Free The Case of the Mesmerizing Boss by Diana Palmer Page A

when I should have that night, I wouldn’t have seen anything.”
    “I was busy calling you on the carpet,” he reminded her with a glance. “I get to share the blame.” “I deserved it, blowing the stakeout that way.”
    “In fact, you saved it,” he murmured reluctantly. “The store-keeper had grown suspicious of our people outside. When you waved to Helen and asked about Harold’s nephew, he grew careless. They collared his son five minutes after you left.” Her jaw dropped. “You didn’t say!”
    He glanced at her sternly. “You could have done a lot of damage by being careless. So could Helen. You both deserved a scare, and you got it.” “Slave driver.”
    He chuckled, a rare sound that was pleasant in the dark interior of the car. “Next time you’ll be more careful, won’t you?”
    “My job isn’t dangerous.” She glared at him. “You won’t let me do what I really want to,” she accused.
    “Which is what?” he asked as they stopped at a red traffic light. He laid his arm over the back of the seat and looked into her eyes. “Sleep with me?” “Of all the conceit,” she gasped. He smiled at her. “You want me.” She averted her eyes. “The light’s green.”
    “Change the subject,” he invited as he pulled ahead. “But you’d better stay out of my bed at night,” he said matter-of-factly. “It won’t do any good to plead with me,” he added when she opened her mouth. “My bedroom door will be locked, in case you feel like trying it for yourself.”
    She stared at him, dumbfounded. He didn’t sound like the all-business detective she knew.
     
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    He arched an eyebrow. “Sorry to disappoint you,” he said. “I’m just not modern enough for casual affairs.” “Dane, do you feel all right?”
    “Yes, and don’t come an inch closer to see for yourself how I feel,” he cautioned sternly. “You can keep your hands off my leg. I’m not that kind of man.”
    She burst out laughing as his words finally got through to her. She hadn’t realized he even had a sense of humor. Presumably, he’d kept it hidden over the years. “I feel absolutely dangerous,” she mused.
    “Most women are,” he agreed. “I’d put sex-starved virgins at the top of the list, too.” “I’m not that!” she protested.
    “How do you know?” He pulled into the parking lot of his own apartment complex. Since most of his business was in Houston, it took too long to commute back and forth from the ranch, so he maintained an apartment in town. He glanced at her as he parked the car. “These urges tend to creep up on women like you. One minute you’re blushing and nervous. The next, you’re panting and ripping a helpless man’s clothes off.”
    Her eyes twinkled with laughter. “I promise to control my… urges,” she assured him.
    “God, I hope so. And no peeking when I’m in the shower,” he added darkly.
    The repartee took all the fear out of the new experience. She followed him up to his second-floor apartment without a qualm.
    The room he gave her was decorated in blues, from wallpaper to carpet to curtains. She felt right at home, as she had at the ranch. All it needed was Beryl fussing over them. “I’ll cook, if you like,” she volunteered. “I love it.” “No argument from me,” he nodded. “I can cook, but I hate it.”
    She opened the freezer. It was well stocked. So was the refrigerator. “How about a steak and salad for supper?”
    “Suits me.” He kicked off his shoes and collapsed on the sofa with his jacket half-off. She went into the guest room and changed into jeans and a sweat-

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    shirt, walking around in socks but no shoes. He was apparently as shoes-prejudiced as she was, because he left his off, too.
    When she got back to the kitchen, he was out of his jacket and tie, his shirt half-unbuttoned down the front. She studied him cov-ertly, curious about his body in a way she never had been about any other