Uncensored Passion (Men of Passion) (33 page)

“I’m sure. Merry Christmas, darling. So what do you think of your surprise present?”

“I think that’s the second best present you’ve given me this morning,” Trey said laughing.

The twins stared at them. It was Don Luke who asked, “What did Mama say? And what present did she give you already, Daddy?”

When Trey seemed nonplussed as to how to answer that one, Kayla said laughing, “The first was a good morning kiss, guys. Now, how about you both giving me one.”

They more or less flung themselves at her, giving her bear hugs and almost knocking her off Trey’s lap.

“What’s the second?” Don Luke persisted.

“Well, let me put it this way. How would you two like a little sister?”

“Is that the present? You’re going to get a baby sister for us? Today?”

Kayla laughed, “No, not today. In about eight months from now though. And I’m not sure it will be a girl, but I think it might. Would you just as soon have a brother?”

The twins looked at each other, both suddenly silent—both thinking about having a sister or brother.

“Think I’d rather have a sister. Already have a brother,” Don Luke said.

“Yeah,” Sean Lee chimed in. “We’ll be the bosses of a sister, for sure.”

“I don’t know so much about that, guys,” Trey said, in a mocking tone. “Sometimes a girl can manage to get her way without us guys even knowing we’re giving in.”

As he listened to his sons rattling on about how they would let that sister know right off who was the boss, and then switching the subject—as only flighty three-year-olds can—to what they had gotten for Christmas and wondering out loud what might still be forthcoming from Harm, Trey thought about a new baby coming. He was suddenly struck by the fact that he was a blessed man.

Best Christmas ever. Life is good. Damn good.

Read on for an excerpt from

Harm’s Way

The next book in the
Men of Passion
series from

Bobbi Cole Meyers

available soon from Arrow Publications

PROLOGUE

Harm Pranston exited I-40, glad to be at the end of his journey. When he approached Rainbow Road, with the Sandia Resort and Casino in sight, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Pulling into the parking lot, he braked before the office, switched off the Harley and exhaled a weary breath. For a moment, he just sat gathering his thoughts and drinking in the fantastic view of the Sandia Mountains forming a backdrop to the sprawling city of Albuquerque, New Mexico, before stepping off the motorcycle, removing his helmet and stretching the kinks out.

Every mile of the 1,200 plus mile trek from Nashville, even though he had allotted himself a three-day period of travel, had been exhausting. But he realized it was more a mental than physical exhaustion because it had been filled with apprehension and plagued with doubt. Was he doing the right thing? Was it wise to go rummaging through a past closet full of skeletons? What would he do when he finally knew all those answers?

He had purposefully arrived a day earlier than his appointment, in order to have the time to try and relax in anticipation of whatever news McLemore’s son might have to share.

His son. Damn! I hate dealing with McLemore’s son instead of him.

Frowning, Harm wondered if the son would be as good as his father had assured him he was when he had last Skyped with the man. He recalled the conversation, complete with the exaggerated drawl of a die-hard Texan.

” ‘Fraid I’m gonna have to bow out of this assignment, Mr. Pranston, due to a health problem. I’ve done most of the preliminary legwork already though. But hell, that’s really a misnomer ‘cause it was mostly done from in my office. The highways of the Internet run everywhere, you know? But anyway, the fact is, I’m turning the business over to my kid, Mac.”

Harm remembered how the old man laughed then, pausing for a minute before adding, “But mind you, Mac prefers to be called M.K. Now, before you protest this switch, let me assure you Mac’s highly capable, expertly trained and actually better at finding missing persons and keeping tabs on them than me.”

Thinking of that now, Harm shook his head.

Mac had better be, for what I’m paying.

Not that he begrudged the exorbitant sum McLemore was charging him. It would be worth every penny to finally know the whole truth; to put those past regrets to rest, consequences be damned.

After researching and finding out Macklin Killian McLemore Skip Tracers was considered the best tracking firm in the country, Harm had contacted him. Without argument he had paid more than double the ordinary price just to convince the man to take on the task because, as McLemore had put it, he usually only handled cases like locating bail jumpers, not missing persons, and he had a particular aversion to domestic complications.

Harm had talked him into taking the case only after assuring him it was not a domestically complicated case at all; that he was simply laying old ghosts to rest so he could clear his mind of them once and for all.

McLemore has simply grunted, as though he wasn’t really convinced but had decided to take it on anyway, and then said, “Well, okay then.”

Shaking all that from his mind, Harm entered the impressive lobby of the Sandia Resort and Casino. It was packed to overflowing. He wondered if there was some kind of convention going on. He was thankful he had had the foresight to book a reservation.

When he had given his name and filled out the registration and was handed the card key, he inquired about the bar.

“There’s a lounge on the ninth floor, sir, and we are proud to say boasts of a spectacular view,” the young lady informed him with a beaming smile, her eyes frankly appraising Harm’s tall, lithe frame. She seemed especially intrigued by the heart-shaped tattoo on his muscular bicep with the word “yes” in the center. She silently speculated about it, wondering what it would take to get him to say yes to her. With a sigh of disappointment, she watched him move away after he gave her a simple, “Thanks.”

Oblivious to the woman’s interest, Harm stood for a moment, contemplating hitting the lounge, but then opted not to check it out until after he was settled in his room. Having decided that, Harm went back outside and stood breathing in the crisp New Mexico air, that old tense feeling creeping back over him. He reminded himself that this quest was necessary because not knowing was worse than knowing and whatever he found out, he would deal with it.

Harm wheeled the Harley to the designated parking area, retrieved the hefty cable lock from his saddlebags, then flipped the two-way switch he had installed into the starter button so if anyone other than him tried to start it, the horn would start honking and wouldn’t stop until he had deactivated it.

