Rules of Attraction

“Trust Me.”

Quinn turned toward her. Claire raised her gaze to his. He looked at her mouth. Full lips, parted just slightly.

Couldn’t. He looked away, tried to focus. Shouldn’t.

“Claire,” he said.

“What?”

He cupped her face, waited two seconds for her to object, then he kissed her. He felt her breath stop, then she took a long, slow breath and kissed him back. Her hands pressed against his chest then slid higher. Before she wrapped her arms around his neck he pulled back.

He wasn’t going to apologize for something she apparently wanted as much as he did.

Except that he had rules, and he’d just broken one.

Dear Reader,

Thank you for choosing Silhouette Desire. As always, we have a fabulous array of stories for you to enjoy, starting with Just a Taste by Bronwyn Jameson, the latest installment in our DYNASTIES: THE ASHTONS continuity series. This tale of forbidden attraction between two romance-wary souls will leave you breathless and wanting more from this wonderful author—who will have a brand-new miniseries of her own, PRINCES OF THE OUTBACK, out later this year.

The terrific Annette Broadrick is back with another book in her CRENSHAWS OF TEXAS series. Double Identity is an engrossing page-turner about seduction and lies…you know, all that good stuff! Susan Crosby continues her BEHIND CLOSED DOORS series with Rules of Attraction, the first of three brand-new stories set in the world of very private investigations. Roxanne St. Claire brings us a fabulous McGrath brother hero caught in an unexpected situation, in When the Earth Moves. Rochelle Alers’s THE BLACKSTONES OF VIRGINIA series wraps up with Beyond Business, a story in which the Blackstone patriarch gets involved in a surprise romance with his new—and very pregnant—assistant. And last but certainly not least, the engaging Amy Jo Cousins is back this month with Sleeping Arrangements, a terms-of-the-will story not to be missed.

Here’s hoping you enjoy all six of our selections this month. And, in the months to come, look for Maureen Child’s THREE-WAY WAGER series and a brand-new installment of our infamous TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB.

Happy reading!

Melissa Jeglinski

Senior Editor

Silhouette Desire

Rules of Attraction

Susan Crosby

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SUSAN CROSBY

believes in the value of setting goals, but also in the magic of making wishes. A longtime reader of romance novels, Susan earned a B.A. in English while raising her sons. She lives in the central valley of California, the land of wine grapes, asparagus and almonds. Her checkered past includes jobs as a synchronized swimming instructor, personnel interviewer at a toy factory and trucking company manager, but her current occupation as a writer is her all-time favorite.

Susan enjoys writing about people who take a chance on love, sometimes against all odds. She loves warm, strong heroes; good-hearted, self-reliant heroines…and happy endings.

Susan loves to hear from readers. You can visit her at her Web site, www.susancrosby.com.

For Bobbie Vetter Fite, one of the windows that opened

when my door closed. Onward and upward, my friend.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

One

Private investigator Quinn Gerard felt a momentary pang of regret for having turned respectable seven months ago. He missed the anonymity, and the danger. He’d hungered for it, thrived on it. Since he’d given up his private practice to become a partner in ARC Security & Investigations, he’d had to operate by the rules, instead of ignoring them or making up his own when the situation warranted it.

One personal rule that hadn’t changed, however, was that he never got personally involved with a client—no matter how tempting—and the willowy blonde in the electric-blue blouse and black leather skirt currently ambling away from her car was worse than a client. She was a subject.

Still, as a man, he could admire the package if not the contents. And that package was more interesting at the moment than in the previous three days he’d had her under surveillance. In fact, Jennifer Winston was a bundle of surprises today. First, she’d left her house hours earlier than her norm. Second, she’d slowed her pace. Usually in a hurry, today she moseyed along as if life were eternal—or she was reluctant to get where she was going. Third, she’d borrowed her sister’s car, a modest white compact, instead of driving her own conspicuous red convertible. Fourth, and perhaps most surprising, she was headed into the local blood bank.

