Declan

1

SHE CAUGHT HIS gaze from across the room. Declan Quinn glanced over his shoulder at the beautiful blonde in the slinky blue dress. She gave him a seductive smile, an unspoken invitation to approach, and Dec let his gaze drift lazily from her face to her tanned and lithe body.

Her dress, cut low in the front, left her arms and shoulders tantalizingly bare. Though the length fell slightly below her knee, a deep slit offered a view of a well-toned thigh. From the moment she’d entered the party, they’d been caught in this silent dance, two strangers…interested…attracted.

Declan was never one to shy away from any interest from the opposite sex. But tonight, it could be no more than a casual attraction. Besides, it was obvious what she was looking for. From the huge diamond on her finger and the old man on her arm, she’d settle for a quick roll in the hay with a man half her husband’s age.

Dec had a strict policy of never mixing business with pleasure, no matter how stunningly attractive and warmly willing that pleasure might be. He was here in Newport to do a job, to provide security for Edward and Eva Winslow’s annual garden party. Screwing one of their guests in the hall closet just wasn’t considered professional behavior.

Dec’s cell phone buzzed in the pocket of his linen trousers and he snatched it out, turning away from the doe-eyed beauty. “Declan Quinn,” he murmured as he stepped off the terrace and into the house.

“Hi, Dec, it’s Sally Hughes over at Bonnett Harbor P.D. Your brother asked that I call you.”

“Is everything all right?” Dec asked, an uneasy feeling rushing over him. His older brother, Ian, was the police chief in their hometown of Bonnett Harbor, a small village across the waters of Narragansett Bay from Newport. “Are my folks all right?”

“Sure, sure,” she said. “I’m calling about Eden Ross. She’s been spotted over at the Sandpiper Motel. As far as we can tell, she called in a report of a car theft in progress in order to slip away from some tabloid press. We sent Delaney and Wilson over there and they’re holding the reporters. I figured if you’d like to talk to them, I’ll have them brought to the station.”

“Where’s Eden Ross?” Dec asked.

“She and the guy she was with slipped away sometime after our officers arrived.”

“Let me talk to Ian,” Dec said.

“I’m afraid he’s busy. He’s got a couple of agents from the FBI here on some art forgery case.”

Dec cursed softly. Just yesterday he’d had Ian in his office in Providence along with an art expert. Somehow, his brother had gotten mixed up with Hector Arantes, a known art forger, and Hector’s beautiful daughter, Marisol. The case had obviously taken a turn now that the FBI was involved and Ian would have no time to help Declan track down Eden Ross.

“Call your guys and tell them I’ll meet them at the Sandpiper,” he said. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

He snapped the phone shut and turned for the door, then felt a hand on his arm. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

The blonde slowly circled him, placing herself between him and the door. She leaned into him, her hips pressing against his suggestively. Dec forced a smile. “Business calls,” he said.

“There are more important things than business,” she said, her fingers sliding down his arm to touch his hand.

Dec chuckled. If he wanted her, he could have her, probably right underneath her husband’s nose. They could find an empty bedroom, lock the door behind them, and go at it for ten or fifteen minutes. Or they could make plans to meet later that evening, maybe at a discreet motel across the bay. Hell, there had been a time in his life when he would have welcomed sex without strings. But not now, and definitely not tonight.

“As much as I would like to indulge,” he said, “I’m afraid I can’t. First of all, I’m chasing a runaway party girl around New England and if I don’t find her, her father is going to cancel the million-dollar retainer he gives me to take care of his security needs. Secondly, I just recently promised my two brothers that I’d be celibate for three months and I don’t intend to break that promise. And thirdly, your husband is watching us right now and I certainly don’t want to have to knock him to the ground when he decides to defend your honor with his fists. There’s an obliging waiter passing out champagne over by the pool. I’m sure he’d be willing to satisfy your needs.”

She gasped softly as Declan turned and walked toward the front of the mansion. As difficult as it was to turn down a night in bed with a beautiful woman, he did have to keep his priorities straight. After all, he was the one who had challenged his brothers to the celibacy pact and he’d made it three weeks without a regret.

But then, the first week he’d been occupied with tracking down an embezzler for a client in Boston. The second week, he’d been conducting background checks for a client in New York City. And all of this past week had been spent chasing Eden Ross. Celibacy wasn’t too difficult if a guy didn’t have time to think about sex.

