A sizzling fan-favorite tale from New York Times bestselling author Lori Foster

After a blaze on his block results in an overturned Dumpster, firefighter Harris Black finds a shoebox filled with striking nudes and a handwritten note admitting to the woman’s love for… him? Who is the enigmatic woman in the photos, and how does she know him so well? His next door neighbor and best friend, P.I. Clair Caldwell, is the perfect person to help him solve the mystery. Except that Clair is already more involved than he ever could have guessed…

Uncovered

Lori Foster

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Ashley Carter.

What a wonderful, sweet and very beautiful young lady you are.

I’m so glad you’re a part of our lives!

Love ya,

Lori

CONTENTS

Cover

Back Cover Text

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CCHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

Excerpt

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

BECAUSE IT WAS DRIZZLING out, Harris Black pulled on a windbreaker before he headed outside to jog. Streetlamps left long slithery ribbons of light across the wet blacktop drive. After the heat of the mid-August day, the light rain had a sauna effect, making the air downright steamy.

He preferred jogging at night for two reasons: less human and automotive traffic, and Clair Caldwell.

Clair lived in the apartment building across the lot and always joined Harris in his evening run. For a dozen different reasons, Harris liked her a lot.

Unlike most women, Clair enjoyed the same things he enjoyed—televised sports, running, and junk food. Not once had she ever forced him to sit through a romantic comedy, thank God. But once, on a lazy Saturday afternoon, they’d watched the entire Alien series, back to back, without budging from the couch.

Clair’s job fascinated him. When two well-respected private investigators relocated their offices close to Chester, Ohio, the town they lived in, Clair had jumped at the chance to work for them as a receptionist. She was an adventurous sort and enjoyed the excitement of the job. But her duties went beyond secretarial. She was a computer guru, helping with online investigations, and an all around know-it-all. She always had entertaining stories to share.

By the same token, she liked to hear about his work and his friends. Being a firefighter left him open to a lot of bawdy jokes, and Clair seemed to know them all. She teased him about the fires he put out, the length of his hose, and his specialized gear. But when he was serious, she was too, automatically picking up on his moods in a way no one else ever had. Even with his best friends, Buck, Ethan and Riley, he had to put on the occasional front. No one wanted a morose or moody friend, even if he’d just spent hours fighting a fire that sometimes didn’t have the best conclusion. They always wanted to joke him into a better mood.

Not Clair. Once, after a really grueling car fire that resulted in two deaths, Clair had just sat beside him on the couch and held his hand. They’d stared at the television, but Harris knew neither of them was really paying any attention to the movie.

What mattered most about Clair, though, was the no-pressure tone of their relationship. He saw her when he wanted to, yet he never felt he had to call. Oddly enough, because of that, he called and hooked up with her often.

They hung out without any implied intimacy to muddy the waters. She didn’t care if he shaved or if he ate Twinkies for lunch or if he stayed out all night with the guys. At first, her disinterest had bugged him, but after Ethan and Riley had up and married, Harris became leery of smiling women—and with good reason. The females had detected a nonexistent pattern of matrimony, and they pushed him constantly, to the point that he’d about given up dating.

Which meant he was celibate and that sucked, but it beat dodging topics of “happily ever after.” Nothing messed up good sex like a woman grasping too far into the future.

With Clair, sex was never an issue. It just didn’t come up. They were friends, totally at ease with each other, but neither of them ever crossed the line. It was such a relaxing relationship that he spent more time with Clair than with his buddies. Of course, Ethan and Riley now preferred the company of their wives, anyway.

As Harris stepped out from beneath the building’s overhang, a fat raindrop landed on his nose. Given the heavy static in the air, he knew it’d be storming before they finished their run. He sprinted across the lot at the same time that Clair’s doors opened and she strolled outside. Harris stared toward her with a smile.

Her personality put her somewhere between an egghead and a jock; she loved sports of all kinds, and was almost too smart for her own good. But no matter what the situation, and despite a lack of feminine flair, Clair always looked stylish. Granted, it was her own unique style, but her appearance was always deliberate, not one created out of lack of taste or time.