Quinn would’ve guessed that Jennifer Winston didn’t have a charitable blood cell in her entire lovely body. So, why was she here?

She’d been followed twenty-four hours a day, for weeks, from the house she shared with her sister, first by D.A. investigators, and now by Quinn. According to reports passed along to him, her routine stops included chic boutiques, trendy San Francisco nightspots and luxurious spas in the Napa valley. She hadn’t held a job in almost half a year, so she came and went at will, generally staying out until very late at night then not leaving home again until almost noon.

Suspicious of the deviations in her pattern today, Quinn followed the newly unpredictable and decidedly sexier Ms. Winston into the building instead of waiting for her to return to her car. Deviation from the norm often resulted in the big breaks in a case.

He trailed her down a wide, quiet hallway, watched as she disappeared through a doorway topped by a sign that read Donor Room. Not wanting to be directly on her heels, he stopped to drink from a water fountain then pretended to read some flyers on a bulletin board. Finally he put himself in a position to peer into the room. He didn’t see her so he moved a little closer, stepped through the doorway—

“You’re here to make a donation?” someone almost shouted behind him.

The tone of voice was more demand than query. Quinn turned and eyed the white-haired pixie with the big voice. The top of her head barely reached his sternum. He outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds.

“No, I—”

“Why not?” she asked, looking him up and down. “You look healthy.”

Because I’m following a woman the district attorney is convinced is hiding five million embezzled dollars, that’s why not. “I don’t have time,” he said.

“Hardly takes any time at all,” the human steamroller said, challenge in her eyes. “In and out before you know it.”

Her name tag identified her as Lorna, a 15,000-hour volunteer. Quinn ignored her as he scanned the room then zeroed in on Ms. Winston. She had donned a purple smock over her clothes and was putting cookies on a plate next to cartons of juice. Jennifer Winston, the juice-and-cookies lady? He couldn’t reconcile it with what he knew of her. Although he had imagined her living a double life….

“Scared of needles?” Lorna asked.

He met her placid gaze directly, coolly. “Yes.”

After a moment she cracked a smile. “Thought not. Come on, then.”

He focused on the fact that Ms. Winston wasn’t going anywhere. He could observe her and do his civic duty at the same time. It was a little risky getting so close to her, close enough she might remember him later and realize she was being followed again, but the thrill revved his adrenaline. The challenge of meeting her face-to-face while still tailing her appealed to him. Hiding in plain sight. He excelled at it.

He answered the long list of health-related questions, had his iron level tested, then settled in a padded lounge chair. He sought out his target as the nurse inserted the needle in his arm. Lorna and Ms. Winston were laughing together. He hadn’t seen her this mellow or friendly. Until now, she’d seemed like a woman on a mission, determined and direct. Now, she smiled at everyone, drawing smiles in return. She tossed her shoulder-length blond hair flirtatiously, lifted a hand to wave to someone entering the room—then noticed him.

From thirty feet away Quinn saw her falter in her conversation. Her smile faded. She lowered her arm slowly.

Had he been made? He went on alert, ready to go after her should she run. But then Lorna elbowed her and said something that put some pink into Ms. Winston’s cheeks and made her dip her head a little, as if embarrassed.

Quinn relaxed. Male/female connection? Now that intrigued him. He believed the reason he was never noticed by his subjects was that he was ordinary looking. Unmemorable.

On the other hand, there was something to be said for animal magnetism. As Ms. Winston maintained eye contact, his pulse sped up. Which was a normal reaction to the risk, he decided, of her being able to spot him following her after this. But it had been a while since his hormones had mutinied on their own like that.

A few more minutes passed. She looked away and back several times. He didn’t pretend disinterest, deciding instead that he could take an entirely different approach to his surveillance, a much more personal one. It would require playing a role, acting as if he didn’t know her boyfriend had been convicted of embezzlement and now occupied a cell in a federal prison—and that she was thought to be his accomplice.

Quinn had to be especially careful, however. Agreeing to take on the case for the D.A.’s office made him a police agent, which meant he needed to stay within the boundaries and scope of the law.