Declan spent the next few minutes coordinating security for the rest of the evening with the three employees he’d assigned to the party. By the time he reached the front door, his car had been brought around and was waiting. He tipped the valet, then hopped inside the BMW sedan and headed out to the main road.

This was the closest he’d come to finding Eden Ross but once again, she’d slipped through his fingers. Still, he knew she was close by and with a little luck, she’d decide to come home on her own. Chasing silly little socialites really wasn’t his forte. And the socialite in question had brought her problems on herself, choosing to appear in a naughty sex tape that just happened to make it on to the Internet.

Trevor Ross was his most important client, so Dec had to make an extraordinary effort. But Ross wouldn’t be happy at the latest news, especially since Eden had been seen in Dec’s backyard. He flipped on the radio and listened distractedly as he steered the car over the Newport Bridge.

“You’re tuned to the Ross Radio Network. It’s Saturday night, and this is Simply Sex with Dr. Lillian Devine.” Dec frowned, reaching out to pop a CD into the player, but the silken tones of the show’s hostess kept him listening a few moments longer.

“We’re still on the air with Carl from Los Angeles, California. Carl is wondering how he might spice up his sex life. My advice for you, Carl, is to spend some time focusing on your wife’s needs. The best way to increase her desire is to make her feel like she’s the only lover you could ever want. Invest in her orgasms. Make sure they’re the best they can be. Put aside your own desires until you’re certain all of her needs are being met.”

Dec found himself captivated by her voice, the way words dripped off her tongue like honey. A shiver skittered down his spine and he groaned. He didn’t need to be listening to this, especially considering his determination to control his sexual urges, at least for the next nine weeks.

But he continued to listen as Dr. Devine discussed the physiology of the female orgasm, the benefits of oral sex and battery-operated substitutes, and the top five female sexual fantasies. And when Dec finally reached the Sandpiper Motel, he found himself strangely aroused by all the frank talk. With a soft curse, he flipped the radio off and stepped out of the car.

“A woman with a voice like that should not be allowed to talk about sex,” he murmured as he walked over to the police cruiser. “How can she expect anyone to pay attention to what she’s saying? She’d be better off at 1-900-talk dirty to me.”

For all he knew, Dr. Lillian Devine was probably some frumpy fifty-year-old Ph.D Just the thought was like a bucket of ice water tossed down his pants.

But if she were beautiful and smart, then that would be one of his top five fantasies. She wouldn’t even have to be drop-dead gorgeous. Pretty would do, even cute. But smart and sexy was an irresistible combination, one he hadn’t enjoyed in a very long time. And if the woman could talk dirty to him, he’d be in heaven. Unfortunately, heaven was off-limits for the next nine weeks.

Delaney and Wilson, the two officers from the Bonnett Harbor police department, stood next to a car parked across the road from the Sandpiper. Dec approached and Delaney gave him a wave of recognition. “Sally said you wanted to talk to these guys.”

Dec nodded. “Are you sure it was Eden Ross?”

“They were,” Wilson said, nodding to the two men sitting in the backseat of the police cruiser. “And we ran the plate on the Mercedes parked in the lot. It’s registered to Trevor Ross. She must have taken the keys with her. They weren’t left in the room.”

Shaking his head, Dec ran his hand through his hair. “I guess you guys ought to be happy this girl doesn’t take up a life of crime. She is one slippery customer.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Trevor Ross’s private number. “Mr. Ross, Declan Quinn here. I’ve got some news on your daughter. It seems she did stop by your Newport house just long enough to steal one of your cars.”

Dec heard a curse on the other end of the line. “I want you to bring her and the car back to the house tonight,” Ross shouted.

“I’m afraid she slipped by us,” Dec said. “But, from what I can see, she’s safe.”

“Fine. Hell, I’m tired of wasting your time and my money trying to find her,” Ross said. “Besides, I have another case I need you to focus on. And it will require your complete attention. Have you ever heard of Dr. Lillian Devine?”

Dec reached into his jacket to pull out his Blackberry, surprised that Ross would bring up the name. “I have,” he said. “I just heard her earlier on the radio.”

“Her real name is Rachel Merrill and she’s one of our most valuable on-air talents,” Ross explained. “An important part of our syndication package. I’ve had my security guys watching over her but she refuses to let them get too close. I don’t think she believes the threat is that serious. Now it is.”

