Triple Play. Leslie Kelly
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She forced herself the rest of the way out and rolled over, sitting on the floor beside the bed. He stared down at her, managing to jerk his attention off the lower half of her body, covered by nothing but stockings and panties, to look at a cloud of messy, light brown hair surrounding a heart-shaped face dominated by expressive, golden-brown eyes.
Then the truth hit him. Those expressive, golden-brown eyes were expressing nothing but anger and contempt. And that heart-shaped face was one he knew. Oh, Christ, did he know that face.
The room seemed to spin beneath his feet, and he groped for the back of a nearby chair to steady himself.
Because it was Emily Crowder.
Sweetly sexy little Emily, all grown up but still able to suck the breath out of his lungs and the intelligence right out of his brain.
Em. The very woman he’d come to Chicago to find.
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