Wolfe Watching
Joan Hohl

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

One

She was a breath stopper.

Eric Wolfe inhaled and watched the young woman exit the house and stride along the flagged path to the sidewalk, hang a left, then head right toward where he was making a pretense of working on his bike in the driveway of the residence three properties down from her own.

The honey blonde wasn’t very big; she was really quite petite, but every inch of her was packed with feminine dynamite.

Her delicate features fit perfectly in her heart-shaped face. Brown eyebrows gently arched over dark brown eyes fringed by incredibly long eyelashes, lending an overall appearance of wide-eyed innocence.

Right.

Eric’s mouth slanted at a cynical angle.

Her name was Christina Marianna Kranas. Her friends called her Tina. She appeared to be something of a contradiction. She rarely, if ever, dated one-on-one, and yet she very obviously enjoyed her nights out and a good time. And she had lots of male, as well as female, friends.

Eric wasn’t one of them. He was a neighbor, a relatively new and temporary neighbor. But Eric knew just about all there was to know about her.

Born and raised in Philadelphia, Christina Kranas was twenty-six years and four months old. She had married in haste at the advanced age of twenty-one. It hadn’t worked. The man had a criminal record—he had been collared and booked numerous times—but he had never served time. There had never been enough hard evidence to prosecute with any hope of getting a conviction. Christina had claimed she didn’t know about his scrapes with the law.

Eric was reserving judgment on her claim.

The marriage had quickly disintegrated, barely lasting eighteen months. The union had been childless. Christina had been granted a divorce almost four years ago.

Eric was less than impressed, since the man continued to pay periodic visits to her...and his best friend, who just happened to own and live in the house across the street, the house Eric had under observation.

Too convenient by far.

Her former husband was a good-looking guy named Glen Reber. Christina had assumed her maiden name upon receiving her divorce decree.

She had also assumed the responsibility for the mortgage on the small ranch-style house on the quiet street in the middle-income section located on the very edge of Philadelphia’s city limits. She owned and operated a classy-looking florist shop in center city.

Christina stood exactly five-foot-two-and-three-quarter-inches tall. She maintained a weight of ninety-eight-and-one-half pounds—discounting nor mal monthly fluctuations. She wore a size 32B bra, size 5A shoes, and a size 3 petite dress, depending on the maker and quality of the garment. Her ring size was also a 5.

Eric knew all Christina’s vital statistics because he had made it his business to know; committing to memory every factor gleaned about a possible suspect was part of his job.

He took his job very seriously; he always had, and even more so since the death of his father at the hands of a strung-out cocaine dealer during a drug bust three years ago.

At present, Christina was striding along in low-heeled size 5 shoes, making for the bus stop at the corner, because her car had been in a repair shop for three days to meet State inspection standards. And his presence in the driveway at this precise time of the morning was not a mere coincidence.

Eric ran an encompassing, if unobtrusive, glance over Christina’s enticing form as she drew closer to him. Her outfit was both casual and smart looking. She had great taste. The observation was not a new one for him. He had reached the conclusion about her style at first sight of her, which had occurred nearly a week ago, on the very day he moved into the bachelor apartment above the garage attached to the three-bedroom house.

Eric had also concluded that watching Tina was the one pleasurable side benefit of the unpleasant business associated with being an undercover police officer.

Eric was good at his chosen profession; he knew he was, in all probability, good at it because he liked being a cop. It ran in the family. Generations of Wolfe men had served the law, in one form or another. The third of four sons, all in law enforcement, Eric was the only one who had followed his father into the force in Philadelphia.

He had volunteered for undercover work in the narcotics division after his father was gunned down in the line of duty.

Only, in this instance, Eric was working under his own auspices; he was officially on vacation. He had requested leave time after receiving a tip from one of his informants, a tip that had fired his anger.

The informant had told Eric that the latest word on the street was that there were dealers—ostensibly an ordinary middle-class couple—doing business out of their home in this quiet community minutes away from center city.

While important, that information alone had not been the catalyst that motivated Eric. It was the informant’s claim that the couple had been the suppliers to the man who had shot Eric’s father that had been the factor in determining his actions.

Eric wanted vengeance—and he wasn’t inclined toward having his methods questioned by the department. Fully aware that he could be summarily dismissed from the force if he screwed up, he had decided to take vacation leave in order to play a hunch.

Since the hunch and the subsequent idea of taking up residence in the neighborhood were his, to all intents and purposes he was on his own. Eric rather liked the idea.

Eric had been maintaining surveillance on Christina for a week now. He had been open in his movements, visible as he tinkered with his bike in the driveway, pleasant in response to greetings offered by passing residents, but he had yet to exchange a word with her.

Today was the day.

Pulling a rag from his back jeans pocket, Eric slowly straightened to his full six-foot-four-inch height. He flashed his most charming smile as he casually wiped his hands on the grimy cloth.

“‘Morning,” he said as she drew even with him.

Christina started, as if rudely jolted from introspection by the sound of his voice. Her smooth stride faltered.

Eric controlled the smile itching to become a grin.

“Ah...good morning...” she returned, her lips forming a tentative smile, while her eyebrows crept together in a frown.

“Beautiful day,” Eric observed, keeping her from rushing on. “Unusually warm for November.”

“Yes...er, it is...” she agreed, taking a step forward to resume her brisk pace.

“Want a lift?” His offer brought her up short once more. “I think I’ve finally solved the problem here.” He waved a hand at the bike. “I’m going into town.”

Christina shifted a leery look from her soft gray wool slacks and matching hip-length jacket to the Harley. “Ah...I don’t think so, thank you.”