“How serious?” Dec asked.

“We had a letter delivered to the station tonight that was a blatant death threat. I need you to meet me in my office tomorrow afternoon and I’ll have my guys brief you. And then I want you to convince her that a 24-hour-a-day bodyguard is in her best interest.”

“How do you expect me to convince her of that?” Dec asked.

“You’re a charming guy. You figure it out. I want you on her until this nutcase is caught.”

Dec was paid a healthy retainer to be at Ross’s disposal, whenever a security concern came up. He listened as Ross gave him more details, putting the afternoon appointment into the PDA along with other relevant information. In truth, Dec had to breathe a silent sigh of relief that he could leave the search for Trevor’s wild daughter to others. He hadn’t spent four years in naval intelligence and another three building up Quinn Security and Investigations to spend his valuable time chasing silly heiresses around the countryside.

RACHEL MERRILL SLID HER KEY card into the garage door opener then slowly pulled her SUV ahead as the doors to the underground garage opened. She glanced over her shoulder, just to make sure that no one slipped into the garage in the dark. As she looked back, she saw her security detail pull up to the curb and wait. She let out a tightly held breath once the garage door was closed.

“Safe,” she murmured to herself. She was on her own now and the detail would be there in the morning to follow her during her daily routine. Rachel sighed. Just having security following her was enough to put her in a constant state of anxiety. She couldn’t remember the last time she wasn’t uneasy…watchful.

A few months ago, the thought of having a stalker was inconceivable. And at first, she’d brushed off the letters, thinking them to have been sent by an overzealous fan. But then the notes had begun to arrive with more frequency, messages left for her at the station at least two or three times a week. And when she found a letter at her home, she was forced to admit that her safety might just be in danger.

Her boss, Trevor Ross, had insisted she leave her cozy colonial in the College Hill section of Providence and move into a secure high-rise downtown. So Rachel had agreed, and a month ago, she’d packed her bags and headed to safer ground. Ross had given her a new SUV to drive, the tinted windows providing additional anonymity, and had also assigned her a security detail from his corporate force.

Rachel stopped at the valet booth near the elevators and waited for a few minutes, then decided to park the car herself. When she’d pulled the SUV into her parking spot, she turned off the ignition, then rummaged through her purse for her pepper spray. Though she felt relatively safe with the new location, the 24-hour parking valet, and the lobby security, she took her own precautions.

Rachel still found it odd that she’d attract the attention of a stalker. She’d never considered herself a celebrity. Her radio show, Simply Sex with Dr. Lillian Devine, could at times be controversial, inviting responses from all kinds of weirdos, but a stalker? Then again, perhaps it shouldn’t have come as any surprise. Normal, handsome, successful men hadn’t been beating down her door. Why not a strange, obsessive stranger instead?

She’d taken her radio name, Dr. Lillian Devine, to protect her reputation as an academic, but it also served another purpose-protecting her privacy. Now, whoever was stalking her probably knew that Rachel Merrill, Ph. D and associate professor of anthropology at Providence University, and Dr. Lillian Devine, radio sex therapist, were one and the same.

She’d always known there was risk that her double life might be revealed. And when Trevor Ross had offered her a syndicated radio show, she’d initially refused. But the money had been too good to pass up. Her life as Lillian Devine could fund more research for Dr. Rachel Merrill, and provide her some of the comforts that a college professor’s salary couldn’t.

So, every weekend, on Saturday and Sunday night between ten p.m. and one a.m., she hosted a nationally syndicated call-in show and answered any question posed regarding sexual behaviors, fetishes, obsessions, addictions and frustrations. Though she possessed a Ph.D in psychology, Rachel’s primary focus had always been more in tune with biology or anthropology-the study of human sexual behaviors. As an expert, she provided her listeners with keen insight into their problems. Last ratings period, her show had become the number four rated syndicated radio show nationwide, a jump of seven spots from the previous quarter.

But now, that popularity came with a price that far outweighed the benefit. She was living like a hunted animal, always looking over her shoulder, frightened of what or who might be waiting in the dark. The police were trying to find the stalker, but they had few leads.

Drawing a deep breath, she opened the door of the SUV and jumped out. As she walked toward the elevator, she turned back to set the alarm on the truck. It was then that she noticed the shadowy figure approaching from her right.

“Miss Merrill?”

