that he dabbled in. While it had put a great deal of money in his pocket, it was his other business, Favors for a Fee, that was his real love. It provided the kind of adventure and excitement that was lacking in a lot of the security work he did. Not to mention that doing “favors” for a select clientele allowed him to use some of the skills he’d picked up when he’d served for two years in a Special Forces unit.
But tonight wasn’t about work. Ryder was meeting up with Mark Anderson, an up-and-coming investigative reporter for The Washington Post. He was looking forward to seeing Mark. His friendship with Mark went back to his early days in Baltimore. They’d been fifteen or so. Of course, neither of them had worked in legitimate professions then. They’d both had close brushes with the law and survived mostly on street smarts. But they’d been friends. In addition to that, the cryptic message Mark had left on his voice mail had intrigued him: “I’ve got something hot and political that I need your perspective on. Meet me at the Blue Pepper at five.”
Turning slightly on the bar stool, Ryder scanned the entrance area and the upper dining level. Then he checked the crowd in the bar again. In the half hour that he’d been waiting, the area had filled so that patrons were standing three-deep, and conversation, thanks for the most part to a group at the far end of the bar, now drowned out the TV set that was carrying the final inning of an Orioles game.
“Hey!” a large man waved a hand at the bartender. “Another round over here.”
It was the third round the rather obnoxious man had ordered since he’d taken his seat. Ryder glanced at his watch. There was no sign of Mark Anderson, and it was nearly five-thirty.
He was lifting his glass for another sip of beer when he spotted the tall blonde through the glass entrance door. She wore her pale, straw-colored hair fastened into bun, and even though she wore a loose-fitting jacket and long skirt, he could see that she had that slender, Audrey Hepburn/Nicole Kidman kind of body. Sexy.
Tall women with mile-long legs were one of his weaknesses. Twisting his chair a little further, he watched as she used an inhaler and then paced back and forth in front of the restaurant while she studied a blue paper. A true nervous Nelly, he decided. Finally, she paused, stuffed the paper into her bag, squared her shoulders and approached the door.
His curiosity piqued, Ryder narrowed his eyes. She looked as if she were preparing to face a firing squad instead of joining friends for a drink in one of Georgetown’s most popular watering holes. Was she meeting a man? If so, she surely didn’t look as though she were looking forward to it. The thought had him frowning.
She crossed the entrance area and climbed the short flight of stairs to the bar. As she drew closer, he could see a shadow of a frown marring what appeared to be a perfect face. His own frown deepened when he saw that one of her hands gripped the large canvas bag she wore slung over her shoulder as if it were a lifeline.
He had a sudden urge to go to her, take her hands, and ask her what he could do to help. The realization, and the effort it took to remain on his stool, surprised him. Rescuing damsels in distress was not the type of work that either Kane Management or Favors for a Fee regularly engaged in. He might like women in all their various shapes and sizes, but he didn’t often find himself with an urge to do the knight-in-shining-armor thing.
He was bored. That’s what it was. Mark Anderson had piqued his curiosity and then kept him waiting for over half an hour. Swivelling back to the bar, Ryder took another sip of beer and checked on the score. The Orioles were tied at the top of the seventh. He didn’t turn when she passed behind him. That was why he only glimpsed what happened out of the corner of his eye. The loud obnoxious man who was working on his third beer shoved another man and that man plowed into another in a domino effect that sent the blonde stumbling backward.
Fate, he thought, slipping from his stool and catching her elbows as she struggled for balance. For one brief moment, as he steadied her, he caught her scent—something that reminded him of tart lemonade on a hot afternoon. Surprising. And certainly not sexy, at least he wouldn’t have thought so. But his body had different ideas. If he’d followed his impulse, he would have turned her around and pressed her close, just to see what that would feel like. But Ryder Kane could be cautious when the occasion called for it. And the intuition that he’d come to rely on in his work told him something about this fragile beauty spelled trouble.
“You all right?” he asked as he turned her around and carefully set her away from him.
“Yes.” Then she gasped. “My bag.”
Ryder saw the canvas bag on the floor, its contents spread about. As he dropped to his knees, he picked up the nearest item—the inhaler she’d used. He reached for the objects that had slid beneath his bar stool—a pack of blue note cards and a plastic bottle that held prescription pills. Sierra Gibbs was the name he noted and she was to take two as needed for migraines. A definite nervous Nelly.
“Thanks.” The voice was deep and just a little breathless. When he turned, she was on her knees facing him, and for an instant as he gazed into her eyes, his mind went blank except for one word. You.
Ryder couldn’t put a name to the feeling that raced through him. It didn’t feel like the flashes of intuition he sometimes got. And it couldn’t be recognition. The first time he’d laid eyes on this woman was a few moments ago.
This close, her face wasn’t quite as perfect as it had seemed from a distance. Oh, the skin made him think of pale and delicate porcelain—the kind that you were almost afraid to touch. But the sprinkle of freckles across her nose and the faint scar on her chin made it more interesting.
The hair wasn’t quite perfect either. Several long strands had come loose. Reaching out, he resisted the urge to pull the rest loose and instead tucked one of the stands behind her ear. He heard her quick intake of breath and felt the instant tightening of his body as his fingers touched her skin. When she bit even white teeth into her bottom lip, heat shot through him. He wanted very much to replace those teeth with his own.
Okay. Now he could name exactly what he was feeling. Lust. That was familiar. He might have even relaxed a bit if it weren’t for the fact that he couldn’t quite free himself from her gaze. Her eyes were the deep-blue color of lake water—the kind that tempted you to jump right in even though there was no telling what lay below the surface. From the time he’d been a kid, he’d been fascinated by the water, by the secrets it held, the adventures it promised.
“You remind me of someone,” she said in that same breathless voice that sent ripples of awareness along his skin.
“Really?” He watched her eyes narrow until she was looking at him as if she were determined to see everything.
She took a deep breath. “Have me met somewhere before?”
He smiled. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”
WHEN SIERRA caught his meaning, she felt color flood her cheeks. In a moment, she’d be beet-red. Her skin was already flushed from that arrow of heat that had shot through her during the moment when he’d held her against him. His chest had been hard as a rock, and the warmth of his breath at her temple had made her insides melt. She’d never reacted quite that physically to a man before. She’d never talked to a stranger in a bar before.
And he thought…he thought she was coming on to him.
“I didn’t mean…” she began. “I’m not trying to… It’s just that… I mean…” How was she supposed to explain that strange feeling of recognition she’d felt just seconds ago when she’d looked into his eyes? “I—”
