Catching the Bad Guy (Book Two) (Janet Maple Series) (33 page)

Dear Reader,

If you enjoyed
Catching the Bad Guy
and would like to know what happens next to Janet and Dennis, please stop by my
website:
www.marieastor.com
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updates on my book releases and events.

Thank you for reading my books!

Warmest regards,

Marie Astor

Marie Astor is a die-hard romantic,
which is why she writes in the contemporary romance genre.

Marie Astor is the author of
contemporary romance novels
This Tangled Thing Called Love
,
Lucky
Charm
,
Smitten at First Sight,
Janet Maple romantic suspense series:
To Catch a Bad Guy
and
Catching the Bad Guy
, and a short story
collection,
A Dress in a Window
. Marie is also the author of a fantasy
adventure novel,
Over the Mountain and Back
.

In her spare time, Marie loves being
out-of-doors. She enjoys hiking, swimming and skiing. Marie loves hearing from
her readers and always answers all of her emails personally. If you would like
to join Marie’s mailing list or find out more about Marie’s books, please visit
Marie at her website:
www.marieastor.com
or send her an
email at [email protected]

Please read on for an excerpt from
This
Tangled Thing Called Love.

By

Marie Astor

Claire
Chatfield has everything a girl could possibly wish for: looks, a promising
career, and an engagement ring from one of New York’s most eligible
heir-bachelors!
Life should be a
dream and yet, it does not feel like one… When an enigmatic new neighbor,
Alec
Brunell,
moves into an apartment
above from Claire’s, Claire is surprised to find herself wondering whether the
choices she has made in her life are worth following through.

In
order to secure his place as his father’s successor, David Lawson must settle
down with a wife befitting the future head of Lawson Enterprises, and who could
fit the prerequisite better than lovely Claire Chatfield? There is just one
glitch: David is in love with another woman.

Alec
Brunell has never lacked for women’s attention, but he finds himself at a loss
when faced with his downstairs neighbor, Claire Chatfield. Still, her iciness
only adds fuel to his fire, as Alec is determined to change Claire’s view of
him.

This
Tangled Thing Called Love follows the story of four people searching for love:
will they have the courage to find it?

Chapter
1

It was barely eight a.m. when Claire heard the sound
of music emanating from the ceiling. For a moment, she had a scary thought that
she was late for work, but then she remembered that it was Saturday. She curled
her legs and pulled the comforter up to her chin; she was dreaming, and the
sensual music had to be a part of the dream. She snuggled against the pillow in
anticipation of what the dream would bring next, but as she attempted to drift back
to sleep, the music kept growing louder. After tossing and turning, Claire
finally awakened, aware that the persistent sounds were very real.

Claire lay back on her pillow, staring into the
ceiling in bewilderment as the sultry sounds of Argentine tango filled her
bedroom.
Who in their right mind would blast tango music at eight o’clock on
a Saturday morning? Obviously, the new tenant of the upstairs apartment,
Claire answered her own question. She was wide-awake now. Building rules
explicitly stated that there was to be no noise until 10 a.m. on weekends, and
she would make it her business to educate the new resident.

Claire kicked off the comforter and slid her feet
into her slippers. Then she pulled on her bathrobe and headed out the door.

She pressed the elevator button, but saw that the
elevator was out of order. Had she been in a calmer state, this might have been
enough of an obstacle to postpone her mission, but at present this circumstance
only added oil to the fire.

As she walked up the stairs to the top floor
apartment, Claire felt the onset of a hangover. She had been out late with the
girls last night, and she was bound to pay for it now. If only she had been
able to sleep it off. Claire frowned as she stoically climbed the rest of the
stairs. Saturdays were supposed to be relaxing, but this Saturday promised to
be anything but.

The music grew even louder once Claire had reached
the next floor. Now it was a milonga waltz: a slow, sensual melody that made
her shiver right down to her slippers.
This music lover must be quite a
connoisseur of tangos
, Claire thought, about to ring the doorbell. She
stopped halfway, remembering that in her fury she had forgotten to brush her
teeth and comb her hair. Her hesitation was brief, as she decided that this
grooming lapse was irrelevant at the moment. In fact, she thought that it might
serve the purpose of her visit – her disheveled state should be enough of a
deterrent to stop the culprit from further misconduct. She pressed the bell and
waited.

Several minutes passed. The music continued, but
nothing else happened. Frowning, Claire rang the doorbell again. Her lips drawn
and her hands crisscrossed on her chest, she geared herself up for the speech
she planned to deliver to the offender, but she was disappointed yet again as
the door remained closed.

This time her finger nearly sank into the rickety
doorbell as she kept the button pressed for almost a minute. Whoever was inside
had to hear that, but apparently, she was mistaken again. Exasperated, Claire
clenched her fingers into a fist and pounded on the door, but to her surprise
the door creaked open under the impact. The blasting music seeping through the
opening enveloped her, and under its spell, Claire made her way inside the
apartment.

What she saw next defeated all of her expectations
as she froze in place, mouth agape. The apartment consisted of one giant room.
It must have been a one-bedroom at some point, but the dividing wall had been
knocked down, leaving a vast loft. The room was empty save for a frumpy couch
in the corner, a scant table and two chairs. Several large bags, presumably
with clothes and other possessions, were planted on the floor sporadically.

But this disarray had nothing to do with Claire’s
paralyzed state as she stared at the back of the man who was too absorbed by
his task to notice her presence. He was shirtless, and his muscles rippled as
he moved with feline grace to the sound of the mesmerizing melody. His feet
were engaged in complicated dance moves, but his hands were busy with a paint
roller as he coated the wall in front of him in red paint. His longish hair
touched the nape of his neck, and Claire found herself swallowing uneasily as
she stared on, hypnotized.

