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“Quinn. Declan Quinn.”
“And Trevor sent you?”
He nodded. “After the latest threat was called in to the—”
Rachel held up her hand to stop him. “I don’t need to hear about it.”
“Do you have any idea who might be doing this?” Declan asked.
Her gaze flitted over his body, coming to rest on his hands. They were beautiful hands, well-formed with long fingers and neatly groomed nails. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a drink?” Rachel countered. “I think I do have some scotch.” She got up from the sofa and he quickly rose and grabbed her arm to stop her. His fingers were warm on her skin and she looked down at the spot where he touched her, suddenly unable to breathe. “I—I guess not.”
“Sit,” he insisted. Rachel did as she was told, only this time, Declan sat down next to her, stretching his arm out across the back of the sofa. “Why don’t you want to talk about this?”
“I’d just like to stop thinking about it for a while. I don’t know who’s behind the letters. I don’t know if he’s serious or just out to scare me. I’ve talked to a few thousand people over the past couple of years, so it could be anyone. The police can’t seem to find this person and they don’t take his letters very seriously.”
“They will now,” Declan said. “It is serious. He threatened to kill you.”
“And that’s why you’re here? To protect me?”
He reached out to take her hand, and the moment he touched her, she felt a current run through her body. Rachel held her breath, fighting the urge to curl up against his body and fall asleep. “I’m tired.” She glanced up at him. “You’re going to sleep here tonight?”
“If that’s all right with you. I can sleep on the sofa.”
“There’s a guest room,” she offered. “You might find something to wear in there. Mr. Ross keeps this apartment for out-of-town business associates, so maybe someone left something behind. And I’ll call downstairs and have them bring your bags up as soon as they can.”
She slowly rose, but he held on to her hand, his fingers weaving through hers. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.
Rachel nodded, touched by his concern. “I should be the one asking you that.”
“Hey,” Declan kidded. “I’m tough. It’ll take a lot more than a little pepper spray to stop me.”
There was something so perfect about his face, she mused. Handsome, yet boyish, but so focused. Her cheeks warmed with another blush. This was silly. She was treating him like some hero come to rescue her. He was an employee, a bodyguard whose only purpose was to make sure she was safe. As much as she wanted to imagine him as her very own sex slave, it wasn’t going to happen.
“Good night,” she murmured. With that, Rachel turned and walked to her room. She closed the door behind her and slowly began to undress, dropping her clothes across an overstuffed chair in the corner.
But she couldn’t drag her thoughts away from the man she’d left in her living room. Sure, Declan Quinn was handsome and powerfully attractive. He was everything she might want in a lover. The only problem was, Rachel hadn’t had a lover in her bed in more than a year and had begun to wonder if she’d ever find another man willing to slip between her sheets.
Intellectually, she knew women could live without sex indefinitely, but the physical ache she felt at times was getting almost overwhelming. She wanted to touch a man’s skin, to inhale his scent and feel the weight of his body on top of hers.
Men felt a much greater imperative to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh on at least a weekly or monthly basis. But a year-long drought was bordering on pathetic. Declan Quinn had probably had sex at least once or twice in the last week, maybe even with two different women.
She could write off her drought as a result of a busy work schedule or a lack of suitable prospects. There had been a few men who seemed like good candidates, but once they found out what she did for a living, they were less than enthusiastic about spending a night in her bed.
Rachel had tried to explain that she wouldn’t be judgmental or critical, that even though she was an expert in sex, her persona was more a title the media had given her than an indication of her sexual prowess. In truth, her “book learning” far surpassed her actual practical knowledge. She knew exactly what caused a female orgasm, the physiological process that a woman’s body went through, but she’d enjoyed precious few orgasms herself.
She had Declan Quinn at her beck and call for at least the near future. So, if she wanted to explore her options, now would be a good time. Rachel was well aware of what it took to seduce a man—in most cases, not much. Men were much more vulnerable to seduction, able to become aroused with just the thought of sex.
Rachel slipped a thin cotton nightgown over her head, then crawled into bed, pulling the sheets up to her nose. She could walk out into the living room right now, stark naked, and chances were good that Declan wouldn’t be able to resist a willing female.