“It’s clean,” he assured her, flicking the rag at a nonexistent speck of dust on the gleaming silver-and-black machine. “And I have an extra helmet.”

“No, really, I...”

“There goes your bus.” Eric indicated the corner intersection with a nod of his head and smiled ruefully. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I made you miss it.” He raised his eyebrows. “How long before the next bus?”

She sighed. “Half hour.”

“My offer of a lift is still open,” he said, in a tone designed to convey his eagerness to be of help.

Christina stood, silent and uncertain, for several seconds, and then she sighed again. “Okay, thank you.”

Eric turned away to head for the garage—and to hide a smile of satisfaction. “I’ll get the helmet...back in a sec.”

* * *

A motorcycle. Suppressing yet another sigh, Christina stood staring at the shiny bike. A big, dangerous motorcyle, driven by a man she didn’t know from Adam.

Not too bright, Tina, she told herself, even if the man did happen to look like a walking, talking twentieth-century version of a classic Greek god.

Only this particular Greek god had the formidable appearance of a modern-day Teutonic warrior.

Christina felt a delicate tingle skip up her spine. He was one attractive representative of the male species. Crystal blue eyes gazed out at the world from beneath a shock of wavy golden brown hair. His facial bone structure was chiseled, defined by high cheekbones, a straight, aristocratic nose, a strong, squared jawline and a mouth that held a promise of inflicting infinite pleasure...or pain.

The speculation intensified the tingle in Tina’s now-stiffened spine. What had she let herself in for here? she wondered anxiously. She didn’t even know this man’s name, for pete’s sake! And he literally towered over her.

Tina judged him to be at least six-three, possibly six-four, and without a visible ounce of excess flesh on that lean, flatly muscled frame.

And she had agreed to ride away with him on that monstrous machine. Was she nuts, or what? she asked herself, glancing around, as if for an avenue of escape. If she had any sense left at all, Tina thought, she’d take off at once and, if necessary, run all the way into center city.

“Name’s Eric, by the way.”

Tina’s body jerked with mild shock at the sudden sound of his voice. But she managed to swallow the yelp of surprise that sprang to her throat at the sight of him standing beside the bike, his face concealed by a black-visored helmet. She drew a measure of reassurance from the fact that he didn’t look anything like her preconceived notion of a leathered, chained, tattooed biker. But, on the other hand, he looked too appealing with his lean body clad in tight jeans, chest-caressing pullover sweater and expensive, if rather beat-up, running shoes.

“Eric...Wolfe.”

What else? Tina squashed the nerve-jangling observation, along with her senses-stirring response to the low, attractive sound of his voice.

“I moved in a week ago.”

“Ah...how do you do?” Great response, Tina, she chided herself, reluctantly extending her right hand. His hand, long, broad, slim fingered and strong, shot out to enclose hers, drawing the tingle from her spine to her fingertips—and every inch in between. “I’m Christina Kranas,” she said, sliding her palm away from the too-warm, strangely intimate touch of his. “I live three houses down.”

“I know.”

Coming from behind that black visor, his simple reply had an ominous overtone that further intensified the tingle now jabbing throughout the entire length of Tina’s body. “Really?” she said, infusing coolness into her usually low, somewhat throaty voice.

“Sure.” His voice carried an unmistakable smile. “Couldn’t help but notice you...the times I’ve been out here, working on the bike, you know?”

“Oh.” The stiffness eased a little inside Tina; his explanation did have a reasonable ring. “Ah, yes, I see.” But why hadn’t she noticed him? she mused, skimming a quick glance over his person. He was pretty hard to miss, and—

“Chris for short?”

His question derailed the train of her thoughts. “Chris?” She frowned, then shook her head when his meaning registered. “No. Tina.”

“Umm. Makes sense.” Now his voice contained a definite shade of muffled laughter. “Well, then, Tina...” He made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “Ready to go?”

No. Tina clamped her lips against the sharp refusal; she had agreed to the lift. “Yes...I suppose so.” Even she could hear the lack of conviction in her voice.

“It’s perfectly safe,” he said reassuringly, holding the helmet out to her with one hand while lifting a windbreaker from the seat of the bike with the other.

“I...um, it looks so powerful,” she said, her stomach clenching as she watched the play of shoulder and chest muscles as he shrugged into the windbreaker.

“It is.” Raising a hand, he flipped up the visor to grin at her, and dazzle her with his white teeth. “But I can handle the beast.”

Despite her trepidation, Tina felt a smile tug at her lips; this man was not without charm. “Well...okay.” Drawing a breath, she took the helmet and eased it over her head, careful not to dislodge the neat pleat she had folded her long hair into at the back. Fully expecting to have her vision curtailed by the dark visor, she was surprised by the range of visibility it afforded her. “How do I...er...mount?” she asked, eyeing the bike with suspicion from behind the dark cover.

“Like this.” Still grinning, Eric swung his right leg up and over the bike, then stood straddling it. “Come on,” he urged. “You’re wearing pants.”

Oh, what the hell. So thinking, Tina marched to the side of the bike and swung her own leg up and over. Although she completed the exercise, her effort did not bear comparison to his for smooth adroitness. When she was in position, he flipped down his visor and lowered his long torso onto the seat.

“Okay, settle in behind me,” Eric directed, effortlessly holding the machine upright and steady. “Then grab on to my waist, my belt...or whatever, and hang on.”

Tina bristled at the slight accent he had placed on the “whatever,” but she followed his instructions, opting for his belt.

“By the way, where do you want to go?”

“Oh, you can drop me off anywhere close to Wannamaker’s,” she answered, distracted by his question.

