Authors: Leanne Banks

Tags: #FIC027020

Some Girls Do (37 page)

He'd barely sunk down onto her ivory leather sofa before she returned with a frozen bag of peas. She gingerly lifted the bag to his eye.

He sucked in a quick breath.

“Sorry, but you'll thank me in the morning,” she said in a husky voice.

If his head weren't splitting in half, he might enjoy a few fantasies about how to spend the kind of night where he would thank her in the morning. Instead, he met her gaze with his good eye. “I don't have to wait. Thank you for screaming.”

“You're welcome. What about your stomach and ribs? Do you think anything is broken?”

He slid his hands over his trunk and slowly shook his head.” I don't think so.”

Dee felt her panic ratchet down another notch. “We should call the police,” she suggested. “And make sure whoever is monitoring security tonight gets fired,” she added in disgust. “You just know that if someone had been having sex on the floor of that garage, those security dodos would have been plastered to the monitor. Heck, they'd probably be making copies of the videos for their friends, but when someone gets mugged—”

She broke off as Benjamin clutched his ribs.

“What's wrong?” she asked, instinctively reaching out to him.

“Please don't make me laugh,” he said in a voice that surprised her with the tinge of sexiness.

She blinked and took a quick reassessment. A different kind of assessment this time. A woman's assessment. Just over six feet tall, judging by the way she'd had to look up at him in the elevator, nice dark hair, although a bit mussed at the moment. Dark eyebrows framing his brown eyes. Expressive eyes. She liked that. Great bones, she thought, taking in his chiseled facial structure, and she was trained to notice. Couldn't tell a thing about the mouth since it was swollen and bloody. Broad-shouldered, but lean with muscles. A runner, she guessed, or swimmer, looking at his shoulders again. She allowed her gaze to sweep past his thighs, down to his feet. Large feet.

Oh, my.
Sense of humor, good dresser, and he had a good soul. Interesting man. She wondered if a woman would be able to hold him at arm's length.

She met his gaze and felt a surprising punch. He knew exactly what she'd been doing. Well, damn. Intelligence could really ruin the mix.

“I don't think I've ever been strip-searched more thoroughly by a woman,” he said, sounding flattered.

She almost felt embarrassed. After all, the man had just taken a beating. She shrugged and shot him a smile that she knew had knocked at least a few men off kilter. “I'm nothing if not thorough. Lean back, I'll get you something to drink. Hard or soft?” she asked, thinking it might be a lot of fun to get him hard.

“Whiskey sounds good, but I'd probably better not mix the dentist's meds with alcohol. Just water.”

Sensible, too, she thought, as she walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a chilled bottle of springwater. What an interesting man. She liked his voice. She liked the way he smelled. She liked the one eye that wasn't swollen shut. Given her history, she wondered if he was gay, then told herself it didn't matter. His intelligence would likely cause problems.

“Here,” she said; unscrewing the cap on the bottle and giving it to him. “I'll get the phone. You can call the police.”

“What's your name?” he asked, as she turned away.

“Dee Montague,” she said, smiling to herself as she wondered what he would think of her given name. It never failed to provoke a reaction. “Delilah, actually.”

He paused. “Delilah?”

“Yes,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.

“It suits you,” he said slowly. “So how do I thank you for saving me?”

“I don't know,” she said, dialing the number for the police and sitting beside him on the couch. “Maybe we can put our heads together and come up with something later,” she said, pleased to regain her ingrained ability to flirt. “In the meantime, you should talk to the police.”

She held the bag of peas against his eye while he reported the assault in the garage. Listening to him with half an ear, she tried to place his aftershave. A man had designed it, she decided. It was the kind of aftershave created to make a woman hungry and wet.

“Benjamin Huntington III,” he said. “My address is Waterstone Towers, 533 Cary Street, unit 1428.”

Dee frowned. Puzzled, she wrinkled her brow. Had she heard correctly? The back of her neck tightened. As soon as he turned off the phone, she took it from him. “Did I hear you say you're in unit 1428?”

He nodded. “That's right,” he said with a half smile that managed to be sexy even though half his face was pummeled.

She could have pummeled the other half.

Dee felt her chest tighten with resentment. On top of the trauma of the evening and everything else she'd been through during the last few months, this was just too much. She felt her composure begin to crack and pointed at him accusingly. “You're my neighbor?”

“Right next door,” He lifted the bottle of water to his lips.

Dee shook her head in disbelief. “You are the new neighbor who starts hammering or using some kind of loud machinery at 6
P.M.
every evening and doesn't stop until well after midnight.”

Benjamin stopped midgulp. “I'm renovating—”

She didn't want him to explain. She wanted him to stop torturing her. “And you are the new neighbor who plays some kind of music that sounds as if the building is being stormed by torchbearers bent on destruction.”

He looked perplexed. “Russian opera?”