A few weeks ago she’d cut her glossy, dark brown hair shorter, and now she wore it in a stubby ponytail that looked real cute. She’d attached an elasticized band to her black-framed, oval glasses to hold them on her head while she ran. Somehow, on Clair, the look of an athletic librarian worked.

With her hair pulled back that way, Harris noticed for the first time that she didn’t have pierced ears. In fact, he realized he’d never seen Clair with jewelry of any kind. Odd. In this day and age, he thought every grown woman had her ears, if not other body parts, adorned. But then he’d always known Clair was different from other women.

At five feet five inches tall, she would be considered medium height except that she was all legs. Very long, sexy legs that even in clunky running shoes looked great. Tonight she had those gams displayed in comfortably loose, short shorts. Like Harris, she’d made a concession to the rain and wore a nylon pullover.

Harris looked up at the black sky. There was no moon, no stars to be seen through the thick clouds. Branches on the trees bent beneath an angry wind. Debris scuttled across the road. “Looks like we’ll get one hell of a storm tonight.”

“Backing out on me, sugar? Afraid you’ll melt in the rain?” She swatted him on the ass. Hard. Then took off.

Grinning, Harris followed. “Paybacks are hell, sweetheart.”

To tease him, she put a little extra sway in her backside for a few steps, then she got serious again. They ran side by side, silent except for the slapping of their sneakers on the damp ground and the soughing of their steady breaths. Within fifteen minutes, the drizzle changed into a light rain. Clair said nothing, so Harris didn’t either. He could take it if she could.

After about a mile, Harris glanced toward her. She wore a concentrated expression, and her short ponytail, now darker with rain, bounced in time to her long stride. “Anything interesting happen at work today?” he asked.

She scrunched up her brow. “Dane caught a guy screwing around on his wife.” Disgust dripped from her tone. “Dane was pissed when he came in to file it. Said the wife was real sweet and better off without the guy, but that she was bawling her eyes out.”

“Shame.” Harris didn’t want to marry, but if he ever did, he knew he’d be a faithful hound. He thought spouses who cheated were lower than slugs. If you wanted to screw around still—as he did—then you shouldn’t say the vows.

Clair pushed a little harder, her feet eating up the ground with a rhythmic slap, slap, slap. “I wouldn’t cry.” Her hands balled into fists and she picked up her pace even more until they were running instead of jogging.

“What would you do?”

The seconds ticked by and she slowed, gradually going loose and limber once again. With an evil, anticipatory grin, she said, “I’d take a ball bat to him. Then I’d leave him.”

“Effective.” Harris laughed. “But I think that’s illegal.”

“Yeah. Well, I’d find some way to make him pay—”

A slash of white lightning illuminated the entire area, followed by a crack of thunder that seemed to rip the night. They both pulled to a startled halt.

“Wow.” Clair propped her hands on her knees, breathing hard, wide-eyed in awe of Mother Nature’s display.

“This is nuts. Come on.” Harris grabbed her arm and hauled her toward the main street. “Time to head back.” Normally they’d take the long route to extend their jogging time, but now Harris just wanted to have Clair safely out of the storm.

She didn’t protest, but then that was another of Clair’s assets—sound common sense. He’d found it rare for people to have both book smarts and everyday logic. But Clair had both, which was another reason he liked her so much.

They were within minutes of their apartments when the rain turned into a deluge, soaking them through to the skin in a matter of seconds, making visibility nil. The sewers couldn’t handle the flow and the streets filled like creek beds, washing icy water up past their ankles. With the help of the wind, the rain stung like tiny needles, making Harris curse. Trying to protect Clair with his body, he steered them toward a closed clothing shop and into a dark, recessed doorway. The opening was narrow, forcing them close together. Clair didn’t seem to notice the intimate proximity.