Eric flipped a switch; the beast growled to life and an instant later roared out of the driveway and turned left onto the street, sounding beautifully tuned and in perfect running condition.

Exclaiming at the sudden burst of motion in a startled shriek, which went unheard over the roar of the bike, Tina tightened her grasp on his belt and hung on for dear life, shutting her eyes tight as Eric whipped in and out around the snaking lines of rush-hour traffic.

Every muscle in Tina’s body was quivering by the time Eric glided the bike to a smooth stop along the curb opposite one of the wide showroom windows of Wannamaker’s department store.

“Thank...thank you,” Tina said, breathless and still quivering as she scrambled off the machine he thoughtfully tilted toward the pavement for her. Feet once more firmly on the ground, she removed the helmet and handed it to him.

Eric accepted the headgear with a shrug. “Anytime.” He paused, then quickly qualified, “That is, anytime I’m off from work, like today.”

Tina raised her brows. “Friday is your day off?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Ah, I’m on vacation leave.” He arched a toast-colored eyebrow. “You work nearby?”

“Yes. I own a flower shop on Chestnut Street.” Tina gave him a smile of pure envy. “I wish I could take a vacation but with the holidays coming up, I can’t afford the time.” She sighed. Then, reminded of work, she glanced at her watch. “I have to go. Thanks again.”

“Sure.” Eric sketched a wave, the bike growled, and then he roared away from the curb, leaving her standing there, inhaling exhaust fumes and staring after him.

Shaking her head, Tina took a tentative step, testing the steadiness of her legs. She was still feeling a little quivery and mildly shocked from the mad dash into town. And yet, at the same time, she felt wildly exhilarated, and more vibrantly alive than she had in ages.

All of which had absolutely nothing to do with the residue of warmth simmering in her thighs from being pressed tightly against Eric Wolfe’s narrow buttocks, Tina bracingly assured herself as she joined the forward thrust of the pedestrian traffic hurrying along the sidewalk.

* * *

He could still feel the pressure of her legs clamped to his butt.

Weaving in and out of the crowded city traffic, Eric shifted in the saddle and grinned behind the visor. Felt good, too, he decided, savoring the physical sensation.

Due to the increasing demands of his work, very real and considerable current health concerns and a lack of time for much of a social life, it had been a while, a good long while, since Eric had enjoyed the pleasure derived from a woman’s legs wrapped around him—for any reason.

So, in light of his self-imposed celibacy, Eric told himself, the reactions he was now experiencing were perfectly normal, if a bit intense. And they certainly were intense, with fiery strands of sensation coiling around the sides of his hips and converging in a most vulnerable section of his body.

Eric attempted to moisten his parched lips with a quick glide of his tongue; it didn’t help much. His tongue was every bit as dry as his lips.

Wild.

Eric utilized an enforced wait for a traffic light to ponder these not-at-all-normal physical responses. All this heat from the feel of Tina’s wool-covered legs clasped to his jeans-clad hips? he marveled, revving the motor impatiently. What in hell would it do to him, how would it feel, to be cradled by her silky thighs, naked flesh pressed to naked flesh?

It would feel good...maybe too damn good.

Keep your mind on the business at hand, Wolfe, Eric advised himself, shifting once more in the bike’s saddle to ease a gathering tightness in his body, and zooming through the intersection when the light blinked to green.

Business.

Hell.

Gripping the handlebars, Eric swooped around the slow-moving car of ancient vintage putt-putting in front of him. The business at hand concerned the illegal possession and sale of narcotics. A nasty business, and very likely conducted to the tune of millions of dollars.

And he was fairly certain that business was being conducted in that ordinary-looking middle-income house across the street and down a few properties from the garage apartment he had so recently moved into.

What Eric wasn’t at all certain of was the possible involvement—or lack thereof—of one Christina Marianna Kranas in that nasty business.

The question mark stabbed at Eric’s mind as persistently as the memory of her encasing legs stabbed at his body.

* * *

“Ouch!”

“You okay, Tina?” Susan Grant poked her head around the doorway into the workroom.

“Yeah.” Tina’s self-disgust was evident, even with the tip of her finger stuck in her mouth. “I pricked my finger on a corsage pin,” she explained to her frowning assistant.

“You’ve been kind of not quite with it all morning,” Susan said, stepping through the doorway separating the workroom from the showroom. “Something bothering you?”

Not something, someone.

Keeping the thought where it belonged, inside her rattled mind, Tina shook her head. “No, I guess I’m just a little distracted today.”

Susan’s frown dissolved into a teasing smile. “Thinking about tonight...and Ted Saunders?”

“Well...perhaps.” Tina forced a light-sounding laugh and turned back to the worktable. Her answer had verged on an outright lie. No “perhaps” about it...she hadn’t given a single thought to the coming evening or her date with Ted. In fact, until Susan mentioned it, Tina had completely forgotten she had made a date for that evening. Why had she made a date with Ted for this evening?

Tina frowned. Oh, yeah, her car was in the shop. For that matter, she didn’t really consider it a real date...even though Ted had been after her to go out with him for some weeks now. She had consistently put him off.

She would have put him off again when he called late yesterday afternoon, but Ted hadn’t actually asked her for a date. Ted had asked her if she planned to join their group of mutual friends at their usual Friday-evening get-together at the tavern. Tina had told him she was. Knowing her car was in the shop for repairs, Ted had then offered to stop by her place and give her a lift to the tavern. Fully aware that he had his own agenda, that of convincing her to regard him in the role of prospective suitor, Tina had nevertheless accepted his offer with gratitude.

End of date business; she still had no intention of expanding their friendship into a more intimate relationship. She wasn’t interested in any kind of male-female relationship other than friendship. She’d been that route; it had a lot of potholes and detours.