Ms. Winston took a few steps toward Quinn then hesitated. He held her gaze. She came closer. Close enough that he saw her eyes. Blue. Bright blue, not brown.

His gut clenched. Blood rushed through him, a feeling as close to panic as anything he could remember.

This wasn’t Jennifer Winston but her half sister, Claire. First-grade teacher, blue-eyed, brunette-until-today Claire—the good sister.

Curses whipped through his mind. Jennifer was no longer being watched. She could skip town and no one would find her, especially if she had the five million dollars her boyfriend stole.

“Take the needle out,” Quinn ordered the nurse. The good sister stopped. She backed up as the nurse spoke.

“Just a minute more—”

“Now. Or I’ll do it myself.” He reached for it.

“I’ll do it!” The nurse shoved his hand away, then slid out the needle and pressed a folded gauze pad to the site.

He stuck his thumb on the gauze and swung his legs over the side of the lounge. He had to see if Jennifer Winston had left town, if her sister was a decoy. What else could she be?

“You’ll need to sit over at that table and have some juice and cookies,” the nurse said. “Claire will go with you.”

He stood. Claire could go to—

The room tilted as unearthly quiet bombarded it.

“Hey! I have to bandage that!” The voice seemed to come through a tunnel.

He took a step. Darkness teased his vision, first at the edges, then closing in until only pinpoints of light remained. Bright. Disorienting. Nauseating. Take a deep breath. Put your head down.

Down….

“It’s always the big ones,” Lorna said, coming up beside Claire after the fiercely attractive man collapsed to the floor, the blow softened by the nurse’s hold on him, slowing his descent. “I’ll get his keys,” Lorna added. “I have a feeling he’s going to fight us about staying here for a while.”

Claire studied the unconscious man while Lorna dug her hand into the man’s pocket and pulled out a set of keys. Well, shoot. Claire had really wanted to flirt with him, to test whether blondes do have more fun. Her sister had talked Claire into a makeover the night before, her first day of summer break from teaching. She had been nervous about testing the waters with her new look. She’d even worn one of Jenn’s outfits, because hers just didn’t seem to go with that blonde-and-fun thing. When the stranger had made eye contact with her, she’d thought he was interested. Now he would probably be too embarrassed to talk to her, much less flirt.

Maybe it was only certain blondes who had more fun….

So much for the great experiment, she thought with a sigh.

“Mr. Gerard,” Lorna said, crouching beside him and patting his cheek.

His eyes opened. He looked around in momentary confusion, then focused on Claire. His eyes were brown, flecked with gold, like amber, and a little eerie to stare at for long. His short black hair required little fuss, a practical, not-quite-military look. Mid-thirties, she decided. A solid, muscular body dressed in black jeans and a gray sweater—clothes that would make him blend in with a crowd except that he was over six feet tall and extremely attractive in a rugged, angular, mesmerizing kind of way.

Why had he been in such a hurry to leave? It was almost as if seeing her up close had triggered something in him. Yet he didn’t seem the type to shy away from anything, much less an unintimidating first-grade teacher whose newly blond hair and trendy outfit would never hide the fact that she was neither beautiful nor sexy, even if she felt a little bit of both after her makeover.

Finally he looked away and sat up.

“Juice and cookies, Mr. Gerard,” Lorna said. “You won’t be allowed to leave until we give the okay.”

“You think you can stop me?” he challenged, standing. He wobbled a bit.

Claire leaned forward, ready to help prop him up.

Lorna dangled his keys.

For a second, Claire thought he might smile. “You in the habit of taking advantage of unconscious men?” he asked Lorna.

“Do you need a wheelchair to take you to Claire’s table?” she countered.

His mouth twitched. “I can manage.”

“Guess you were telling the truth about being afraid of needles, after all,” Lorna said.

“Maybe.” He turned his gaze on Claire again. “Lead the way.”