Her hair was plastered to her skull, her entire body dripping. She shivered, but she didn’t complain. “You think it’ll let up soon?”

Another fat finger of lightning snaked across the ominous sky. The accompanying thunder shook the ground beneath them. “No. But we’ll wait here a few minutes to see.”

With a sigh, Clair pulled off her glasses, now beaded with rain. Lifting her pullover, she located a dry patch on her T-shirt beneath, and wiped them off. In the process, Harris got a peek at her belly. Not much of a peek, considering it was dark as Hades and she stood so close her elbows kept prodding him. He narrowed his eyes, straining to see her better.

She noticed him peeking—and flashed him, yanking both her pullover and tee above her breasts for a single split second. Startled, Harris shot his gaze up to her face.

She grinned. “There, did that take care of your curiosity?”

He almost strangled on his tongue. “No.” It took his brain a moment to assimilate what he’d seen, and then he asked, “Is that a sports bra?”

Laughing, Clair elbowed him, harder this time so that he grunted in discomfort. He crowded closer still, stealing some of her warmth and hindering her more violent tendencies.

“Yeah, as concealing as a bathing suit top, so put your eyeballs away. You didn’t think I’d actually show you anything important, did you?” She tsked. “The rain must have made your brain soggy.”

“I saw a flash of white,” Harris argued, “and didn’t know if it was boobs or cloth. Can’t blame a guy for wanting clarification.”

“I don’t have enough boob to go around showing them off.”

In the crowded confines, with icy rain blowing in against his back, there was no way to get comfortable. Harris flattened one hand on the wall behind her and leaned in a bit, inching farther away from the storm—and closer to Clair. With his gaze zeroed in on her chest, he murmured, “You have enough,” and he meant it.

“Spoken like a loyal friend. Thanks.” And before Harris could say more on that topic, she went on tiptoe to look over his shoulder. “Hey, the rain’s letting up a little. Looks like the worst of the storm is moving away from us. Let’s get home before we freeze.”

The rain was cold, and with it, the temperature had dropped by at least ten degrees. Not that Harris was especially chilled. Discussing a woman’s upper works with her, even a woman he wasn’t intimate with, had a decisive effect on his libido. Given that the woman was also pressed up against him—well, he was having some surprisingly lascivious thoughts. But then, he’d been on a month-long, self-imposed dry spell. Under those circumstances, just about anything could turn him on.

Maybe on his next day off he’d have to break down and take his chances with a little one-on-one comfort of the female kind.

Together, he and Clair continued on their way, not jogging now, but not exactly taking their time either. Since Clair stayed silent, Harris had too much time to think. About her boobs.

He gave her body a surreptitious look without turning his head. The cold had tightened her nipples, and with her clothes wet and clinging, there was no way to miss it. His pulse sped up a bit, doing more to warm him than their jaunt.

The snug sports bra didn’t allow for much jiggling, but he judged her to be a B cup. Plenty enough there to fill his hands. Well, not his hands, but some other guy’s…No, he didn’t like that thought either. Not that he had any claim on Clair other than friendship. But the idea of her snuggled up and intimate with some faceless, nameless bozo didn’t sit right. Harris shoved the disturbing image away and concentrated on her comment.

Why did women assume men were only drawn to pinup models? A woman was a woman was a woman. Each different, each sweet and soft in her own way.

“Hurry up, slowpoke. I swear, my granny could move faster than you.”

Maybe not so sweet, Harris admitted to himself with a grin. But definitely soft. He fell behind another step and took in the sight of Clair’s full bottom. No lack of curves there. Yep, even egghead jocks were soft when you looked in the right place.

Clair turned to face him, walking backward. “Want a cup of hot chocolate? I’m going to make me some.”

Her glasses were beginning to fog over, her ponytail was more out of its band than in, and water dripped from her ears.

Harris shook his head. “Can’t. I’m on first shift this week. I need to get home, shower, and hit the sack.” As a firefighter, Harris had a rotating schedule. The good part was that every third week he got extra days off, and the third week was rolling around.