With a low groan, she sat up and punched her pillow. For now, she’d get some badly needed sleep. Her sex life could stay the way it was, at least for the next eight hours. Tomorrow morning, she’d reconsider her options. “He could be married,” she murmured, trying to rationalize her reluctance. “Or seriously involved.”
The last thing she needed to deal with now, on top of everything else, was rejection. Especially at the hands of a man as sexy as Declan Quinn.
2
DECLAN SWITCHED OFF the light in the guest room. He carried the pillow and the blanket down the hall, then tossed them both on the sofa in the living room. He could choose to sleep in the comfort and relative privacy of the guest room, but he wasn’t a guest. He had a job to do and didn’t intend to let any bothersome sexual attraction get in the way.
He flopped down on the sofa, then kicked off his shoes. His hands and chest still stung from the pepper spray, but the effects had nearly worn off and he could see again. His mind flashed with an image of Rachel Merrill and he remembered his reaction when he’d first been able to see her clearly.
He’d known a lot of beautiful women but they’d all been beautiful in a conventional way. Thinking back, they’d all shared the same qualities—long, sexy hair, trainer-toned and tanned bodies, and a wardrobe that seemed designed to reveal as much cleavage as possible.
Rachel Merrill was one of those rare women, a woman who was completely unaware of her beauty. She seemed a bit shy and unsure of herself, which only made her more attractive. The striking auburn hair and porcelain complexion didn’t hurt her either. Though she wore her hair in a practical shoulder-length style, the tousled waves made it look as though she’d just spent a wild night in bed.
But it was her mouth that Declan found most attractive, the bee-stung lips that just begged to be kissed. A man could lose his soul thinking about that mouth. Declan tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. And that body. That perfect, slender body with the delicate limbs and the tiny waist, hidden beneath the conservative clothes.
He groaned softly. It had been three weeks since he’d made the deal with his brothers, a bet that they could all remain celibate for three months, a bet they’d reminded him of just yesterday when they’d met for breakfast. They’d all taken the oath on Marcus’s little gold charm and tossed a thousand bucks into the pot to make the competition more interesting.
Until tonight, Declan had been sure he’d win. He’d noticed yesterday that Marcus and Ian were already showing signs of cracking. Though he didn’t have any proof that they’d broken the pact, he had his suspicions. The bet doubled if either of them actually had sex before the three months were out, so Declan could win as much as four thousand dollars.
It wasn’t the money, though. He could make four thousand in the course of an evening. He’d suggested the deal because he’d reached a point of frustration in his life. Everyone around him was settling down and starting a family—his friends, his cousins, guys he’d never expected to find the perfect mate.
Over the past year, Dec had begun to question whether he might be missing out on something. He’d never had a relationship that lasted longer than three months, and that had been fine with him, until now. But lately, he’d begun to wonder if there was something wrong with him, if he was supposed to want the white picket fence, the mini-van in the garage and loving wife to come home to every night.
He stood up and unbuckled his belt then let his linen trousers drop to the floor, wriggling his feet out of his socks in the process. Declan slowly walked around the apartment in his boxer briefs, listening to the soft hiss of the air conditioning.
The place was almost sterile, with nothing of Rachel scattered about. He couldn’t even appease his curiosity by poking through her belongings. Instead, he wandered over to the windows. The apartment was on the thirty-sixth floor of Providence’s exclusive One Ten building, the southeast balcony overlooking the river.
Dec walked into the spacious kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator, hoping to find a cold beer but willing to settle for anything to snack on. He pulled out a bottle of orange juice then found a box of crackers in an adjacent cupboard. But as he was going back to the living room, he heard a soft knock at the door. He set the juice and crackers on the dining room table, then walked over to the door and peered out the peephole. Dec recognized the uniform of the building’s security force and he unlocked the door and pulled it open.
The man smiled and nodded. “Mr. Quinn. I’ve brought your luggage. And this envelope just arrived downstairs. The courier said I was to deliver it directly to you. It’s from Mr. Ross. If you have any questions, you’re asked to call him in the morning.”