Satisfied the bike was as thief-proof as he could make it, he gathered his things and headed to his room thinking,
it’s the right time to do this! No, hell, it’s way past due. I should have done this long ago.

He shrugged off a flash of guilt as he recalled his half-hearted attempt to locate Emily a few years before, knowing that it had been just that—a half-hearted effort. He hadn’t really wanted to succeed. After all, he had his life going great guns; had just hooked up with the most fascinating woman he had ever met; was beginning to live a lifestyle that suited him; had three of the best friends a guy could have, plus a thriving chain of tattoo salons his partner was managing well, and enough money from his online investment consulting business to last a lifetime. What he didn't need was a complication from the past.

Hell, who am I kidding? It was too easy to just keep letting it slide; to push that mistake to the back of my mind and pretend it never happened.

Harm stepped inside his room, did a quick survey and was satisfied that it lived up to the Internet hype of being one of the best, then tossed his duffle bag to the bed. He fell down beside it, only then realizing how tired he was. He hadn't slept much since he’d determined to come on this quest and this time, to see it through to the end.

His thoughts immediately began running backward, one old memory dragging another into his mind—beginning with how he’d lied to his parents those many years back. As he had so many other times before, Harm felt washed by remorse with that memory.

He vividly recalled that day after graduation, his belligerent tone as he argued with his mother and father, “I am not going to college and that’s it! I’ve decided to go to L.A. and take Uncle Joe up on his offer to be a part of his successful tattoo business. And before you say anything, Dad, I’m telling you, I’ve made up my mind!”

Harm muttered a sleepy expletive, remembering the shocked look on his mother’s face and his father’s angry retort. “A tattoo artist? Really? That’s the big plan? That’s what you want to be? All right, go ruin your life! Carve ink into people’s skin for a living. Yes, that’s definitely a calling. One day you’ll look back and realize how insane this decision is but it might be too late to rectify it then.”

“But Uncle Joe is raking in the money. He has movie stars as clients.”

“Go on then. Just remember, when you make a hard bed, you will have to lie in it. You’ll find out soon enough how hard it is living with the consequences of your actions.”

Harm swiped a hand over his burning eyes, wishing he could blot out that memory; not wanting to recall his mother asking tearfully, “Why such a rush to do this, Harm? Oh, I blame myself for bragging on my brother and how he’s got such a great business there. But I never dreamed you would want to do it too. What’s right for Joe—and to be truthful, my brother has always had a wild streak in him might not be right for you, Harm. Please reconsider.”

Harm couldn’t recall exactly what he had told her then. He only knew that he never told either of them the real truth—that he wasn’t running to something as much as he was running away from an evolving situation he just didn’t want to face.

The painful memory of his parents being killed in a car accident just a week after that argument deepened Harm’s frown and, as it had so many times since, brought a sharp pain of regret that twisted in his gut.

God, I'd give anything to go back and do things differently.

The memory of those next few days following that tragic news exploded in his head—he and his uncle going back for the funeral—settling their affairs—seeing Emily again, walking into the funeral home, stirring up a flood of anger he’d just barely contained until then.

As if it had happened yesterday, Harm remembered how torn with self-recrimination he’d felt. How he’d needed to blame someone other than himself. So, he’d laid the blame squarely on Emily’s shoulders, refusing to speak to her when she came up to him offering tearful words of condolence. He had just turned his back to her and walked away.

God, what a stupid jerk I was! Well, hell, that’s water under the bridge. Now, I just want to find her; to face her and find out the truth.

For the last week, while he was Skyping back and forth with McLemore, making plans for the search, Emily had dominated the shadowy world of Harm’s dreams. Always, she was crying; always looking at him with her mascara running and her red lips quivering, accusing him with those puppy dog eyes, repeating the mantra that had stuck in Harm’s head all these years,
“I’ve only been with two guys in my life and one of them is you.”

He hadn’t believed her then and still didn’t, but he had to admit that that was because he didn’t
want
to believe her.

His lids dropped sleepily. He’d just take a quick nap, he thought. His breath evened out as he finally gave in to the exhaustion and the moment he did, felt himself spiraling into a dark abyss.

CHAPTER 1

M.K.

Harm was just one of the many men who watched as the woman with mile-long legs incandesced her way into the lounge. And because of their interest, the women with them stared, too. The men ogled appreciatively; the women frowned jealously. Seemingly oblivious of the attention she was generating, she stood with her hands on her hips, her almond-shaped eyes raking the room, obviously looking for someone. Harm squashed a ridiculous urge to shout, “Me! Here I am!” She reminded him of the star on an old TV Wonder Woman rerun he had recently seen.

The emerald green tank top she wore did not quite meet the skin-tight, hip-hugger jeans, leaving exposed a sliver of tanned skin, where the head of an intriguing dragon tattoo teased the onlookers.

Unable to take his eyes off her, Harm thought,
damn, that lady is some kind of fine.

It was the first time a woman had peaked his interest since Kayla Saradon. He guessed her to be almost as tall as he was, probably five foot nine and that was without heels because he saw she was wearing sensible-looking, low-heeled boots.

The fact that every other woman in the lounge was well dressed didn’t seem to bother her. Harm realized by her easy stance and unruffled look that this mystery woman was completely at ease and comfortable in her jeans. Her mass of auburn hair was swept casually to one side and she made no attempt to catch the stubborn tendrils escaping to curl around her exposed right ear that sported a dangling coiled-snake silver earring.

But the most striking thing about her, the thing that held Harm’s rapt attention once he spotted it, was the unique tattoo on her right arm. The stem of a rose curled up and around her arm, its roots beginning in the center of the top of her hand like a brownish-green ink snake, rising up and ending on her slightly muscled upper arm in a fully opened flaming red rose. The intricate detail of that tattoo was astonishing.