"It's been an hour, sweetheart. If you plan to make a move, you
mustn't make a lady wait."

He was pinned hard against the wall, the husky, whiskey laced voice
drawing in his ear.

Her strength didn't surprise him. After all, everything he had profiled about
Marlena Maxwell showed a woman who knew how to take care of herself.
What caught him by surprise was how his body responded to her. From his
table watching her, he had appreciated her tall, sultry beauty. But up close and
personal, the appreciation became a growing private interest.

She pushed an elbow hard against his lower back, forcing him to buckle
against the wall. "It would save me time if you introduce yourself," she said,
still in that husky drawl. "And I hope you don't mind. I have to make sure
you're not armed, sweetheart."

The hard stucco of the building cut into the side of his face. "No problem,"
Steve assured her. "Look all you want."

She slid a hand into his jean jacket, checking for secret pockets. Then
her hand slid down his chest to his jeans, obviously knowledgeable about the
places a man could hide a weapon.

"Lower," Steve suggested, reckless desire spurring him now,
" and you might find something loaded."