“Okay.” They were only feet away from his apartment building. Clair turned back around to head across the street. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Harris took swift advantage. The moment she presented him with the opportunity, he landed a stinging swat on her behind. Given that her shorts were wet, it had a little more impact than he’d intended.

Her hands slapped over her butt in shock. Before her gasp of outrage had a chance to fade away, Harris darted to his side of the street, barely muffling his chuckles. “Good night, Clair!”

He bounded up the steps to his apartment, but waited at the door, watching as he always did until Clair had time to get inside. She rubbed her bottom as she climbed her own steps, muttering and casting him dirty looks. Moments later, a light came on in her living room, then Clair was at the window, waving to him. Harris waved back.

At first, Clair had objected to his protectiveness. But he’d worn her down until now she did the routine by rote. While he waited, she went in and checked out her place, then waved to let him know she was safely inside. Alone.

One of these days she’d have a boyfriend to look after her. But until then, Harris didn’t mind keeping watch. In fact, he insisted on it.

Within half an hour he was showered and stretched out in bed, his hands folded behind his head. He should have been relaxed, but instead his naked body hummed with tension. He listened to the drubbing of rain on the windows, the continual rumble of thunder, and he watched the strobe effect of the lightning on his ceiling.

Storms always made him horny.

Touching women’s butts made him horny.

Was Clair making him…No. He scoffed at himself, even laughed out loud in the silence of his dark room. That was just nuts. He wouldn’t think about her that way.

Determined to get to sleep, he closed his eyes, metered his breathing—and saw again that flash peek of Clair’s belly and sports bra. He groaned, and gave up the fight, allowing himself to ease into a very vivid dream where he stripped Clair naked, kissed her from head to toe, and loved every minute of it. The dream was both disturbing in its intensity and comforting in the rightness of it.

Sometime during the night, the storm knocked out the electricity. His internal clock woke him to a dark house and street, and the continuation of the storm. Without being able to make coffee or catch the morning news, he headed into work early. And good thing, too, because not five minutes after he dashed through the pouring rain into the station, the fire alarm went off. Lightning had struck the back of an abandoned building and someone saw smoke.

When Harris caught the address of the building, his heart shot into his throat. It was his block—right next door to Clair. Not since his first year as a firefighter had he suffered the debilitating effects of fear, but damn it, he felt them now. Even with the drizzling rain, the high wind could spread a fire quickly. Without electricity, Clair might sleep late, unaware of the danger. Worry plagued Harris all the way to the location.

But the moment the fire engine blared onto the street, Harris saw the crowd. Umbrellas formed a large canopy around the area, as if everyone had crawled from their beds and braved the weather for a show. Clair still looked sleep-rumpled under her cheery red umbrella, but she was fully dressed and in charge of things. In typical Clair mode, she urged curious onlookers farther away from possible harm. Harris was so relieved to see her he nearly fell off the truck. But knowing she was safe, he put her from his mind to do the job he’d been trained to do.

The storm was a real bother. Even through his Bunker Gear of fire-retardant jacket and trousers, helmet, and pull-on boots, he got soaked. The fire hadn’t done too much damage yet, mostly to the exterior rear wall where the lightning had hit.

The abandoned structure had been up for lease for over six weeks and wasn’t in the best of shape anyway. There were already broken windows in back and debris everywhere. In the process of putting out the blaze, a forgotten metal Dumpster in the back alley got knocked over. It was packed full, but luckily, not with the type of trash that got more disgusting with time. Mostly papers, probably from the previous businessman. In less than an hour, they had everything taken care of. The rain had let up and the sun even struggled to shine through the gray clouds.

Harris pulled off his helmet, wiping soot and rain and sweat off his face. He was contemplating all the mess, both from the spilled trash and the damage of the fire, when Ethan, a fellow firefighter and one of his best friends, let out a whistle. Harris turned, saw Ethan riffling through a shoebox from the Dumpster, and raised a brow. Usually that absorbed expression on Ethan’s face was reserved for his wife, Rosie. Harris went to investigate.

