Free Mistletoe and Murder in Las Vegas by Colleen Collins

that held hers for what seemed a small millennium, but was actually less than ten seconds as she just heard the faint click of the adjoining door close. Blinking, she expanded her view.
    At first she thought he looked like a blonder, younger Tom Cruise. On closer inspection, though, the man standing on her doorstep had a rougher quality about him. Blunt, craggy features, an aggressive chin, and a nose whose slightly uneven alignment indicated it had likely been broken at one time.
    His clothes reminded her of the private eye played by Tom Selleck in the old Magnum, PI TV series, which she used to watch with her dad. Hawaiian shirt, cargo pants…and flip flops? She almost laughed, but instantly sobered as her gaze dragged back up the stranger’s body, her skin prickling as she took in his wide-shouldered, and from what she could tell, hard-as-a-rock body. Factor in his bronzed arms, neck and face, and that longish sun-streaked hair, she wondered if he were a surfer.
    His eyes again held her attention, sending shivers of excitement through her. It was more than their rich brown color…it was what she sensed in them. Defiance, intelligence, curiosity.
    She tensed her knees, an old trick she sometimes used to ground herself when she felt out of her element and became nervous. As much as she’d love to say this guy had shown up, unannounced, because he caught her lawyer ad on Craigslist, there was the obvious question…
    What was a surfer doing in Las Vegas?
    On her doorstep?
    She laughed. Couldn’t help herself. He responded with a smile…his teeth so big and pearly white against that deep, dark tan, that she burbled another laugh. This time at her own expense.
    “I get it, Surfer Boy,” she said, shaking her head in amusement. “But let’s not waste your time or mine…pull down your pants and show me your how-ya-doin’s!”

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Chapter 5
    M ike rarely got taken aback by things people said. But this time he did. Big time.
    “You want to see my what ?” he rasped.
    “I was trying to save us time, but if you just want to do a few hip swivels or whatever you call them to earn your money, fine, just make it fast because I’m busy.” With an impatient sigh, she crossed her arms and waited.
    “A few hip swivels ?” He gave his head a shake.
    He knew this was Joanne Galvin because she matched the physical description, so as a lawyer she knew better than to say this kind of kind of kinky stuff to a total stranger. This might be Las Vegas, but getting weird in public still violated all kinds of ordinances and laws.
    He looked over his left shoulder at the fence that blocked a view of her front porch, then over his right at the parking lot outside of her private parking area. Unless someone drove or walked by, whatever happened on her porch wouldn’t be seen.
    He pondered her cool, unfazed gaze, the off-kilter curly bun or whatever that was on her head, the freckle surplus on her face and arms, and the baggy top and jeans. Hardly the look of a sex freak.
    “Whoever you hired, lady, I’m not that guy.”
    She blinked. “ I didn’t hire anyone. My friends did.”
    “Well, I’m not their guy, then.”
    “Aren’t you…a stripper?”
    “No.”
    Joanne Galvin’s face flushed to a hue nearly as red as her hair. A background report had listed her eye color as hazel but in person they were more a soft green, like a shaded wood. He glanced down at her stained, baggy shirt with the words You Snooze, You Lose . How apropos. A person had to stay on their toes around her or they’d lose.
    He caught a flash of bright pink through a rip between You and Snooze . A lacy hot pink bra. The hint of a curvy breast.
    Took him a moment to refocus on her eyes, or what he could see of them between rapid blinks. Her mouth opened and closed, seeming at a loss for words.
    Joanne Galvin, speechless? The daughter of distinguished classics professor Andrew Galvin, she had graduated top of her class at Boyd School of Law, and been one of