Brenda Harlen - McIver's Mission

Arden just shrugged. “I should call my landlord about getting that window fixed.”

He bit back the oath of frustration. Why wouldn’t she open up to him? Why couldn’t she trust him? He decided to try another tack. “Do you want to come home with me until the glass is replaced?”

“That’s one I haven’t heard before.”

He grinned. “I’ve had the pleasure of you writhing beneath me once already, but I thought the next time we might try someplace a little more comfortable than your glass-strewn floor.”

“Is body slamming your usual method for getting a woman horizontal?”

“No,” he admitted. “I don’t usually have to resort to blackmail to get a date, either. You seem to inspire me to new heights, Doherty.”

“Should I be impressed?”

“I might have saved your life.”

“And given me a concussion in the process,” she grumbled.

“Doubtful, considering how hard your head is.” But he combed his fingers through the silky strands of her hair and encountered a small lump at the back of her head. He touched his lips to it gently. “Maybe I do need to work on my knight-in-shining-armor routine.”

She managed a smile. “I guess you did pretty good.”

He let his hand linger at the back of her neck, considered kissing her again. Her eyes were wide, wary, but she didn’t pull away. His gaze dropped to her lips—soft and pink and tempting. Before he could decide whether or not to follow his impulse and cover her lips with his own, a loud knock sounded.

Arden jolted, and the opportunity was lost.

“Fairweather P.D.,” a voice called from the other side of the door. “Is anyone in there?”

Arden moved away from him quickly, her hand not quite steady as she wrapped it around the knob.

An interesting and complicated woman, Shaun mused. She seemed more unnerved by the heightened awareness between them than by the knowledge that she’d been shot at. Her demeanor with the police officer confirmed his suspicions. Arden answered the questions smoothly, her voice never wavering. It was only because he was watching her so closely that he saw the flicker of unease in her eyes, noted the way she clasped and unclasped her fingers.

Almost an hour passed before the officer was gone and the broken window boarded up and they were alone again.

“Do you feel any better?” Shaun asked.

Arden rubbed her hands down her arms and shrugged. “It’s hardly reassuring to know that something like this can happen in this town. And in broad daylight.”

“The police figure it was just a bunch of kids joy-riding in a stolen vehicle.”

“The police don’t know—” her outburst ended abruptly.

Shaun’s eyes narrowed. “What don’t they know?”

She shrugged. “They can’t know anything for sure. Not until they find whoever was in that car.”

It was a valid response, but he somehow knew it wasn’t what she’d originally intended to say. “Do you know something that the police don’t?”

“Of course not,” she denied, but she didn’t look at him.

“Is there any reason for you to think that you might have been the shooter’s target?”

She shook her head. “As the police said, mine weren’t the only windows blown out.”

He nodded slowly, but he wasn’t convinced.

“I’m going to get some Tylenol,” she said. “My head is still pounding.”

Shaun nodded again, wondering how his life had become so complicated since yesterday afternoon. The answer was obvious: Arden. Since he’d encountered her in the park less than twenty-four hours earlier, he’d experienced a wider range of emotions than at any time in the past twenty-four months. Empathy, compassion, attraction, desire. He’d held her while she cried, he’d laughed with her, argued with her and dodged bullets with her. It made him wonder what other surprises might be in store if he spent more time in her company. One thing he knew for sure: he wouldn’t be bored.

“I was about to tell you that I needed a date,” he said when she returned. “Before we were so rudely interrupted by gunfire.”

“You need a date?” Her voice was filled with skepticism.

He nodded. “For the Criminal Lawyers’ Association Annual Ball.”

“Are you asking for a recommendation?”

“No. I want you to go with me.”

She raised an eyebrow, and he wondered if she had any idea how sexy she looked, how his blood heated when he thought about that kiss—and about kissing her again. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t his type, that he wasn’t in the market for a romance right now.

He was concerned about her. He knew there was something going on in her life, something that worried her, and he figured if he spent some time with Arden, it might encourage her to confide in him. And if they engaged in a little flirting or shared a few kisses along the way, well, there was no harm in that.

“I don’t date lawyers,” she reminded him.

He’d heard her the first time, but her insistence only made him all the more determined to break through her barriers. Because he was concerned about her, he reminded himself again.

“It wouldn’t really be a date,” he said.

“I’m not agreeing to be your pretend date,” she said, sounding miffed. “And I don’t believe you’re so desperate you’d need to take me. The ball isn’t until sometime in December. I’m sure you’ll be able to find a date before then.”

“I want a date who won’t have any expectations.”

“How do you know I won’t?” she challenged.

“Because you’ve already stated—twice—that you don’t date lawyers, and you’re about as interested as I am in a romantic relationship.”

“That’s not a very flattering invitation.”

“I could try flattery,” he admitted. “But you’d see right through me.”

“I might have appreciated the effort, though.”

Shaun grinned. “I thought you’d appreciate a more honest approach.”

“The answer’s still no.”

“I haven’t finished outlining the terms of the proposed contract.”

“Contract?” Her lips twitched in the beginnings of a smile. “And what kind of consideration would I get for entering into this contract?”

She sounded so sexy when she was in lawyer mode; the combination of that smoky voice and cool attitude went straight to his loins. “Other than the pleasure of my company?”

“Other than that,” she agreed dryly.

Now he smiled. “Tickets to the opening night performance of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead next month.” He’d learned, again courtesy of Greta Dempsey, that Arden loved the theater. It was a happy coincidence that he had season tickets to the Fairweather Players’ Theater.

Arden’s eyes narrowed. “That’s an interesting offer.”

She was practically salivating, but he wasn’t above sweetening the deal. “Box seats.”

“Damn,” she swore under her breath, but she was smiling. “I really don’t want to go to the ball. All those lawyers, talking shop.” He didn’t think her shudder was feigned.

“But you really want to see that play,” he guessed.

“How did you know?”

He didn’t think it necessary to tip his hand just yet. He had a feeling that Mrs. Dempsey might be an invaluable ally, but not if Arden knew he was tapping her for information. “Is it a deal?”

“I’ll check my calendar.” She came back into the kitchen with her appointment book in hand. “When is the ball?”

“Saturday, December fourth.”

She flipped through the book. “I have appointments that day.”

“In the evening?”

“Well…no,” she admitted.

“Then pencil me in,” he told her.

She did so, but with obvious reluctance. Her calendar, he could tell even from a distance, was quite full.