Run the Risk. Lori Foster

the street, somewhere in the darkness, a car alarm blared. Glass broke. Sirens split the night.

      A streetlamp flickered back on, disturbing the concealing cocoon of the blackout, sending a river of light to shimmer across the washed-out roadway.

      The woman on his arm shivered from the rain and pressed her heavy breasts into his side. “It’s cold.”

      “Not really.” He’d already forgotten her name but didn’t care. He wouldn’t see her again after tonight. Wrapping an arm around her, Rowdy asked, “Better?”

      “Are we going in or not?”

      “Yeah.” He could smell her perfume, felt the heat of her small body. He threw the toothpick away. “Remember, I’ve got an hour or less. That’s all.”

      Running a hand down his chest and smiling, she said, “Sugar, that’s all the time I need.”

      * * *

      STILL CURLED IN HER BED, relaxed from a good night’s sleep, Pepper watched the sun begin filtering through the curtains. She had that type of lethargy that only came from sex.

      She stretched, smiling, wondering what the coming day—and the night—might bring. More time with Logan? More sex? She hoped so.

      Her cell phone rang.

      She frowned toward it, but she knew it would be Rowdy, and she knew he’d be angry. Much as she wanted to keep reality at bay, she had to answer.

      Rolling to the side of the bed, she snatched up the phone and pressed the button to accept the call. “You’re up early.”

      “But you’re not?”

      Smiling again, she fell to her back. “I slept in.” To daydream. To remember.

      “We have to talk, Pepper.”

      Uh-oh. Hearing Rowdy’s exasperation, she shook off her dreamy preoccupation. “What’s the matter?”

      “You already know, so don’t play dumb.” And then, sharper, “What do you know about him?”

      “He’s…harmless.” A neighbor, an oversexed guy willing to abide by her stipulations for a little fun in the sack. In other words…perfect.

      “He’s working construction.”

      Shrugging to herself, she said, “He told me.”

      “But you didn’t know it, not until I checked.”

      She looked at the clock. It was after ten. “Is that where he’s at now?”

      “Yeah.”

      “And you figure it’s legitimate?”

      “Since he just shot a nail through his hand, I’d say so.”

      She bolted upright in the bed. “Is he okay?”

      Rowdy fell silent.

      “Is he?”

      “You care about him,” Rowdy accused.

      “I barely know him.” Not a lie; but she knew him better than she knew most people.

      Because she’d gotten intimate with him. A strange sort of intimacy, but still…

      “He got sloppy with the nail gun, but I’m sure it’s not a big deal.”

      Only another guy would think that. “Did he go to the hospital?”

      “No. A few of the other guys patched him up.”

      Her anxiety lifted. It must not have been too awful. “So you’re convinced he’s on the level?”

      “Hell, no. You shouldn’t see him again.”

      But she would. “Why not?”

      “You know why.” Disgust mixed with anger in his tone. “Think about it, Pepper. What does he really want from you?”

      Sex. “I don’t know.” And dinner. And…conversation? She shook her head. “Maybe he just wants to know a friendly face here.”

      With silky menace, Rowdy asked, “And have you been friendly?”

      Oops. Bad wording on her part. “Not exactly.” She propped her back against the headboard. Anxious to get off the topic, she said, “So you only called to caution me?”

      “To warn you. You’re playing a dangerous game.”

      She didn’t ask her brother if he’d been celibate; she knew the answer already. Double standards always annoyed her. “Duly noted. Now I need to go. I have to see how much damage the storm did to your building.”

      “Wait.”

      Pepper could almost picture him grinding his teeth, and she smiled. “Yes, Rowdy?”

      A beat of silence, and then: “Until I get a chance to do a more thorough check on him, keep him out of your apartment.”

      Her lips compressed. Rowdy had gotten awfully good at giving her orders—and expecting them to be obeyed. “Fine.” She wondered if Logan had been sent home from work but didn’t dare ask Rowdy. He was surly enough already. It never paid for her to tweak his temper. “Let me know if you find out anything more.”

      “Might take a few days, but I’ll be in touch.”

      The connection died, and so did her good mood. She tossed aside the phone and bounded out of bed. She had a lot to get done, so she might as well get to it.

      Going to her closet, she chose another drab, ugly outfit and carried it into her small bathroom. Looking at herself in the mirror, she touched her dull hair and even duller complexion.

      She hated to face the truth, but Rowdy had a valid point. Though he hadn’t come right out and said it, they both had to wonder what Logan saw in her.

      Easy sex? Accomplished.

      So now what? More sex? For most of the men she’d known, it was all about the conquest. Once they got what they wanted, they moved on to more challenging territory.

      For now, Logan was an enigma.

      She’d shower, dress and get through her errands which, despite what Rowdy said, included buying heavier drapes and blackout blinds for her bedroom—just in case. It was bad enough that Logan had seen her treadmill.

      She didn’t need him seeing anything else.

      Being a woman of her word, she’d insist that dinner be at his place tonight. And after dinner, maybe she’d be able to talk him into round two.

      Letting out a long sigh, she cooled the temp on her shower and stepped in.

      She knew better than to hope for too much; nothing in her life had really changed. She still lived a lie, and she needed to remain in isolation.

      But she couldn’t seem to stop herself from reaching for this one pleasure.

      Her very restrictive existence suddenly looked brighter. For the first time in a long time she had reason to anticipate the day.

      Given half a chance, she’d thank Logan for that—in the limited ways left to her.

      * * *

      WITH HIS CELL PHONE on speaker, Logan paced his small living room and stewed. His hand ached, but he deserved it. Luckily, it was his left he’d injured, not his gun hand. He could shoot adequately with his left, but he had improved aim with his right.

      Even luckier—depending on your point of view—it wasn’t an uncommon accident to have happen on the job site. While he’d cursed a blue streak, the other workers had laughed at him, proof positive that they’d seen it happen before.

      Dash had remembered not to single him out with concern and had, in fact, chewed his ass for being careless, as he would do with any worker.

      But