the hell to do about this stunt she’d pulled. He turned to go, just as the dance music was heating up and lights began to pulse over the floor.

      “Wait.” She grasped his arm. “At least give me this one dance?”

      Lex stilled at the sensation of her hand on his bare arm, cognizant of the fact that he was still naked from the waist up. Her hand moved a little higher, and his stomach tightened sharply. He turned, slowly, and looked down into her deep liquid-brown eyes. Mistake.

      Because suddenly he couldn’t seem to pull away. “It’s…nearly midnight,” he managed, his voice thick. He tried to tell himself it was the excitement, the adrenaline pounding through his system. But it wasn’t. It was her. She was doing this to him.

      She laughed. “What? You worried your SUV will turn into a pumpkin?” she said naughtily with a little pout on her red lips, and he knew he was going to be toast if he didn’t move. Real soon.

      “I…have to report to work early tomorrow.”

      “Is it always about the job for you, Lex?”

      He studied her brown eyes, drowning in them for a long moment. “Pretty much.”

      And his orphans. That was his life right now. That was the way he liked it.

      Her eyes flickered, a mischievous glint in them. “We’ll have to do something about that, then.”

      Oh, boy. On impulse he snagged a tequila from a passing tray, swigged it back, felt the oily burn through his chest. Another mistake. It seemed to shoot straight to his groin. Making him hotter, not to mention hard.

      She moved her curvaceous body closer, almost pressing up against him. He could smell her fragrance, her warmth. The lights dimmed. Colored spotlights played over the dance floor, the crystal in the chandeliers shimmering in dazzling small pinprick shards of light. A low primal beat began to swallow the dance floor.

      “Come,” she whispered against his cheek. He felt her hand sliding down his arm, her fingers gently encircling his wrist. He could feel the warm swell of her breast against his bare torso, the soft champagne breath from her lips against his face, and she lured him, as if manacled, drawing him onto the dance floor. “Just one dance,” she said. “Then I’ll let you know where to pick me up tomorrow night.”

      Lex glanced desperately at the massive art deco clock on the wall. The luminous hands showed three minutes to midnight—the average length of a song. He vowed he’d be outta here within those minutes. Then he’d find a way to weasel out of the date. He was convinced she’d set him up. Because what were the odds of this being a coincidence? She’d have to have been living under a rock not to know