Judy Duarte - Hailey's Hero

She stepped closer, arms still crossed. The light, powdery scent of lilac accosted him with a frightening awareness of her femininity, of her proximity. He shook off the unwelcome temptation. Hailey Conway was off-limits, as far as he was concerned. But being stranded with her for a few hours might be the break he needed.

Her eyes sparkled, but not in pleasure. “I can’t believe you’d drive all the way out here without checking the weather report, without having winter clothing. Don’t you plan ahead?”

The only plan he’d had this morning was catching the first possible flight to Minneapolis. And he’d heard the damn weather report. But his goal had been finding her as quickly as possible, so he could take her back to California. Getting holed up in a motel wasn’t part of his game plan.

Of course, getting stranded in a small house with a pretty but spunky brunette hadn’t been part of the plan either, but he’d make it work. “I don’t suppose I could pay you for a serving of roast beef? And maybe bunk out on your sofa?”

Those sky-blue eyes opened wide, as though he’d suggested they have a brief, meaningless love affair. The idea, he realized, was far more tempting than it should be.

Her arms dropped to her sides, and her lips parted. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Nope. Passed my psychological evaluations with flying colors. Or at least passable colors.” He smiled, trying to lighten her mood.

It didn’t work.

At least he hadn’t told her his real reason for coming. Mentioning Harry right now would probably get him tossed out on his ear.

And it was too damn cold to risk that.

“It’s either your sofa or my car,” he said, hoping the pretty woman would have mercy on a well-meaning cop. “What do you say?”

Hailey wasn’t about to be taken in by a slick, fast-talking stranger.

If Detective Granger thought a badge gave his honor some kind of validation, he was mistaken. She wanted to boot him out the door, then sit at the window and watch him turn blue, although she wasn’t entirely sure why. Partly because he was a cop.

But more than likely she was feeling testy because her plans to seduce Steven had run amok, and it seemed to be Nick Granger’s fault.

“I’m hungry. And stranded.” He slid her an easy smile, one she suspected was meant to disarm her anger and gain her trust. “If you have a spare blanket, I could sleep in the rental car.”

She couldn’t believe he’d suggest something so stupid. Or was he playing on her sympathy? She couldn’t be sure. “You’d be a human Popsicle before midnight.”

“Does that mean you’ll do the humane thing and offer me dinner and a place to sleep?”

Hailey glanced at the table she’d set especially for Steven. She’d had big plans for this evening—plans that didn’t include a stranded detective.

Of course, she’d deal with her disappointment, as she’d long grown accustomed to doing, but did she want to offer lodging to a man she didn’t know? A man she shouldn’t find so darn attractive?

She wasn’t afraid of Nick Granger, although she wasn’t sure what made her think he was trustworthy. The fact that he was a cop? That part worked against him, although he probably didn’t know it. Still, she couldn’t very well send him out into a snowstorm with no place to go. “You can sleep on the sofa.”

“Thanks. I’ll get my bag out of the car.”

She looked at the worn leather jacket he wore. It wasn’t enough protection from the cold. “You get the roast out of the oven. I’ll get your bag.”

“You’re not going outside in the storm. It’s my stuff, I’ll get it.”

So his heroic side masked stupidity. She sighed heavily. “I’ve got a down-filled parka and boots. I doubt you’d make it back to the porch.”

“I’m tougher than you obviously think,” he said.

“And much bigger than me. I’d have a tough time dragging your dead weight back inside.”

He flashed her a bad-boy grin. “Then leave me on the porch.”

“Now that’s an appealing thought, but it would prey on my sense of decency to let a defenseless stranger from sunny California freeze to death.”

“That’s one way to be rid of me.”

She tossed him a naughty-girl smile, one she’d never perfected. “You’re right, but it would probably draw a few Minnesota detectives to my house, and I’m not too fond of police officers.”

Granger closed the distance between them and placed his hands on her shoulders. A sea-breezy scent, mingled with leather and musk, accosted her with his sexual presence. She found it tauntingly appealing yet unwelcome.

“You’re not going outside.” Those coffee-brown eyes settled on hers, stimulating her like an intravenous jolt of caffeine. His grip tightened—not in a threatening way but still rather convincingly. The detective was macho, it seemed. Too macho and bossy for her taste. Well, let him go outside and freeze his tush off.

In an effort to dismiss the arousing effect he had on her, she lifted her chin. “Have it your way. I’ll put dinner on the table, and if you survive the ice and snow, wash your hands.”

“I’ll be back.”

That’s what Hailey was afraid of. She stood her ground until the door closed behind him.

Nick made it to the car, but it was colder than he’d anticipated—monstrously cold. He tried to think about the balmy weather back in San Diego, but it didn’t help.

By the time he reached the porch, he was shivering so badly that he thought he’d never stop. When he opened the door and stepped inside the warmth of the small apartment-size house, he could see Hailey at work in the kitchen, and he expected her to say something to him.

Instead, she continued to wash tomatoes and leaves of romaine without looking up. She was a stubborn woman, so it seemed. The kind to serve a guy a good-size portion of hot tongue and cold shoulder when he didn’t let her have her way. He glanced at his snow-covered pants and shoes.

The powdery stuff fell to the floor, and he realized a puddle of water would form on Hailey’s hardwood entry. No need to set off Martha Stewart before dinner.

“Where…can…I…f-f-f-ind…a…t-t-t-owel?” he asked between chattering teeth.

“Oh, you made it back alive.” She smiled sweetly, and her eyes glistened with feigned sincerity.

He didn’t wait for an answer to his question, just joined her in the kitchen and snatched one of two dish towels from the oven door handle. He carried it back to the living room. By the time he had the floor nearly dry, she yelled, “Hey,” jarring him from his task.

“What are you doing with my good towel?” she asked.

“Wiping the floor.”

“Those are dish towels and they’re only for looks. You’re not supposed to use them.”

“They were hanging in plain sight.”

“That’s a decorating touch. Like the curtains. I keep the regular towels in the righthand drawer.”

If Nick weren’t so hungry, he’d tell her what she could do with her towels. And since he needed to convince her to come to San Diego, he’d have to get on her good side. If she had one.

She opened the oven and stooped to pull out the roast. The backside of her was pretty nice.

Down, boy, he told himself. Wrong kind of woman. Totally wrong.

“It’s ready,” she said.

Nick noticed a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon on the countertop. “Should I pour the wine?”

She shot him one of those lips-parted, taken-aback glances, like he’d suggested using Steven’s toothbrush. Then her expression softened. “Sure. Go ahead.”

He supposed drinking wine by candlelight made her feel uneasy, as if Nick was putting the moves on her, threatening poor Steven’s position.