Sandra Marton - Ring Of Deception

Uncover the scandals and secrets in this reissue of Sandra Marton’s reader-favorite story!

His most prized jewel. . .

Hard-edged, intimidating detective Luke Sloan is working undercover on a jewel theft when he meets fiery Abby Douglas. Her distracting beauty and sharp tongue initially put her on his list of suspects, until Luke realizes Abby needs his protection.

As they work together, Luke wonders if his original instinct was right—Abby’s sensuous curves and intoxicating allure threaten to cut through his cold, cynical facade. As the desire simmering between them reaches the boiling point, Luke realizes he might be the person Abby needs to be protected from . . .

A Forrester Square novel.

Originally published in 2003.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

Cover

Back Cover Text Uncover the scandals and secrets in this reissue of Sandra Marton’s reader-favorite story! His most prized jewel . . . Hard-edged, intimidating detective Luke Sloan is working undercover on a jewel theft when he meets fiery Abby Douglas. Her distracting beauty and sharp tongue initially put her on his list of suspects, until Luke realizes Abby needs his protection. As they work together, Luke wonders if his original instinct was right—Abby’s sensuous curves and intoxicating allure threaten to cut through his cold, cynical facade. As the desire simmering between them reaches the boiling point, Luke realizes he might be the person Abby needs to be protected from . . . A Forrester Square novel. Originally published in 2003.

Title Page Ring of Deception Sandra Marton www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE ALARM ON LUKE SLOAN’S clock radio went off at 6:00 a.m.

Luke rolled over on his belly, reached out and slapped it to silence with a perfect aim born of familiarity.

Five minutes later, the alarm screamed again. This time, he let it ring long enough for the unholy shrieking to pierce his sleep-fogged brain. Then he opened one eye, reached out and flipped the switch from Alarm to Radio.

“Cloudy this morning . . . ” a voice said with effusive good cheer, “with showers this afternoon and evening. Heavier cloudbursts possible overnight and tomorrow . . . ”

Luke grunted. Rain and more rain. What a surprise. The guy doing the weather sounded as if he’d just discovered he was living in Seattle.

Rolling onto his back, he stacked his hands beneath his head as the weatherman finally shut up and an old Doors tune came on. Jim Morrison still wanted somebody to light his fire. Luke listened for a couple of minutes, then decided the only thing that would get his fire lit was a pair of extra-strength aspirin.

He sat up, silenced the radio and headed for the bathroom. His head hurt, his mouth was dry and his sinuses felt like they’d been stuffed with quick-hardening cement. It would have been nice to blame it all on last night’s celebratory stop at the Nine-Thirty-One Tavern with Dan, but he couldn’t.

Dan had ordered a beer; Luke had ordered a shot of rock and rye.

“Cold coming on,” he’d said when Dan looked at him as if he’d just sprouted horns.

“Ah.” Dan had nodded as he scooped up a handful of peanuts and popped a couple in his mouth. “I was wondering why you looked like day-old crap.”

“Thank you,” Luke replied. “I really needed to hear that.”

“Why don’t you come home with me? Molly made chicken soup yesterday. A couple of bowls, you’ll feel like a new man.”

“Thanks, but I think what I need is a good night’s sleep.”

Lacey, a stacked brunette barmaid with a way of looking at Luke as if he had a big red S on his chest, leaned over the bar.

“How about coming home with me? I’ll open a can of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle. It’s not homemade, but there are other things I can do to make you feel like a new man.”

“Oh, to be thirty-five and single again,” Dan joked.

Luke had grinned and exchanged the expected male-female banter with Lacey, but he’d gone home without either Lacey or a cup of Molly’s soup. He loved Molly like a sister. As for Lacey . . . a man would have to be blind not to see that she was a stunner.

But if he went home with Dan, Molly would ply him with soup while she talked up her latest “find,” a single woman who was, she’d assure him, everything he wanted in a woman.

And if he went home with Lacey, he’d just complicate his life. She’d ply him with the lush pleasures of her body, and afterward, she’d expect . . . what? Maybe just a smile. Then again, based on the looks she’d been tossing at him lately, maybe more than that.

More was the last thing Luke wanted. As the saying went, he’d been there, done that—done it legally, moreover, marriage license, chapel and all—and it hadn’t worked.

So he was, as Dan had pointed out, thirty-five and single. He liked it that way. Besides, he wasn’t the kind of guy who could do a one-night stand with a woman who wanted more, and then keep seeing her day after day, which was how it would go with Lacey. Nine-Thirty-One was a hangout for the precinct detectives, so he’d had to pass—if reluctantly—on Lacey’s generous offer.

Luke flushed the toilet, went to the bathroom cabinet and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Hell, what a mess. His green eyes were red-rimmed, his nose was pink, and the light stubble on his jaw made his high cheekbones stand out in stark relief.

Forget a pair of aspirin. Four was more like it. He dumped the tablets into his mouth, turned on the faucet, cupped his hand under the water and gulped some down. Then he shucked off his white boxers, stepped into the shower and turned the water as hot as he could stand it.

Hands flat against the tile, head bowed so the water could beat down on the nape of his neck, Luke gave himself up to the heat and the steam. Steam wasn’t chicken soup. Nor was it an old-fashioned sweat lodge, the kind he’d tried years ago while visiting an Oglala Sioux cousin in North Dakota. But after a few minutes, between the aspirin and the warmth, he began to feel better.

Naked, just a towel wrapped around his hips, he walked into the kitchen of his condo, took a container of orange juice from the refrigerator and lifted it to his lips.

One thing about living alone, you could do stuff like that.

Back in his bedroom, he pulled on a pair of running shorts, ancient Nikes and a faded T-shirt emblazoned with a Thunderbird clasping a whale in its talons. Then he pulled his long black hair back from his face and caught it at the base of his neck with a narrow length of rawhide.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle. Not that it mattered. Luke ran in all kinds of weather. Besides, he thought wryly, a run in the rain would either cure his cold or give him pneumonia . . . and at least there was a cure for that.

An hour later, he came puffing back into his apartment, soaked to the skin but feeling closer to human. The light on his answering machine was blinking. Luke hit the play button. The message was probably from Molly, calling to scold him for not coming home with Dan for a cup of her homemade penicillin last night.