No, thoughts of the coming evening were not the cause of her state of mind, Tina acknowledged, jabbing the long, pearl-tipped pin through a stem on the elegant corsage—this time correctly. The root cause of her distraction stood six foot four, and possessed a lean, mean sexiness that wouldn’t quit.

Wolfe.

Tina sighed.

What else?

* * *

Eric was bored. Bored and itchy. There wasn’t a damn thing happening in the house across the street.

Deserting his position behind the lacy curtain at the solitary window in the minuscule living room of the bachelor flat, Eric prowled to the even tinier kitchen and pulled open the door of the compact apartment-size refrigerator.

“And when he got there, the fridge was bare,” he paraphrased in a disgusted mutter.

Heaving a sigh, Eric inventoried the contents of the small unit. A quarter of a loaf of bread, a week past the sell-by date on the wrapper; one slice of lunch meat, curl dried around the edges because he hadn’t rewrapped it properly; a small jar containing two olives, sans pimentos; a carton of milk; and a package of butterscotch Tastykakes.

Hardly the ingredients of a well-balanced dinner, he allowed, sighing once more as he shut the door. He really should have stopped at the supermarket on his way back from the city this morning...but then, Eric conceded, he really hadn’t been concerned with his stomach this morning. His concern had centered on a lower portion of his anatomy.

Tooling a powerful bike through a city the size of Philly required concentration...plus the ability to sit comfortably in the saddle. And, with Tina’s thighs pressed to his rump, Eric had lacked both requirements.

Would she be going to the tavern tonight?

The question had skipped in and out of his mind all through that boring day. From the detailed information he had received on her, compliments of his older brother, Cameron, an FBI agent, Eric knew that Tina generally met her friends at a neighborhood tavern on Fridays, for an evening of fun and frivolity.

Eric likewise knew that the tavern served up a decent charbroiled steak with side orders of tossed salad and Texas fries. He had heard, as well, that the pizza was first-rate. He loved charbroiled steak and Texas fries. Good pizza, too, come to that.

Should he?

His stomach grumbled.

Eric’s smile was slow and feral.

Why the hell not?

Two

He stood out in the human crush like a fiery beacon on a fog-shrouded beach. The indirect amber lighting sparked bronze glints off his gold-streaked mane of tawny hair.

Tina spotted Eric Wolfe the instant she crossed the threshold into the dimly lit taproom. A frisson of shocked surprise rippled the length of her small frame; her step faltered; her thighs quivered with remembered warmth.

Appearing casual, as though her hesitation were deliberate, she studied him while making a show of glancing around the spacious room.

Eric stood propped against one end of the horseshoe-curved bar, his back to the wall. He was dressed casually, quite the same as that morning, but in newer tight jeans and a different, brown-and-white patterned sweater. His right hand was wrapped around a long-necked bottle of beer, which he intermittently sipped as he lazily surveyed the laughing, chattering patrons crowded into the noisy, smoky tavern.

“Do you see them?”

Tina’s body reacted with a slight jolt to the intrusive sound of Ted’s voice too close behind her. Them? She frowned. Oh, them! Reminded of her friends, Tina dragged her riveted gaze from the alluring form at the end of the bar and transferred it to the far corner of the room, where she and her friends usually congregated at two tables shoved together.

They were there, in force, all eight of them. Two of the women and one of the men had arms raised, hands waving, to catch her attention.

“Yes,” she finally answered. “There in the back, at the same old stand.”

“Here, let me go ahead,” he said, moving in front of her. “I’ll clear the way.”

Following in Ted’s footsteps, weaving in and out and around tables and the press of bodies standing by, reminded Tina of the ride that morning, and the man in command of the bike. She slid a sidelong glance at the bar, blinked when she saw the empty spot at the end of it, then crashed into a beefy man who had just shoved his chair away from a table and was half in, half out of his seat.

Yelping, the man stumbled backward. His shoulder collided with Tina’s chest, knocking the breath from her body and sending her reeling. Oblivious to the mishap behind him, Ted plowed on toward the corner and their friends. Backpedaling, Tina careered off another patron and emitted a muffled shriek as she felt herself begin to go down.

A hard arm snaked around her waist, breaking her fall, steadying her, shooting fingers of heat from her midsection to her thighs. She knew who her rescuer was an instant before his low voice caressed her ears.

“Don’t panic, thistle toes.” His voice was low; his arm was strong, firm. “You’re all right.”

Tina didn’t know if she felt insulted or amused by Eric’s drawled remark; she did know she felt suddenly overwarm within the circle of his arm—overwarm, yet strangely protected and completely safe.

“Thank...you,” she said, between restorative gulps of breath. “A person could get trampled in this herd.”

Eric’s smile stole her renewed breath. The laughter gleaming in his crystal blue eyes played hell with her still-wobbly equilibrium. A muscle in his arm flexed, sending rivulets of sensation dancing up her spine.

“You’re welcome.” Keeping his arm firmly in place around her waist, he turned his head to make a swift perusal of the room. When his glance came back to her, he arched his eyebrows promptingly. “Where were you heading?”

“Over there,” Tina answered, indicating the front corner with a vague hand motion.

“What happened to your escort?” Eric’s voice conveyed censure for the man’s dereliction of duty in caring for her. “Did he desert you in this zoo?”

“He was clearing the way for me.” Tina’s smile was both faint and wry. Looking at the table, she saw that most of her friends were now on their feet, their conversation animated as they stared back at her. Ted stood next to the table, his expression a study in confusion and consternation.

“Looks to me like your native friends are getting restless,” Eric observed.