Rachel picked up her pace and when she reached the elevator, frantically pushed the button again and again, hoping that the door would open and she could escape. She wanted to scream, but her adrenaline was pumping so hard, her throat seemed to close. As the stalker got closer, she knew a decision was at hand. Spinning around, she aimed her pepper spray at his head and pushed the nozzle.

Funny enough, her first reaction to his face wasn’t fear. Instead, she was immediately struck by how handsome he was. Stalkers weren’t supposed to be handsome. Or well-dressed. He held out his hand, as if to stop her, but a wave of panic suddenly overwhelmed her.

He saw the spray coming and he raised his hand just in time to block the stream. But the pepper spray had the desired effect. Just the smell made him cough and sputter and his eyes began to water. Cursing, he bent over at the waist, tugging his jacket up over his mouth and nose.

The bell for the elevator door sounded and Rachel dropped the pepper spray and rushed inside. Just as the door closed, he called her name again. “Leave me alone!” she screamed. “Just leave me alone.”

“I work for Trevor Ross,” the man shouted, adding a string of curses to the statement. “He sent me.”

The door shut and the elevator began to silently rise. Rachel’s pulse pounded in her ears and her breath came in quick gasps, but she felt as if she were outside her body. Slowly, her mind began to work again and confusion replaced the panic that had overwhelmed her.

He had been dressed much nicer than the average stalker, although she didn’t know exactly what the fashionable stalker wore these days. She imagined a hooded sweatshirt and grubby clothes, not a tailored sport jacket and finely pressed trousers. And his dark hair wasn’t shaggy and unkempt but neatly trimmed.

If Trevor Ross had sent the man, what was he doing skulking about in the garage? And how had he gotten inside? She needed some answers. So when she reached her floor, she pushed the button for the garage and the elevator slowly descended. When she got back to the garage, Rachel found him squatting against a pillar, his cheeks wet from tears, his head tipped back. He’d tossed his jacket aside and unbuttoned his shirt.

“Who are you?” she demanded, snatching up her pepper spray and aiming it at him again.

“My name is Declan Quinn,” he said, squinting up at her. “I run Quinn Security and Investigations. Trevor Ross has our firm on retainer.”

“Why are you here?”

“I’ve been called in to provide you with personal security. There was a death threat made last night during your radio show. Ross thought I might be able to convince you to accept round-the-clock security. Your security detail was supposed to call you and let you know I’d be waiting here.”

Her stomach roiled. “A-a death threat. Why didn’t someone tell me?”

“That’s why I’m here,” he replied.

Rachel wasn’t sure what to do. The guy looked trustworthy. And he did seem to know the specifics of her situation. “Let me see your badge,” she demanded, her voice shaking.

“I don’t carry a badge. I’m not a cop.” He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his cell phone. A tear trickled down his cheek and traced a path along his strong jawline. For a moment, Rachel couldn’t take her eyes off of it. “Here. Call Trevor Ross. His number is on my speed dial. He’ll explain everything.”

She hesitated. If he was working for her boss, then she’d just made a very big mistake. “Why did you come after me?” she asked.

“I was trying to introduce myself.”

With a soft oath, Rachel tossed the pepper spray aside and stepped closer. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him along toward the elevator, the fumes from the pepper spray burning at her own eyes. “You shouldn’t have startled me,” she scolded. “I’m really jumpy lately. And you came out of the dark. What was I supposed to do?”

“You did the right thing,” he admitted.

She stopped short. “I did?”

He nodded. “Your first duty was to protect yourself. And you did.”

They got inside the elevator and he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. Rachel pulled her jacket up over her mouth and nose and observed him silently, taking her first good look at the man. Her heart skipped a beat as she took in his handsome features, the dark hair casually mussed, the straight nose and strong jaw. Her gaze came to a stop at his mouth and a shiver skittered down her spine.

How could she have ever thought this guy was a stalker? A man as gorgeous as him would have to beat women off with a stick, not chase them around in the dark. She wondered what color his eyes were. It didn’t really matter. Regardless of the color, they’d just make him more attractive. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

He glanced over at her, his eyes narrow slits, then shook his head. “You hit me in the chest and the hands. I have to get these clothes off. And it’s burning my hands. But if you’re going to count on pepper spray as a defense, we’ll need to improve your aim.”

