The Mighty Quinns: Declan. Kate Hoffmann
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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