Dec took the envelope and the guard set his bags inside the doorway. “Thanks,” he murmured. He closed the door and walked over to the sofa, then sat down on the end nearest the lamp. Inside the envelope, he found several file folders. The first was a copy of Rachel’s personnel file, complete with press clippings and photos. The second was a copy of an investigation report. Ross had hired a small Providence P.I. firm to check out her stalker and their findings were tucked behind a stack of hand-written notes—notes from Rachel’s stalker.
But instead of reading through them, he went back to the first folder and withdrew an 8 by 10 glossy of Rachel. Attached to it was a résumé that was several years old. “Born in New York, New York,” he murmured. “April 18, 1977.” That made her just a year younger than him. He read down the list of her professional degrees and certifications, her published articles, then scanned for more personal data. But everything in the file related to her work experience.
The sound of conversation drew his attention away from the file and Dec stood and crossed to the door again, listening for people outside in the hallway. But the words were coming from inside the apartment—from Rachel’s room. As he walked toward Rachel’s bedroom, he assumed she was talking on the phone. But when he stood outside and listened to the senseless babble, he realized she was talking in her sleep.
Dec quietly opened the door to her bedroom and poked his head inside. The bedside lamp was still on, bathing the room in a soft pink light. Rachel lay sprawled on the bed, her limbs tangled in the sheets, her nearly sheer nightgown riding high on her thighs. She seemed agitated, tossing her head from side to side as she mumbled.
He stared at her body, the breath slowly leaving his lungs. The soft mounds of her breasts pressed against the cotton, her nipples visible beneath the thin fabric. His gaze slowly scanned down, to the dark shadow between her legs. Dec knew he shouldn’t look, but he couldn’t help himself. His curiosity needed to be satisfied, but now that it was, it made it more difficult to put her out of his thoughts.
As he watched her, her distress seemed to grow and he wondered if, even in sleep, she sensed his presence. Dec stepped inside and slowly crossed to the bed. He wasn’t sure if he ought to wake her, afraid that she might not recognize him and be frightened. But she was obviously caught in the midst of a nightmare.
He gently took her hand and murmured her name, pressing his lips to the back of her wrist. He gave in to the impulse before he realized it and Dec quickly set her hand down. Suddenly, her eyes flew open and she bolted upright. Rachel looked at him for a long moment, her gaze uncomprehending. Then she relaxed, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth.
At first, Dec wasn’t sure how to respond. But a few seconds later, he returned the kiss, his tongue meeting hers in a delicious dance. She pulled him down on the bed, his body covering hers, his hands furrowed in her thick hair.
Declan had kissed a lot of women in his life, but never had a kiss surprised him so. It was crazy and passionate and full of unspoken promise. And as suddenly as it had begun, it ended.
Rachel drew back, her eyes closed, a tiny smile curling the corners of her mouth. “I have to go to the library now,” she whispered. She snuggled into the pillows and a moment later, she was fast asleep.
Declan rocked back on his heels and then glanced down at his lap. His reaction to the kiss was instant and intense. He’d never enjoyed such an uninhibited, yet purely innocent kiss. Ironically, Rachel probably wouldn’t even remember it the next morning. Perhaps that was for the best, Declan mused. Things were uncomfortable enough between them. He didn’t need to have her embarrassed over behavior she couldn’t control.
Still, Dec couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened had the kiss been real, borne out of conscious thought rather than the haze of a dream. What would have happened if she’d been awake and kissed him. He wouldn’t have put up any resistance even though refusing her should have been his standard, by-the-book response.
The hell with the book, Dec thought. Somehow, he didn’t think the book applied when it came to Rachel Merrill. If something did happen between the two of them, then he’d deal with it. But it was silly to anticipate an attraction that probably wasn’t even there. Rachel just didn’t seem all that interested.
RACHEL PUSHED UP ON HER elbow and punched her pillow, frustrated by her inability to sleep. She’d slept for three or four hours before being awoken by an odd dream. She’d been at her office and Declan Quinn had been there with her. And she’d kissed him.