“Yes...er, I’d better join them.” Tina took a step, fully expecting him to remove his arm; it not only remained in place, it tightened, like a steel coil anchoring her to his side. He began to move, drawing her with him.

“This time, I’ll run interference.”

Turned out there was no interference to run; Eric’s intimidating size, coupled with his air of self-confidence and determination, had the patrons clogging the spaces between the tables in their haste to get out of his way.

“Tina, what happened?” Ted demanded, eying Eric warily when they reached the table.

“It was nothing,” she replied, trying to make light of the embarrassing incident.

“She could have been injured.”

Tina shivered at the hard condemnation in Eric’s tone, and saw Ted visibly flinch in reaction to the piercing stare from the taller man’s laser-bright eyes. “But I wasn’t,” she quickly inserted. “So let’s forget it.” Forcing a carefree-sounding laugh, she swept her friends with an encompassing look and rushed on, changing the subject. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m starving.”

“Relief’s on the way.” The assurance came from one of the men. “The pizza’s been ordered and should be coming any minute now.”

“Good.” Smile in place, Tina turned back to Eric. “Thank you again. I...” she began, intending to gently but decisively dismiss him.

“We ordered plenty,” a female voice piped in. “Would you care to join us, Mr.—?”

“Eric Wolfe,” he supplied, extending a smile and his right hand to the man closest to him.

“Bill Devine.” Bill grasped Eric’s hand and jerked his head to indicate the woman next to him, the one who had initiated the introductions. “This is Nancy Wagner.”

Nancy...supposedly her best friend! Tina fumed in silent frustration as the round-robin continued.

“Wayne Fritz.”

“Georgine Cutler.”

“Mike Konopelski.”

“Vincent Forlini.”

“Helen Elliot.”

“Louise Parsons.”

“Ted Saunders.”

Eric’s smile vanished as the circle was completed with Ted. His voice took on a hint of disdain; his handshake was insultingly brief. “Saunders.”

A strained silence descended on the group around the table. A red tide rose from Ted’s neck to his cheeks. Tina felt a stab of compassion at his obvious abashment, and a sense of astonishment at Eric’s powerful effect on her friends. Eric had merely repeated Ted’s name, and yet his tone, the look of him, had held the force of a hard body blow.

Tina’s sense of compassion, and her underlying unease, lasted a moment, then dissolved into impatience and annoyance. With his attitude, by his very presence, Eric had thrown a pall over the congenial atmosphere, stifling the fun of the group’s weekly get-together. Growing angry, determined to send him on his way, she opened her mouth to issue polite but pointed marching orders to him. The first word never cleared her lips.

“Heads up, folks!” The warning came from the waiter, who was bearing down on their combined tables, a large tray balanced on the fingertips of both upraised hands. “Pizza!”

The aroma wafting from the steam rising from the pies brought a wash of water into Tina’s mouth. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she had skipped lunch. Tilting her head to look directly at Eric, she managed a parody of a smile, and attempted once more to send him packing.

“Ah...thanks again, I...” And once again she found herself unable to accomplish her goal.

“What do you say, Eric?” Mike—the rat—called from the far end of the table. “There’s plenty of room, and pizza. Wanna join us?”

Apparently the moment of embarrassed silence was over.... Of course, Tina knew too well that her friends were never silenced for very long. They were too exuberant, bursting with youth and the joy of life. Staring into Eric’s alert, watchful eyes, she narrowed her own in a bid to convey her reluctance to have him invade their clannish circle. Her empty stomach lurched at the smile that began in the depths of his eyes an instant before it was reflected in his lazy smile.

“Sure. Why not?” Eric shrugged, setting the muscles in his shoulders and chest into an impressive rippling motion beneath his sweater. “Thanks.”

Ted moved forward to hold a chair for Tina.

Eric moved faster. With a casual-looking, smooth turn of his body, he blocked Ted’s movement. Pulling one chair aside, he kept a firm hold on it while sliding another one out for Tina. The moment she was seated, he dropped into the one he was holding and drew it into the table next to hers. Ted was relegated to the only remaining chair...between Mike and Helen, at the far end of the other table.

“Hope you like your pizza loaded, Eric,” Bill said, grinning. “We ordered the works on both.”

“I like it any way I can get it,” Eric drawled, slanting a hooded, sultry look at Tina that implied something other and much more intimate than pizza. “But I like it best spicy and sizzling hot.”

Denying the flare of response that leapt to life deep inside her, Tina glared a warning at him before turning away.

“So what are we waiting for?” Helen wailed from the end of the table. “Serve it up!”

In between bursts of conversation and laughter, the pies were parceled out and demolished. When it became clear that appetites were still unsatisfied, more pizza and fresh drinks were ordered. It was a normal Friday night.

Not quite normal, Tina mused, squirming in the allotted space afforded her between Eric on one side and Vincent on the other. On a normal Friday night, she could relax away the tensions of the workday, not have the tension increased by the sensations instilled by a hard thigh pressing against her leg, a muscled shoulder nudging her arm, a pair of crystalline blue eyes probing into her thoughts.

Tina’s appetite for pizza deserted her, replaced by a different, sharper hunger below her stomach. Forcing herself to chew and swallow the food she no longer desired, and refusing to acknowledge the sensual craving, Tina managed to consume two slices of the pie without choking.

Next to her, Wolfe wolfed down half a dozen slices between pulls on another beer. Nothing wrong with his appetite, she thought, sliding a wry look at him.

Correctly interpreting her expression, Eric grinned, and once again set his shoulder and chest muscles into action with a careless shrug.

Tina shot an arched look back at him.

