The Mighty Quinns: Declan. Kate Hoffmann
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on the end nearest the lamp. Inside the envelope, he found several file folders. The first was a copy of Rachel’s personnel file, complete with press clippings and photos. The second was a copy of an investigation report. Ross had hired a small Providence P.I. firm to check out her stalker and their findings were tucked behind a stack of hand-written notes—notes from Rachel’s stalker.
But instead of reading through them, he went back to the first folder and withdrew an 8 by 10 glossy of Rachel. Attached to it was a résumé that was several years old. “Born in New York, New York,” he murmured. “April 18, 1977.” That made her just a year younger than him. He read down the list of her professional degrees and certifications, her published articles, then scanned for more personal data. But everything in the file related to her work experience.
The sound of conversation drew his attention away from the file and Dec stood and crossed to the door again, listening for people outside in the hallway. But the words were coming from inside the apartment—from Rachel’s room. As he walked toward Rachel’s bedroom, he assumed she was talking on the phone. But when he stood outside and listened to the senseless babble, he realized she was talking in her sleep.
Dec quietly opened the door to her bedroom and poked his head inside. The bedside lamp was still on, bathing the room in a soft pink light. Rachel lay sprawled on the bed, her limbs tangled in the sheets, her nearly sheer nightgown riding high on her thighs. She seemed agitated, tossing her head from side to side as she mumbled.
He stared at her body, the breath slowly leaving his lungs. The soft mounds of her breasts pressed against the cotton, her nipples visible beneath the thin fabric. His gaze slowly scanned down, to the dark shadow between her legs. Dec knew he shouldn’t look, but he couldn’t help himself. His curiosity needed to be satisfied, but now that it was, it made it more difficult to put her out of his thoughts.
As he watched her, her distress seemed to grow and he wondered if, even in sleep, she sensed his presence. Dec stepped inside and slowly crossed to the bed. He wasn’t sure if he ought to wake her, afraid that she might not recognize him and be frightened. But she was obviously caught in the midst of a nightmare.
He gently took her hand and murmured her name, pressing his lips to the back of her wrist. He gave in to the impulse before he realized it and Dec quickly set her hand down. Suddenly, her eyes flew open and she bolted upright. Rachel looked at him for a long moment, her gaze uncomprehending. Then she relaxed, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth.
At first, Dec wasn’t sure how to respond. But a few seconds later, he returned the kiss, his tongue meeting hers in a delicious dance. She pulled him down on the bed, his body covering hers, his hands furrowed in her thick hair.
Declan had kissed a lot of women in his life, but never had a kiss surprised him so. It was crazy and passionate and full of unspoken promise. And as suddenly as it had begun, it ended.
Rachel drew back, her eyes closed, a tiny smile curling the corners of her mouth. “I have to go to the library now,” she whispered. She snuggled into the pillows and a moment later, she was fast asleep.
Declan rocked back on his heels and then glanced down at his lap. His reaction to the kiss was instant and intense. He’d never enjoyed such an uninhibited, yet purely innocent kiss. Ironically, Rachel probably wouldn’t even remember it the next morning. Perhaps that was for the best, Declan mused. Things were uncomfortable enough between them. He didn’t need to have her embarrassed over behavior she couldn’t control.
Still, Dec couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened had the kiss been real, borne out of conscious thought rather than the haze of a dream. What would have happened if she’d been awake and kissed him. He wouldn’t have put up any resistance even though refusing her should have been his standard, by-the-book response.
The hell with the book, Dec thought. Somehow, he didn’t think the book applied when it came to Rachel Merrill. If something did happen between the two of them, then he’d deal with it. But it was silly to anticipate an attraction that probably wasn’t even there. Rachel just didn’t seem all that interested.
RACHEL PUSHED UP ON HER elbow and punched her pillow, frustrated by her inability to sleep. She’d slept for three or four hours before being awoken by an odd dream. She’d been at her office and Declan Quinn had been there with her. And she’d kissed him.
She groaned. What did she expect? There was a handsome man sound asleep just a few feet away from her bedroom. Of course her mind would wander to thoughts of him. In truth, she’d spent the entire night thinking about him.
“Don’t fantasize about the bodyguard,” she muttered, flopping back down into the pillows. He’d been sent to do a job, and though it seemed as if he cared about her, that’s what he was paid to do. To think his interest was rooted in attraction was simply deluding herself.
But it was such a delicious delusion, she thought, smiling to herself. Declan Quinn was a gorgeous man. His dark hair was nearly black and he wore it just a bit longer on the top, just long enough for a woman to run her fingers through it when she kissed him.
Her thoughts switched to his mouth and Rachel wondered what it might feel like to kiss him. He’d probably kissed a lot of women. A man who looked like that wouldn’t have any shortage of female companions. And that voice, so deep and rich, was designed to seduce, to convince a woman that all she really needed to make her life complete was to strip off her clothes and climb into bed with him.
Rachel hadn’t had to imagine what his body was like. His little encounter with pepper spray had offered her a chance to see just what was under his clothes. A shiver ran through her and she sat up again. Tossing the bedcovers aside, she stared up at the bedroom ceiling.
She’d lost enough sleep over the past few weeks worrying about her stalker. It was strange to be kept awake by other thoughts. Reaching for one of her journals on the bedside table, she searched for anything to clear her mind. A nice long article on anthropological research should do the trick.
But she read the same paragraph over and over, her mind returning each time to the man sleeping in her apartment. Rachel rolled out of bed and walked over to the mirror above a low dresser. She stared at her reflection in the soft light from the bedside lamp. Smoothing her hands over the thin cotton of her nightgown, she looked at her figure critically.
Unlike many single women her age, Rachel didn’t work out. She hated exercise and hated sweating even more. But though her body might be a bit soft, she still considered it attractive enough to interest a man. A tiny waist, nice hips, and breasts that were just the right size. “Not too big, not too small,” she murmured.
She tipped her head to one side. She’d never considered herself beautiful, though. The features of her face, taken individually, weren’t that remarkable. But combined, some men might consider her pretty. And then there was her hair.
She ran her fingers through the thick auburn waves, cropped to just above her shoulders, then turned away from the mirror and walked back to the bed. Her hair had always been the bane of her existence, from the time she was a little girl. It never looked as though she’d done much to style it and usually she hadn’t.
Rachel knew the effect of physical beauty on sexual attraction. Every person had a checklist of qualities they looked for in their perfect mate, a list condensed and honed over time. She could be the most beautiful woman in the world and if she didn’t fit Declan Quinn’s profile, then she was out of luck.
She crawled back into bed, then listened as her stomach growled. That’s why she couldn’t sleep. She was hungry. Rachel grabbed her robe and pulled it on over her nightgown. She walked out of her room, passing the closed door of the guest room. Pausing, Rachel listened for the sounds of his breathing, but she couldn’t hear anything.
When she reached the living room, Rachel realized why. Declan was stretched out on the sofa, dressed only in his boxer briefs. Though he’d grabbed a blanket from the guest room, it lay on the floor beside the couch, just one corner tangled around his foot.
Rachel