She groaned. What did she expect? There was a handsome man sound asleep just a few feet away from her bedroom. Of course her mind would wander to thoughts of him. In truth, she’d spent the entire night thinking about him.
“Don’t fantasize about the bodyguard,” she muttered, flopping back down into the pillows. He’d been sent to do a job, and though it seemed as if he cared about her, that’s what he was paid to do. To think his interest was rooted in attraction was simply deluding herself.
But it was such a delicious delusion, she thought, smiling to herself. Declan Quinn was a gorgeous man. His dark hair was nearly black and he wore it just a bit longer on the top, just long enough for a woman to run her fingers through it when she kissed him.
Her thoughts switched to his mouth and Rachel wondered what it might feel like to kiss him. He’d probably kissed a lot of women. A man who looked like that wouldn’t have any shortage of female companions. And that voice, so deep and rich, was designed to seduce, to convince a woman that all she really needed to make her life complete was to strip off her clothes and climb into bed with him.
Rachel hadn’t had to imagine what his body was like. His little encounter with pepper spray had offered her a chance to see just what was under his clothes. A shiver ran through her and she sat up again. Tossing the bedcovers aside, she stared up at the bedroom ceiling.
She’d lost enough sleep over the past few weeks worrying about her stalker. It was strange to be kept awake by other thoughts. Reaching for one of her journals on the bedside table, she searched for anything to clear her mind. A nice long article on anthropological research should do the trick.
But she read the same paragraph over and over, her mind returning each time to the man sleeping in her apartment. Rachel rolled out of bed and walked over to the mirror above a low dresser. She stared at her reflection in the soft light from the bedside lamp. Smoothing her hands over the thin cotton of her nightgown, she looked at her figure critically.
Unlike many single women her age, Rachel didn’t work out. She hated exercise and hated sweating even more. But though her body might be a bit soft, she still considered it attractive enough to interest a man. A tiny waist, nice hips, and breasts that were just the right size. “Not too big, not too small,” she murmured.
She tipped her head to one side. She’d never considered herself beautiful, though. The features of her face, taken individually, weren’t that remarkable. But combined, some men might consider her pretty. And then there was her hair.
She ran her fingers through the thick auburn waves, cropped to just above her shoulders, then turned away from the mirror and walked back to the bed. Her hair had always been the bane of her existence, from the time she was a little girl. It never looked as though she’d done much to style it and usually she hadn’t.
Rachel knew the effect of physical beauty on sexual attraction. Every person had a checklist of qualities they looked for in their perfect mate, a list condensed and honed over time. She could be the most beautiful woman in the world and if she didn’t fit Declan Quinn’s profile, then she was out of luck.
She crawled back into bed, then listened as her stomach growled. That’s why she couldn’t sleep. She was hungry. Rachel grabbed her robe and pulled it on over her nightgown. She walked out of her room, passing the closed door of the guest room. Pausing, Rachel listened for the sounds of his breathing, but she couldn’t hear anything.
When she reached the living room, Rachel realized why. Declan was stretched out on the sofa, dressed only in his boxer briefs. Though he’d grabbed a blanket from the guest room, it lay on the floor beside the couch, just one corner tangled around his foot.
Rachel drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. The only source of brightness in the room came from the kitchen, from the light above the stove that she left on. It was just enough to make out the details of his face and body. She watched him breathe in and out, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm.
She walked over to the overstuffed chair opposite the sofa and sat down, tucking her legs beneath her. Slowly, she let her gaze wander over his body. Attraction was such a strange and mystical thing, she mused. She’d met lots of nice-looking, successful professionals over the course of her adult life, but not one of them had piqued her interest the way Declan had.
But was it really him, or was it simply the fact that she hadn’t had a man in her life for such a long time? Men had a drive to find sexual partners on a regular basis. It was part of their physiological and psychological make-up. But Rachel had the same needs, though not quite as urgent or overwhelming.
The thought of a man, naked and aroused, lying beside and on top of her, touching her, invading her body with his…The thought created an ache inside of her, a need she felt compelled to satisfy.