“I was hungry,” he said, pressing his hard thigh more firmly against hers. “Still am,” he went on, in a lower, breathy murmur. “But not for pizza.”

Shock—or something—zigzagged through Tina. She went cold, stiff as a board, outside—and hot, soft as warmed satin, inside. The sensation of craving deep within her contracted into a tight mass of need, expanding the sense of shock to the farthest reaches of her body and mind.

What was happening to her? she marveled in confused silence. What kind of sensual power did Eric Wolfe possess to so effortlessly affect her in this manner? She hadn’t experienced such a compelling carnal compulsion since—

Tina’s mental process stalled, then raced forward, blurting the truth into her disbelieving consciousness. Never before in her life had she experienced such a depth of carnal compulsion. Not even with her husband. Not on his most potent night, or day, had Glen ever managed to arouse her in body or mind to the degree that Eric Wolfe had accomplished with smoldering glances, murmured innuendos and the relatively minor pressure of his thigh and shoulder against her own.

It was weird. It was scary. It was not to be tolerated, Tina decided, edging closer to Vincent. She didn’t appreciate this hot-and-cold, hard-and-soft reaction to what, in fact, were the blandest of advances.

“Another drink?”

Tina’s thoughts fractured. Blinking, she turned to face Eric, certain her expression was every bit as blank as her mind. “Ah...what?”

“Would you like another seltzer?” He inclined his head, indicating the tall glass in front of her, empty except for a wedge of lime and three half-melted ice cubes.

Feeling dull witted, Tina stared at the glass in bemusement, wondering when she had drunk the fizzy water...and why her throat still felt so dry.

“The waiter’s waiting.” Eric’s droll drawl snagged her attention. “Would you like another?”

“No. Thank you.” Tina shook her head. She felt suddenly tired, drained by the interior havoc created by this too-attractive, too-sexy, too-close man. “It’s been a long day.” Beginning with a short, wild ride, she added to herself. “I’d like to go home.”

“I’ll take you.”

On that silver-and-black monster? Tina stifled the question, and shook her head again. “No, you won’t,” she said with tight asperity. “I came with Ted, I’ll go home with him.”

“Yes, but when?” Eric sent a pointed glance at Ted, then back to her.

Leaning forward, she gazed down the length of the tables to where Ted was engaged in a heated political discussion with Helen, Mike and Louise. At that moment, the waiter set a full mug of beer in front of him. Obviously Ted hadn’t given a thought to leaving yet; it was still early, after all.

“Whenever.” Tina lifted her shoulders in what she hoped conveyed an attitude of indifference she was far from feeling. “I think I will have another seltzer, after all.”

* * *

Cool. Christina Kranas was one cool cookie.

Interesting, Eric mused, how the so-very-cool cookie called Tina could activate his personal heat button. Concealing a sardonic smile, he turned away and raised a hand to attract the waiter’s attention.

After placing her drink order—seltzer? Eric grimaced—he shifted around to her again, only to find that Tina had turned her back to him to join in on a conversation in progress between Vincent and Bill.

Lazing in the chair, Eric monitored the discussion on the pros and cons of the current professional football season, and various teams, primarily the Philadelphia Eagles, while at the same time doing some professional work of his own, that of evaluating the members of Tina’s close-knit group.

They appeared ordinary enough—all-American, clean-cut, ages running from the mid-to late twenties, upper-middle to middle class, well educated, motivated, career minded. Everyday, normal, innocent.

Maybe.

Then again, maybe not. Eric hadn’t remained alive by relying on guesswork. He wasn’t about to begin now. Although he regretted having to do so, he would have to go back to the well of information at the fingertips of one special agent for the FBI, his brother, Cameron Wolfe—referred to by his fellow agents as the Lone Wolfe.

Eric was prepared to endure the ribbing Cameron would most assuredly give him about a member of the force having to once again come begging for assistance from a federal agent. His brother’s teasing was nothing new, and it was a price Eric was more than willing to pay.

Raising his arm, Eric took a small swig from the long-necked bottle, swishing the beer around inside his mouth before letting the brew trickle down his throat. The bottle was his second for the night...his second and his last.

Eric knew better than to overindulge at any time. A soused undercover cop had even less value than a soused anyone else, and was potentially a lot more dangerous...to himself, to the force and to bystanders, innocent or otherwise.

“Aren’t you about ready for another beer, Eric?” Bill asked, almost as if he had tapped into the other man’s thought process. “You’ve been nursing that one since right after you sat down. Hell, the rest of us are on our fourth.”

No kidding? Eric mentally responded, lips curling into a rueful smile. “Two’s my limit,” he said truthfully. “I can’t tolerate more than that, it goes to my head,” he explained, lying without compunction.

“Bummer.” The unsolicited opinion came from Vincent. “I can knock ‘em back all night without getting woozy.”

“Yeah, you just can’t drive,” Bill retorted.

Vincent shrugged. “I don’t have to.” He favored Tina with a sweet smile. “We have a nondrinker in the group.”

Eric had known from the investigative report his brother had provided for him that Tina rarely indulged in any kind of alcoholic drinks, the exception being the occasional celebratory half glass of champagne at holidays, weddings and such. He hadn’t known that she was the designated driver for the less prudent members of her circle of friends. He again arched a brow at her.

“You’re the official D.C., huh?”

Tina frowned. “D.C.?”

“Drunk chauffeur,” he explained, grinning to ease the sting from the expression.

“Hey, I resent that,” Vincent protested, loud enough to be heard over Bill’s eruption of laughter.

“Sorry, no offense meant.” Though Eric offered the apology to Vincent, he kept his gaze steady on Tina.

