Sheerly Irresistible

Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a beefy fist shooting out toward his jaw. Mitch twisted just in time to avoid the blow. Then he delivered a swift kick to the back of the man’s knees, causing him to crumple to the floor.

Mitch’s early education in street fighting was only enhanced by the combat moves he’d been taught when he’d gone into law enforcement. This loser wasn’t going to win this fight. Mitch just hoped the guy would be smart enough to figure that out before Mitch really had to hurt him.

No such luck.

By the time Mitch had scraped the guy off the floor and dumped him in the back of a taxicab, the two woman who had been fighting were back on the dance floor once more, with two new guys.

Donna Cummings, a blond waitress with an eternal wad of gum in her mouth sidled up to him. “You look like you could use a drink, Mitch.”

He rubbed his knuckles. “I could use a night off, but I’ll settle for a drink. Make it the usual. In fact, make it a double.”

She grinned. “One grape soda coming up.”

Mitch walked back to his post at the door, sensing that it was going to be another long night. He’d rather be watching a Clint Eastwood marathon on television. Anything but hanging around a bunch of lonely, desperate people trying to find love.

What really disgusted him was that he used to be one of them. Trolling the bars for women had been one of his favorite hobbies. His friends had joked that he must be related to Sam Malone, the famous womanizer on Cheers. But in the last year or so, that lifestyle had lost its appeal.

He’d 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.

4

THE BLACK SKIRT CARESSED Claire’s thighs as she walked into The Jungle. She was intrigued by the odd sense of power it gave her. The way the silky fabric molded to her body. She loved the way it made her legs seem longer and her hips slimmer. But most of all, she loved the smolder of desire she saw in Mitch’s eyes. Eyes that looked even bluer than she remembered.

Unfortunately, he wore a shirt tonight. It was a black T-shirt, stretched a little taut at the shoulders, with the name of the nightclub emblazoned across it in white letters. And it was accompanied by a pair of snug black denim jeans. Mitch Malone didn’t need any magic clothes to make her smolder.

He watched her approach him, his gaze trickling down her body like warm syrup.

“Hello,” she said, holding out her hand. She’d better get used to approaching strange men if she wanted this study to be a success. “I’m Claire Dellafield.”

“Claire,” he echoed, in a way that told her he’d remember it this time. His hand swallowed hers whole and a delicious zing shot through her body. According to her initial observations, the skirt was definitely causing a chemical reaction.

So far, both Mitch and her cabdriver seemed to be affected. The cabdriver had even followed her into the nightclub.

“Hey, babe,” the man now called from the doorway in a thick Bronx accent. “Wait up.”

He was obviously making good on his pledge to follow her to the ends of the earth. But there was one place he couldn’t go.

She smiled up at Mitch. “Could you please direct me to the ladies’ room?”

He didn’t say anything, just hitched his thumb over her shoulder, pointing toward the corner of the nightclub.

“Thank you,” she murmured, circling around him and walking briskly in that direction. Claire quickened her pace as the cabdriver’s voice carried over the room. The man was certainly persistent. He’d screeched to a stop at the corner where her apartment stood, kicked out his irate passenger, then promised her a free ride.

She’d thought he meant in his taxicab.

But he’d made his intentions quite clear when he’d pulled up to The Jungle. She’d turned him down. Then he’d tried to sweeten the offer by promising to let her tie him up. The conversation had gone downhill from there. And now she was forced to hide in the bathroom. Maybe the skirt had some drawbacks after all.

Claire slipped into the empty ladies’ room, wondering how long she’d have to stay here before the cabbie finally gave up and went away.

But she underestimated him.

The cabbie barreled through the door, his narrow face lighting up when he saw her. “Are we playing hide-and-seek?”

Claire planted her hands on her hips. “I think you missed the sign on the door. It’s for women only.”

“Let’s continue the game at my place,” he offered, taking another step closer. “I’ll let you hide in my bed.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,’ she said firmly. “I don’t even know your name.”

His thin lips curved into a smile. “My girlfriends call me the Love Stallion.”

“Well, Mr. Stallion, I’m flattered by your interest, but I’m working at the moment.”

He gaze flicked over her body. “I’ll pay top dollar for a woman like you.”

She blinked. “Top dollar? You think I’m a prostitute?”

“I think you’re my greatest fantasy.” He took another step closer. “One I want to enjoy all night long.”

Claire slipped her hand inside her purse, curling her fingers around the pepper spray A.J. had given her in case of an emergency. “I’m going to count to three. If you’re not gone by the time I’m done, you’re going to regret it.”

“Why?” He grinned. “Are you going to spank me?”

“One.”

He licked his lips. “You are so hot.”