Since the sexual revolution of the sixties, it had become much easier for women to seek out their own pleasure, at least in theory. But in practice, it was quite a different matter. Convincing a man to bed her took determination and resourcefulness.
Rachel knew exactly how to do it, at least by the book. But there was no way to predict whether Declan would respond, or whether he’d notice at all. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes. Perhaps this wasn’t the right man or the right time. She sighed as an image of him swirled in her mind. Still, she wouldn’t know until she tried.
DECLAN SLOWLY OPENED HIS EYES, then became instantly alert to his surroundings. He was in Rachel Merrill’s apartment, sleeping on her sofa, the dawn just coloring the sky outside the windows of the high-rise. The papers from Rachel’s file were spread out on the floor around him. He pushed up on his elbows and yawned, then froze when he saw the outline of a figure standing next to the chair. Dec’s instincts kicked in and he jumped up, ready to defend himself.
It was only after the figure took a step back that he realized he was looking at Rachel. He reached over and turned on the lamp and they stared at each other for a long moment.
“Sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I’m not scared,” he said.
Her glaze dropped to his crotch and Dec looked down to find an early morning erection pressing against the fabric of his boxer briefs. He’d been dreaming, a very vivid dream, he recalled. And it had involved Rachel. He reached out and grabbed a pillow, holding it in front of him.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” she said with an earnest look. “It’s a perfectly normal physiological reaction. It happens during REM sleep. In fact, you probably have three or four a night without even knowing. You have them when you dream, even if the dream isn’t sexual.”
“It wasn’t,” he said.
She shook her head, her hair falling into soft waves around her face. “I wasn’t accusing you. Although there’s nothing wrong with having sexual dreams. That’s normal, too.”
“Can we stop talking about this?”
She shrugged and sat down in the chair across from the sofa, tucking her feet up beneath her. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed to talk about sex. It’s perfectly—”
“I know,” Declan said. “Normal.”
She nodded. For a long while, she watched him, her unflinching gaze fixed on his face, the intensity of her study a bit unnerving. It was as if she could see inside his head, as if she knew his thoughts before he did. Dec couldn’t deny that he’d had more than a few erotic thoughts about Rachel over the course of the night. But what man wouldn’t? It was perfectly—He cursed inwardly. “So, I guess you know a lot about sex,” he commented.
She tucked her feet beneath her. “Some people would call me an expert. That’s how I got into this. I wrote a paper for the journals on sexual addiction and then CNN called me to appear on a few of their talk shows when some celebrities claimed sexual addiction in their divorce proceedings. That’s how Trevor Ross found me. He liked the way I sounded and asked if I’d be interested in having my own radio show. The offer was good, so I said yes.”
“And that’s how you became Dr. Devine?”
“I thought it would be better to take a pseudonym. The university frowns upon pop psychology. I think they believe it might tarnish my reputation as an academic.”
“Talking about erections on the radio does seem a bit out there.”
“I help a lot of people,” she said, a hint of defensiveness in her voice. “You’d be surprised at how many of my listeners are completely undereducated when it comes to sex. I believe we should be open and honest about our sexual desires.”
“And what are your desires?” he asked. The question was out of his mouth before he even realized he was thinking it. Dec cursed softly. “Sorry, that’s personal.”
“No,” she said. “We might as well be honest with each other.” Rachel paused. “Of course, you probably know how charming you are. And I do find you very attractive.”
“I find you attractive,” he countered, smiling at her. She was right. It felt good to admit it. “And I was dreaming about you when you woke me up.”
Rachel smiled. “See, that wasn’t so difficult. Now that we’ve said it, we understand each other.”
“That’s it?” Dec said.
She nodded. “Yes.”
“I don’t think it’s that easy. We’re going to be stuck together for a few days, maybe even weeks. Don’t you think being attracted to each other might cause a problem?”
“Why should it? We’re two adults who can control our impulses. Just because we find each other attractive doesn’t mean we need to rush off to bed.”
“At least not right away,” he teased.