He obviously could’ve snatched his keys, but apparently he realized he wasn’t ready to drive. She liked how he adjusted to his situation, considering that a few minutes ago he’d been in such a hurry to leave. “Orange, apple or cranberry juice?” she asked.

“Orange. Please.” He pulled out a cell phone the second he sat down. “Cass? I know you probably just got to bed, but I think I may have lost it…. Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s gone.”

Claire poured the juice and set the cup in front of him. She pushed the plate of cookies closer.

“Long story, involving a mistake,” he said, eyeing Claire in a way that made her hold her breath. “I need you to get over there and see what’s going on…. Yeah. It’s probably too late, but we need to check it out. Call me.” He closed the flap on the phone and set it on the table. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

He swigged half the glass. “People pass out around here often?”

“You’re not the first.”

“Ah. A polite answer to save me from too much embarrassment.” He finished the juice and shoved the glass toward her to refill, then bit off half a cookie. “Have you worked here long?”

“I’ve been volunteering one Saturday a month since March, but now that it’s summer I’ll help out once a week.”

“Are you a student?”

She knew she looked younger than her age. “I teach first grade.”

“For how long?”

Was he trying to figure out how old she was? “Four years.” I’m twenty-six. Is that too young to interest you?

“How long until the drill sergeant gives me back my keys?”

Claire smiled at his description of Lorna. “A half hour, maybe. When they’re sure you’re stable.”

He finished the cookie. “That’s never happened to me before,” he said.

She sat back, her smile broadening. So, he was a normal man, after all, worried that he appeared weak.

“It hasn’t,” he insisted, looking at his watch.

“I believe you.”

“You’re laughing at me.”

“Just at your ego.” She angled toward him. “I don’t think less of you, even if you don’t like needles.”

“I can’t tell you how relieved I am.”

She laughed, appreciating his dry sense of humor, and he seemed to relax a little more—or perhaps resigned himself to the situation.

“I’m Quinn Gerard,” he said, extending his hand.

“Claire Winston.” His hand engulfed hers, and was warm and…ridiculously arousing. She knew some people had chemical reactions to other people. It had just never happened to her. Not on first meeting. Not with a stranger.

“Why do you volunteer here, Claire Winston?”

Raw emotions rose up, catching her off guard. After all this time she should be able to say the words out loud without her throat closing. “Six months ago my parents were in a car accident. My father died instantly, but my mother survived a little while longer, in part because of blood transfusions. She died of other complications, but that extra time meant we got to say goodbye.”

His hesitation lasted but a second. “I’m sorry.”

He sounded more matter-of-fact than sympathetic. She moved the plate of cookies to the left a few inches then back again. “The work done here is not just important but critical. I do what I can.”

He seemed to be weighing a response. “Do you like teaching?”

The change of subject silenced her for a few seconds. “I love it. It’s all I ever wanted to do. How about you? What do you do?” His phone conversation earlier made her wonder. What had he lost? What mistake had he made?

“Find new ways to meet interesting women.”

So he did know how to flirt. “For a living?” she asked, teasing him back, feeling flattered and cautious. Maybe her blond hair was having an effect, after all.

Before Quinn answered, a group of people entered the room almost soundlessly. Claire knew by their somber expressions that they were the friends, family and, perhaps, co-workers of someone in need of a transfusion. Those kinds of donors generally came in groups and rarely smiled except in nervousness.

Lorna looked toward Claire and angled her head as if to say, “Come help.”

“Excuse me,” she said to Quinn. “I’m needed. Eat and drink as much as you like.”

She felt his gaze on her as she helped the new donors get situated. She was aware of him every second, even when she wasn’t sneaking a peek in his direction. Her body heated up. Her heart pounded a stronger rhythm, relentless and unsteady. Her reaction was new to her—so new, she wasn’t sure how to respond except to let him know in some way that she wouldn’t mind taking it one step further. She had a lunch break due her later. There was a café within walking distance.

After a while his phone rang. She saw him drag his hand down his face and his shoulders drop momentarily before he slid the phone back in his pocket. He met her gaze and tapped a finger to his watch face, asking his question with the gesture.