When the door opened on her floor, Rachel stepped out and the man followed her down the hall, his hand resting on her shoulder. His fingers were warm and gentle and when they slipped down to rest at the small of her back, Rachel felt herself go weak in the knees.

Such a simple, innocent touch shouldn’t have affected her so strongly. Perhaps it was all the adrenaline pumping through her body that heightened every sensation. Every nerve in her body tingled and she found herself fantasizing about all the other places he might touch her body.

He’d introduced himself, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember his name. In all the excitement, she’d completely lost her ability to think clearly. Quinn. That was it! But was it his first name or his last?

When they got inside, he gave the apartment a cursory glance. “I’ve got to get out of these clothes,” he murmured. “Where’s the bathroom?”

Rachel pointed to the hallway on the other side of the living room. “Down that hall, last door on the left.” She watched him retreat. She could count on two fingers the handsome men who’d wandered into her life over the past couple of years. Not that she’d been actively looking for a relationship, but she hadn’t been “not” looking for a man. It wasn’t supposed to be so difficult. If her talk show had taught her anything it was that there was a match out there for everyone. But then spraying a guy with pepper spray didn’t exactly create a great first impression.

She hurried down the hall and stood outside the bathroom door. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Do you have any cooking oil?” he asked through the door.

“I think so.” Rachel frowned as she headed to the kitchen. If he’d asked her for cottage cheese she would have felt obliged to provide it. After retrieving a bottle of canola oil, she returned to the bathroom and rapped on the door. When he didn’t answer, she pushed the door open.

He stood in front of the sink, bare-chested, his shirt wadded up in the corner. Rachel’s breath caught in her throat as she stared at his reflection in the mirror. He was slender, but quite muscular, broad-shouldered with a narrow waist and a flat belly. His trousers hung low on his waist, revealing a trail of hair that ran from his belly to beneath his waistband.

As he bent over the sink, she handed him the oil. He poured a bit onto his hands then rubbed it in. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Taking away the sting.” After he removed most of the oil with a towel, he doused his hands in her facial astringent. “You’re supposed to use alcohol, but I think this will do.”

“I have a bottle of vodka,” Rachel offered cheerily.

“I’d prefer Scotch,” he said. “On the rocks.” His voice was deep and rich, with a slightly cynical edge.

“I-I’ll just go get-”

He chuckled softly. “Never mind. I don’t drink on the job.”

“I could use a drink,” she murmured.

“Go ahead. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Rachel turned and walked back down the hall. When she reached the kitchen, she took a bottle of vodka from the freezer and poured a measure into a tumbler, then took a slow sip. This was not how she had expected the evening to end, with a half-naked man in her apartment.

After her show had finished at one a.m., she’d looked forward to a long, hot bath, a good book, perhaps a movie to wind down, and then a decent night’s sleep. In truth, that’s the best she hoped for every night. But since the letters had started, she hadn’t slept much at all. And now, a death threat. What was she supposed to do with that?

Rachel kicked off her shoes and sat down on the sofa, sinking into the down-filled cushions. She tucked her feet beneath her and sipped at the vodka, listening to the sounds of a real live man in her apartment. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend he was here for a different reason-for a romantic reason, that he’d emerge from the bathroom completely naked and aroused and ready to seduce her.

The fantasy was enough to distract her mind from her stalker, but then Rachel groaned and pressed her flushed face into a pillow. After what she’d done, the last thing he’d be interested in was getting cozy with her.

A few minutes later, he walked into the living room. His hair was wet and he’d draped a towel around his neck. His eyes weren’t watering anymore and Rachel could see they were a deep shade of blue. She swallowed hard and tried to smile. “Better?” she asked.

He nodded, then plucked at the towel. “I hope you don’t mind. My shirt is trashed for now. And I left my bags down in my car. Any chance you have a T-shirt I could borrow?”

Bags. He obviously intended to stay, at least overnight. Who was she to object? Rachel shook her head. “No.” In truth, she probably did have something he could wear, but she preferred him half-naked. “If you call the parking valet, he’ll get your bags and bring them up.”

He sat down across from her and rubbed the towel over his damp head. “How long have you been carrying pepper spray?” he asked.

Rachel shrugged. She didn’t want to talk about the stalker. For once, she just wanted to put it out of her mind and relax. She was safe for the time being and she wanted to enjoy it. “What did you say your name was?” she asked, running her finger around the rim of the tumbler.

“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.