“I don’t mind.” She was quick to the defense. “It doesn’t happen too often...and they are my friends. And I prefer having them alive.”

“Thatta girl, Tina,” Vincent crowed, raising his frothy mug in salute to her, while leveling a smug look at Eric. “She doesn’t want to see this handsome face and body all torn and mangled in a wreck of metal.”

“Oh, brother.” Bill rolled his eyes.

“No, it’s true,” Tina said, her smile soft, maternal. “I don’t want to ever see any of my friends or anybody else for that matter torn and mangled.”

Eric felt an odd little catch at the base of his throat at the softness of her smile, the caring sound of her voice. It was not the sound or look one would expect from a woman involved, even peripherally, with the pushing of narcotics.

Chill out, Wolfe, he advised himself, taking a sip of the now-warm beer to dislodge the catch. More than most, he knew how deceptive appearances could be.

Take this group, for example, he mused, shifting his eyes from Tina’s tender expression to sweep the occupants of the two tables with a swift but encompassing glance.

They all appeared to be perfectly normal, average, law-abiding citizens. But were they? Ah, there’s the question, Eric thought, appearing quite normal and average himself as he laughed at a quip from Bill. He was in a particularly good position to know that appearances quite often did not reflect reality.

From the bits and pieces he had picked up from the conversations around the table during the demolition of the pizza—which had actually exceeded its reputation—Eric had gleaned the information that the careers of the individuals were diverse, ranging from carpenter to corporate middle manager and several different job descriptions in between, including Tina’s ownership of the florist shop. All quite normal, with such a varied assortment of individuals.

Perhaps. Keeping his expression free of his speculative thoughts, Eric skimmed the faces around him. But on the other hand, he reasoned, for all he and the world knew, this varied assortment of individuals with diverse career pursuits might well be in the business of supplementing their incomes with the profits garnered by dealing in illegal substances.

Of course, the world would continue to revolve in its ignorance. Eric fully intended to glean the necessary information, first thing in the morning, or as soon as Cameron could gather it for him.

The search might prove fruitless. Eric hoped it would; he was enjoying their company. Nevertheless, the investigation and follow-up would be done, whether the results were good, bad or merely indifferent.

Meanwhile, there was a question about Tina. A very big, very unsavory question.

Was she mixed up in a narcotics mess?

Her attractive peal of laughter drew Eric’s attention—and his hooded eyes—to her profile. She was looking at Nancy at the end of the second table, laughing appreciatively at whatever the other woman had said. Once again he felt that odd catch in his throat.

Why did she have to be so damned appealing? Eric asked himself, studying her with an appearance of lazy disinterest. The problem was, there wasn’t a thing lazy or disinterested about his perusal of her.

Merely looking at Tina reactivated the memory of her slender thighs banding his hips and posterior, driving a wedge of heat to the apex of his thighs.

Damn. He was hard. Eric drew a long, slow breath and shifted unobtrusively in the chair, easing his leg to the side, away from the too-enticing touch of hers.

What was it about this particular woman? he wondered, sketching his gaze over Tina, from the top of her shimmering blond hair to the slender ankles beneath the hem of her wool slacks, lingering on the gentle curves in between.

She was attractive.... Okay, she was more than attractive, he conceded. Her petite frame held infinite allure. Her face, though not classically beautiful, was delicately featured, lovely, with that mass of honey blond hair contrasted with dark brown eyes and brows and an abundance of long lashes above a small, straight nose and a delectable pair of lips made for crushing by a man’s passion-hardened mouth.

Eric swallowed a groan and shifted again. What in hell was he doing to himself? Now he was not only hard, he was hot and uncomfortable, and he had completely lost the thread of the ongoing conversation.

Maybe it was time to cut out of here, he thought. Get some fresh air. Get some rest. Get a grip.

Lifting a hand to his mouth, Eric covered a manufactured yawn. “Well, I don’t know about the rest of you folks,” he announced, pushing his chair back away from the table, distancing himself from Tina. “But I’m ready for bed.”

“Yeah, me too,” Bill said, stifling a genuine yawn. “I’ve got to work tomorrow.”

Three of the others agreed that it was time to leave, since they also had to work. The remaining members of the group protested. Tina stayed silent, but stared at Ted in mute supplication.

“But it’s not that late,” Helen pointed out.

“Only a little after twelve,” Mike said, glancing at his watch.

“We can stay for a while,” Ted insisted, seemingly unconscious of the appeal in Tina’s eyes. “You’re not ready, are you, Tina?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, Ted.” Though she smiled, she also sighed. “I’m tired, and I have a lot of orders to get out early tomorrow morning.”

Ted frowned.

Figuring it was worth one more shot, Eric spoke up. “I can take Tina along with me, Ted, if you want to stay. I live right up the street from her.”

“You do?”

Though Ted asked the question, all the others looked at Eric in surprise.

“Yes.” Eric smiled. “I moved into the neighborhood a couple of days ago.”

“Well...” Ted began uncertainly.

“No.” Tina’s smile was pleasant, but her tone was adamant. “We can stay for a little while, Ted.”

Good-nights were exchanged, and Eric turned to leave. As he did, he caught the glow of triumph gleaming in the brown depths of Tina’s eyes.

Think you’ve won, do you? A grin twitched Eric’s lips as he strode for the exit. Tina, my sweet, all you’ve won is a minor skirmish, he told her in silent amusement.

We’ll see who wins the war.

Three

The city transit bus ran over a pothole. The resulting bump shuddered through the vehicle and the few remaining passengers still on board near the end of the line.