“And you play this music full blast despite the fact that I've left several notes requesting you to turn it down,” she said, gritting her teeth. “And it's so loud I can't even escape it when I take a shower.”

“Notes? What notes?”

“Oh, right,” she said in complete disbelief. “Just like you didn't know your
renovations
left me without electricity when you went out of town weekend before last.”

He stared at her with a blank expression. Dee didn't believe it for one minute. The man had caused her untold misery. More than ever during the last month she had craved the solace of her home, but for all the disturbance he had made, he might as well have brought a wrecking ball inside her condo instead of his. No one could be that ignorant. Then again, maybe this meant he wasn't intelligent after all. Too late, she thought. She knew the truth. He was the most annoying neighbor on the planet, and like an idiot, she had rescued him.

She pulled the bottle of water from his hand. “Get out. Go get your own water.”

He stood, looking at her as if she were crazy. And although Dee would die before she admitted it to him, she
was
a little crazy just then. The most important person in her life had died two months before, and she'd subsequently inherited a share in a business that could solidify both her professional and financial future if she could keep the scandal mongers at bay. She still hadn't figured out what to do about it, and the Power Tool Prince currently staring at her as if she had a screw loose, that he no doubt could tighten, was partially responsible. She couldn't sleep; therefore, she couldn't think; therefore, she hadn't figured out a solution for keeping the vow she'd made and cementing her future.

“Get out,” she told him, shooing him toward her door. “After a long day at work during which I pull about a half dozen knives out of my back, I don't want much. All I want is a little peace and quiet at the end of the day. All I want is to lose myself in a hot shower, but I haven't been able to do that because of you,” she said, shaking her finger at him as he backed through her doorway. “That's bad enough, but I waited two years to get my cleaning lady to clean on Fridays. Two years. I was gone for two weeks and you waltz in and I'm back on Tuesdays because my cleaning lady is cleaning for you on Fridays.”

He shook his head. “I apologize. I had no idea.”

“Well, I'm giving you an idea,” she shouted. “You've destroyed any chance I have for peace in my home, then you have the nerve to get mugged just as I'm arriving home, so I nearly have a nervous breakdown trying to save you. Give me back my peas,” she said, snagging the bag from his hand before she slammed the door in his astonished half-handsome, half-pummeled face.

The sound of the slamming door reverberated in his already pounding head as Benjamin stared into space with one eye, wondering what had just happened. He'd gotten a root canal. He'd been robbed and beaten by thugs. He'd been rescued by the reincarnation of a mad Mae West. He wasn't sure which was worst.

THE EDITOR'S DIARY

Dear Reader,

D
o we ever follow our mothers’ advice? With our two Warner Forever titles this May, you can laugh at the hilarious advice of an eccentric mother or get a chilling reminder of what our mothers always warned us about. But definitely follow
our
advice when we say that reading two great romance novels is even better than reading one!

Janet Evanovich says, “Every girl from 18 to 80 will love Leanne Banks's
SOME GIRLS DO.
The best feel-good book you'll read this year!” We just know you'll agree. So throw yourself into the madcap adventure of Katie Collins and Michael Wingate. When personal assistant Katie must find a suitable husband for the daughter of her tycoon boss, she is forced to work with bodyguard Michael, who drives her out of her sensible shoes. But it's only when Katie takes the non-traditional advice of her late mother—“Every once in a while, you meet a man worth the trouble he's going to cause you”—that Katie takes the bull by the horns…and discovers why some good girls do want to be bad sometimes.…

Should a heart-pounding suspense be your choice of indulgence, why not curl up in your favorite chair with
LAST BREATH
by
Rachel Lee.
Father Brendan Quinlan is a popular pastor at St. Simeon's Parish whose world is turned upside down when he's suspected of murdering a young man attending his church. Private investigator Chloe Ryder takes on the case to prove Father Brendan's innocence, all the while butting heads—and hearts—with police detective Matthew Diel. Have some hot tea nearby to ward off the chills rolling down your spine. According to
Publishers Weekly,
“Lee skillfully constructs a suspenseful story—with romance in all the right places.”

To find out more about these May titles, the authors, and Warner Forever, visit us at
www.warnerforever.com
.

With warmest wishes,

Karen Kosztolnyik, Senior Editor

P.S. Summer is just around the corner, so start your beach reading list early with these upcoming titles:
Mary McBride
presents the perfect hero with a wounded heart in the wonderful romantic comedy
MY HERO;
and
BACK ROADS
is Susan Crandall's debut novel about a young woman from a small town who yearns for a new life—it's women's fiction at its best.

S
TELLAR
R
OMANTIC
S
USPENSE FROM
R
ACHEL LEE

After I Dream

(0-446-60-654-5)

Before I Sleep

(0-446-60-653-7)

Last Breath

(0-446-60-991-9)

Under Suspicion

(0-446-60-962-5)

When I Wake

(0-446-60-655-3)