Claire walked up to Lorna. “Mr. Gerard is getting antsy.”

“Take his blood pressure and blood-sugar level. You’re trained to do that, right?”

She was. She gathered the equipment and approached his table. Her pulse tripped noticeably. She decided not to hide it, even though she didn’t really understand his interest. It couldn’t just be the hair, could it? She hoped he wasn’t that shallow. And yet she’d let Jenn convince her to go blond for exactly that reason—to see if men warmed up to her more than usual, which was shallow reasoning on her part.

Her main goal, however, had been to shake up her life a little.

“If you pass the tests, you can leave,” she said, donning latex gloves.

“I do better on essay exams.”

You should smile more often, she thought as she reached for his hand, feeling the same warmth as before, and the same sparks, even through the gloves. There was strength there, and a strange kind of comfort.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“No.” She focused on her task, cleaning his finger with alcohol before pricking it. She squeezed a drop of blood onto a test strip, then handed him a piece of gauze to press against the puncture. Setting the testing machine aside to count down to the results, she readied the blood pressure cuff.

He peeled off his sweater—

Um. Okay. Not naked underneath, but a white T-shirt that contrasted with his olive skin and showed off muscled biceps and forearms.

The testing machine beeped. Grateful for the interruption she looked at the number that came up. “Normal range,” she said.

“Good.”

She wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his arm, then she tucked his arm between hers and her torso and slid the stethoscope under the cuff. She’d tested blood pressure before, but this time her skin seemed to catch fire where his arm touched her body.

“You don’t dress like any first-grade teacher I know,” he commented.

Her eyes sought his.

Oh. She got it, finally. The leather skirt and relatively formfitting blouse seemed to be a signal to him, even though her smock mostly covered her. Disappointment slammed into her. “And how would that be?” She sounded snippy, even to herself.

“Wash-and-wear. Utilitarian.”

He’d described to a T what she usually wore, whether teaching or not.

Claire pumped the cuff, not saying anything. She had a job to do, and it wasn’t to flirt with the donors. She listened for his pulse.

“Blood pressure is fine,” she stated, letting go of his arm and removing the cuff. “You can go.”

“Ms. Winston…Claire.”

She fussed with the equipment but met his gaze, steadily, calmly. “Yes?”

After a moment he looked away. He pushed out his chair and stood. “Have a nice day.”

He didn’t seem like a man who uttered platitudes. Another disappointment. “Thanks. You, too.”

She told herself she was watching him walk away because she wanted to be sure he was steady on his feet. She almost convinced herself of that, too, except that her stomach did a funny little flip-flop when he glanced over his shoulder at her after reaching Lorna’s side.

He said something that made Lorna laugh, then she dropped his keys in his hand. He gave Claire one final look. This time her heart lurched. Crazy. This was crazy. He was a stranger. A dark, intense stranger who hadn’t even told her what he did for a living, but had evaded answering with all the finesse of a practiced deceiver. He’d flattered her instead, sidestepping the question altogether.

She turned away, then felt someone tap her shoulder a moment later.

He’d come back.

“How late do you work?” he asked.

The answer spilled out of her, banishing her disappointment. “Until four.”

He nodded and walked away.

Intrigued, Claire smiled. She’d wanted an adventure. It looked like she was about to get one.

Two

Quinn had been parked for hours near Claire Winston’s house, an old but well-maintained Victorian in the family-friendly Noe Valley area of San Francisco. There had been no signs of life in the house. He hadn’t expected any. A few days ago Jennifer had marched up to the car of the D.A. investigator assigned to tail her and challenged the man, which had led to the D.A. hiring Quinn, who’d built his reputation on his success at clinging to the shadows.

But she must have spotted Quinn, as well, then laid the foundation for ditching him using her sister’s makeover to switch identities. Was Claire part of the ruse? He couldn’t answer that question for sure, but she suddenly bleaches her hair, parks her car on the street instead of in the garage, then her sister-the-suspect disappears? It seemed well planned to him.