The music lover
– that was how she mentally
called him – lowered his paint roller into the paint bin, and Claire caught his
striking Roman profile. He was about to go on with his task, but he must have
spotted her from the corner of his eye, because he abruptly turned around and
stared right at her. Claire blinked and began rattling off the cause of her
visit, at which the music lover signaled for her to stop and glided over to the
iPod speakers on the table, which were the source of Claire’s initial
indignation.
Gliding
was the only word Claire could think to describe
his graceful way of moving.

The music stopped, and Claire shivered
uncomfortably, terrified by her current predicament. What had she been
thinking, wandering into some stranger’s apartment? He could have her arrested
for trespassing, and that was the least alarming of the possibilities. Handsome
or not, he could be a serial killer for all she knew, and now she was stuck
there at his mercy.

“I’m Alec, Alec Brunell.” The music lover smiled at
her as he held her gaze with his dark brown eyes.

Claire made a mental effort to stop calling the man
before her
the music lover
. His name was Alec, and she knew absolutely
nothing about him except the fact that he was inconsiderate enough to blast
tango music at eight in the morning on a Saturday, which was why she found
herself in his apartment in the first place. That’s right, her visit had a
purpose, and now she would make it known.

“I’m Claire Chatfield. I live in the apartment below
yours…”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Claire. Thank you for
coming over to welcome me to the building.” Alec reached for her hand, and
Claire felt his warm fingers encircle her palm. “Would you like some coffee,
Claire? I was about to have mine…” He half-turned to the tiny kitchen.

“No!” Claire heard herself shouting.

“Well, if you don’t like coffee, I have some orange
juice…” Alec went on, clearly taken aback by her reaction.

Get yourself together
, Claire thought as she
folded her arms on her chest, pinching her forearm. “Actually, the reason I
stopped by is the music.”

“You love tango, huh?” Alec’s gaze travelled along
her bathrobe. “It is beautiful…”

“No, I don’t love tango,” Claire snapped.
This
Alec character sure had his act down pat
. Granted, he was a looker, but in
Claire’s book that did not give him the right to be so blatant about it. Sure,
there must be plenty of women hungering for his mouthwatering flesh, but she
sure as hell was not one of them. She had a boyfriend, and she had come there
for a reason.

“You don’t like tango?” Alec stared at her in frank
bewilderment.

“I don’t like any music blasting through my ceiling
at eight a.m. on a Saturday. The building rules say no noise until ten a.m.”
Claire glared at him. She was in control now.

“Oh, I’m so very sorry.” To her surprise, Alec
blushed. “I used to rent a loft in a warehouse, and I forgot how thin building
walls can be.” He smiled apologetically. “I promise you that it will not happen
again. Now, may I offer you a cup of coffee as a peace offering?”

“No, thank you. I think I’ll head back to bed and
try to catch up on some sleep.” Claire turned to leave. “And by the way, you
need to have a building permit to do any kind of handiwork,” she blurted over
her shoulder as she shut the door behind her.

Back in the safety of her apartment, Claire locked
the door behind her. Her face was burning crimson red; she had never lost
control like this before.

She stumbled into the kitchen and put on the coffee
pot. She was too rattled to go back to bed now. Mechanically, she poured cereal
into a bowl and splashed some milk over it. Taking a bite of her cereal, she
cringed as she replayed the encounter in her mind. She could not remember the
last time she had been this flustered. She liked to think of herself as a
fairly rational person, and yet, just now she had behaved like a complete
maniac. First, she had burst into a total stranger’s apartment, and then she
had ogled his naked, incredibly muscular torso – at this thought Claire cringed
again, hoping that her new neighbor had not noticed this lapse – and then,
after he had tried to make small talk despite her unexpected appearance in his
apartment, she had nearly screamed at him for playing his music too loud. And
to top it all off, after he had sincerely apologized, she had snubbed his
perfectly good-natured offer of a cup of coffee.

Reliving the memory of her embarrassing behavior was
enough to make Claire burrow her face in her hands and pull on her hair. She
was a grown woman, and she knew how to handle tough situations. What on earth
made her act like this? Sure, Alec’s devastatingly handsome looks could have
been an explanation, but Claire knew full well that it was not the answer. A
part of her wished it had been the answer. That would have made things so much
simpler. Claire was in love with David Lawson, and she was not the kind of
woman who got smitten by a six-pack, no matter how hard, or dark eyes, no
matter how piercing. No, the true reason was in the music - the sultry,
maddening tango music.

You love tango, huh
? She remembered Alec’s
question, which was more of a statement really, as though it were a given that
everyone on earth adored the heart-wrenching melody. Well, in his defense, Alec
could not have known how loaded the question was for Claire. His innocent
remark took her back to a time she did not care to revisit, so the only natural
response was to snub him and run for cover. Well, she was all grown up now, and
she knew how to deal with unwelcome recollections of the past: lock them up in
a “do not open” memories compartment, where they belonged.

Alec put down the paint roller and wiped his
forehead on the back of his arm. Man, he was beat. He had forgotten how
grueling physical labor could be. Sure, he worked out six days a week, not to
mention daily dance practice, but painting walls made him discover muscles he
did not know he had. Every bit of his body throbbed, but at least he had gotten
the job done. The south wall was painted red, and the other three were white.
Now, all he needed was to wait for the paint to dry so that he could add a
silhouette of a tango couple against the red background. That ought to complete
the ambiance.