The jarring sensation rippled up Tina’s spine to the back of her neck, aggravating the throbbing pain in her temples. The pain had been little more than an annoying ache when she awakened that morning. Not enough sleep, she had thought, dragging her tired body from the bed to the bathroom.

A stinging shower had not revived her lethargic body or relieved the ache in her head. Telling herself that she should have insisted Ted bring her home at a reasonable hour didn’t help much, either. Tina hadn’t insisted; Ted and the others who had remained in the tavern had lingered on long after the rest of their friends had called it a night, talking and drinking, until the bartender had shouted his nightly last-call-for-drinks warning. And even then she had not been able to go directly home, as she had assumed the responsibility of driving Ted and the others to their respective homes.

Then, with the prolonged goodbyes at each successive house or apartment, it had been very late when she finally crawled into bed.

When she left her house that morning, Ted’s car was parked in her driveway. Although Ted had urged her to use it to get to work, Tina had flatly refused, unwilling to take on the added responsibility of driving his fairly new car in the morning and evening rush hours.

And so, in consequence, simply getting herself out of bed and together and to the corner bus stop was like pushing a rope uphill...with her nose.

The thought had sprung to mind, more than once, that perhaps she should have accepted the offer of a lift home last night from her new neighbor. Tina had pushed the thought aside every time it insinuated itself into her consciousness—for what she felt were excellent reasons.

Eric Wolfe was too good to look at, too charming, too...too masculine. The merest consideration of the tall, gorgeous, tawny-haired hunk sent Tina’s pulses into overdrive and her breathing processes into decline, and set her thighs to tingling in remembrance of being pressed to his firm, jean-clad tush.

And it simply was not like her to react in such a manner to a man—any man. Her blatantly sensual response confused Tina; hadn’t her former husband cruelly accused her of being cold, lacking normal sensuality?

Upon long consideration of her unresponsiveness to Glen’s lovemaking, and the attempted advances made by other men since her divorce, hadn’t she been forced to concede to the validity of his claim?

Sadly, Tina had to admit that in all honesty, the answer to her own questions had to be yes.

But then, if Glen’s accusations, and her reluctant agreement with them were accurate, why did her mind persist in envisioning a man she hardly knew? Tina wondered, her headache made worse by the questions hammering at her.

Then, as if mentally dodging the tormenting images of one unmentionable man wasn’t enough, business in the shop had been brisk, demanding her scattered attention. Consequently, her headache had steadily increased throughout the seemingly endless day. And now, past six-thirty in the evening, all she wanted to do was swallow two aspirins, lie down and hopefully escape from her unwelcome contemplation of one particular man, while sleeping off the pounding pain in her head. But first she had to get home.

The bus creaked and groaned to a stop. Tina exhaled a sigh of relief; the next stop was hers. Then again...maybe some exercise in the crisp autumn air would be as beneficial as sleep and painkillers.

“Please wait!” she called to the driver as she jumped from her seat and made a beeline for the closing door. “I want to get off here.”

The driver muttered something in a tone of disgust about passengers dozing past their stops, but nevertheless reopened the exit door. Calling a sweet-voiced thank-you to the driver’s reflection in the rearview mirror, Tina alighted, and not an instant too soon, for the doors swished shut again just as she took a leaping step onto the sidewalk.

Holding her breath, she waited until the exhaust fumes from the departing vehicle had dissipated, then drew in a deep breath of the fresh evening air.

* * *

Eric noticed Tina walking toward him when she got to about the middle of the block. Sitting on his bike across the street from her stop, he had been watching for her for twenty-odd minutes. After nearly an hour spent that morning on the phone with his brother, with almost half of it listening to Cameron’s drawling-voiced heckling, then sitting all day fruitlessly watching the house across the street from his apartment, Tina Kranas was a delightful sight for his numbed mind and tired eyes.

Of course, with her lovely face and enticing body, the sight of Tina was also a kick to his lately reactivated libido.

Kick-starting the engine, he cruised down the street until he was opposite her, then making a U-turn, he glided up to the curb to keep pace alongside her.

“Hey, lady, want a lift?” he called over the growl of the powerful machine.

Tina tossed him a quick look, then, just as quickly, turned away to stare straight ahead. “No, thank you,” she said, in a voice also raised above the bike’s rumble. “I’d rather walk.”

“All the way to the restaurant?” His question got its intended result—her attention.

Coming to an abrupt stop, Tina swung around to frown at him. “Restaurant?” she repeated. “What restaurant?”

Eric killed the engine before answering. “The one out on the highway with the Colonial name and atmosphere—The Continental Congress Inn.”

“But why would I walk all the way out there?” she demanded, her frown deepening.

“To have dinner with me?” Eric answered, in all apparent innocence.

“Dinner?”

Eric couldn’t deny the soft smile that teased his lips; she looked so darned cute in a state of bemusement. “Yeah, you know, food, drink, congenial conversation.”

Tina sighed and raised a hand to massage her temple. “I have a headache.”

Eric suppressed a grin. “I haven’t asked you to go to bed with me,” he said solemnly, “only to dinner.”

She gave him a wry look and slowly shook her head from side to side. “I really don’t think...”

That’s as far as he let her go. “You’re not hungry?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Please come,” he said in a coaxing tone, once again interrupting her. “I made reservations.”

Tina stared at him for long seconds, then heaved another, defeated-sounding sigh. “Oh, all right,” she said. “I skipped lunch, and I am hungry.”

Despite her less-than-enthusiastic acquiescence, Eric felt a rush of elation. Before she had a chance to change her mind, he steadied the bike and leaned forward, making room for her on the saddle. “Hop on,” he said, glancing at his watch. “The reservation is for seven, and it’s five-to now.”

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