“Two.”

He raised one cocky eyebrow. “Playing hard to get? Give me a break. A woman like you? In a skirt like that?”

“This is your last chance,” she warned, pulling the canister out of her purse and taking careful aim.

The door to the rest room swung open and Mitch stepped inside. His gaze swung from the pepper spray in Claire’s hand to the man standing in front of her. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Claire shook her head. “He was just leaving.”

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” the cabbie announced.

“Think again.” Mitch folded his arms across his broad chest. “I want you out of here. Now.”

The cabbie stuck out his jaw. “And if I don’t feel like leaving?”

Mitch’s blue eyes narrowed. “Then you’re going to feel my fist shoved down your throat.”

Claire stepped between them, feeling somewhat responsible. After all, this entire situation was because of the skirt. “I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“Too late,” Mitch muttered, then took a menacing step toward the cabdriver.

“All right,” the cabbie said, backing up. “I’m leaving.” Then he turned to Claire. “But I’ll be parked right outside waiting for you, babe.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Claire called after him. Then she looked at Mitch, who was scowling at her. “What?”

“Next time, leave your boyfriend problems at the door.”

Her eyes widened at his curt tone. Had the skirt lost its effect already? “Boyfriend problems? That creep isn’t my boyfriend. He was my cabdriver.”

“Did you forget to pay the fare?”

“He refused to let me pay him anything. He almost refused to let me out of his cab.” She moved around him toward the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me….”

But Mitch stepped in front of her, blocking the path. He was so close she could see a small scar just below his chin and smell the hint of aftershave he wore. His formidable size should have intimidated her. But she knew instinctively he wouldn’t hurt her. In fact, for one fleeting second, she thought he might move even closer. Her skin prickled at the thought and the skirt seemed almost hot against her skin.

She craned her neck to look up at him. He just stared at her for a long moment before finally stepping out of her way. “Enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you.” She walked out of the ladies’ room and took a deep breath. Funny how she found it hard to breathe all of a sudden. Maybe it was the scented air freshener in the ladies’ room. Or the glint of desire in Mitch’s blue eyes. The next moment, he stood right behind her, his heat caressing her neck.

“When you’re ready to leave,” he growled in her ear, “just let me know. I’ll help you get another cab.”

She turned to face him. “That won’t be necessary.”

“I insist.” Then he turned and walked away.

Claire stared after him, realizing she’d never had that kind of effect on a man before. It was intoxicating. Especially after the way he’d dismissed her in the alley behind The Jungle two weeks ago.

But she wasn’t here to impress Mitch Malone. It was time to line up volunteers for her research project. Several men were seated at stools by the bar, where a man with too much gray hair peeking through his muscle shirt stood behind the counter barking orders at a harried bartender.

Where to begin? Claire had read her father’s study numerous times, as well as his copious notes. Marcus Dellafield had introduced himself to several patrons before carefully selecting ten of them to be the main focus of his research. All the test subjects had been women. Claire planned to reverse the study and focus on men this time.

She slid onto the last empty bar stool, setting her purse in her lap. Several stools squeaked as men turned to look at her.

“Ask the lady what she wants to drink,” the man with the thick, gray chest hair growled behind the bar.

A harried young bartender hurried over to her. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll have a glass of wine,” she said, deciding to keep it simple for him. “Merlot, if you have it.”

The bartender looked at the older man. “Do we have it?”

“Hell, yes.” He pointed to one of the lower shelves. “Second bottle from the right.”

The bartender set a bottle on top of the counter.

“That’s pinot grigio, not merlot, you idiot!”

“I love pinot grigio!” Claire exclaimed, then smiled at the red-faced bartender. “You must have read my mind.”

“Get the lady a glass,” the older man ordered gruffly, then he turned to Claire. “You must be new in town.”

“How can you tell?”

“You’re too nice. Besides, I’ve been running this place for the last thirty years. I can spot a tourist a mile away.”

“Thirty years?” Claire echoed. “Then maybe you remember my father, Marcus Dellafield. He conducted a research study here called Strangers in the Night about twenty-five years ago. I’m his daughter, Claire.”

The bartender’s scowl faded into something that could almost be called a smile. “Well, hell. Of course, I remember Marc. I’m Dick Vandalay, owner of The Jungle.”

Marc? She’d never heard anyone call her father that before. Somehow it didn’t seem to fit with his dignified image. But her father had been a relatively young man back then. Handsome, too, from the photographs she’d seen. Her throat tightened and she had to swallow hard to keep from choking on a sob. She reached for her glass of wine and took a long sip.

“I haven’t heard from Marc for a while.” He looked around the bar. “Did he come with you?”

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