“Whatcha got?”

Without looking up, Ethan said, “Pictures of a naked woman.”

“No shit?” Harris forgot his fatigue for the moment and muscled his way next to Ethan. Yep, sure enough, that was an unclothed female. A very sexy, naked female. “Wow.”

Harris picked up one photo of her reclining facedown on a twin bed. Her mussed hair was long enough to hide her face, but who cared when she had a beautifully bare backside on display? Harris tried, but he couldn’t look away.

“Check out this one.” Ethan handed him another.

The same woman, judging by the shape of her body, was stepping into the tub. Again, she had her face averted as she moved the shower curtain aside, but this shot showed her entire body in profile. Breasts, belly, long sleek thighs. Harris let out a slow breath. “Hello sweetheart.”

“Wonder if she lives around here,” Ethan commented. “Or maybe she was the last one to lease the building.”

“The last person here was a guy. I never met him, but I saw him occasionally.” Harris peered toward the shoebox Ethan held. “Any more pictures in there?”

“One more—of her pulling on her panties.” Ethan laughed. “You still can’t see her face, but it’s a damn fine rear shot.”

Feeling strangely territorial, though he didn’t know why, Harris snatched the photo away from Ethan. “Let me have that.”

“Hey, I was going to keep it.”

“No way. You’d just show it to Buck and Riley.”

Ethan raised both brows. “So? How come you get to look and we don’t?”

“You must’ve forgotten, but you and Riley are married now.”

“I’m still swimming in marital bliss, so how could I forget?” He grinned as he said that.

“Then think what Rosie will do,” Harris murmured while studying the photo with rising heat, “if she catches you ogling some strange naked woman.”

Looking much struck, Ethan said, “She’d probably kill me. Here.” He shoved the entire shoebox into Harris’s arms. “There are notes and such, too. Maybe an address, since you’re so interested. And so single.”

Wincing, Harris said, “Don’t tell me you’ve taken up the campaign to get me hitched, too?”

“No, I like women too much for that.”

“Ha ha.”

“But Rosie wants you and Buck both married so I can’t be around any of your single female friends.” With a lot of satisfaction, Ethan added, “She’s a jealous little thing.”

“She trusts you.”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t trust the women you two date.” Ethan strode away, giving orders as he went.

Harris didn’t bother to reply to that jab. Buck might still be going strong, but Harris hadn’t dated anyone lately. Rosie could rest easy on that score.

Now the woman in the picture…If he could look her up he just might be interested. Strolling over to lounge against the back wall of the alley, Harris held his helmet under his arm and rummaged through the shoebox. Unfortunately, he didn’t find any addresses, but he pulled out one folded sheet of paper. Confusion reigned around him, but he gave all his attention to the feminine script on the note.

I’m sorry for just leaving a note. I know you wanted me to call, but there’s no point. You’d just try to convince me to go with you, but it’s over. It’s not you, so please don’t think of this as an insult. You knew how I felt all along.

I’m hung up on Harris.

Harris’s eyes widened. Talk about coincidences. How many guys could there be with that name? It wasn’t like a Tom, Dick or Harry.

It’d be tough for any other guy to measure up to him. If being a firefighter isn’t heroic enough…

Harris nearly dropped the shoebox. Coincidence, hell! She was talking about him. Suddenly feeling on display, he glanced around the surrounding area, but no one paid him any attention. The crowd had dispersed. Those who’d stopped to watch the firefighters work were now scuffling back into their homes. The other firefighters were chatting, bitching about the weather, generally just hanging around.

Harris swallowed hard and went back to reading.

…he’s also funny. He makes me laugh all the time. And he’s so generous. You don’t notice it at first, because Harris likes to clown around, but he’s really very sensitive to other people.

No shit? Harris blinked in disbelief. She thought he was sensitive?

He works hard and he’s proud and I love him.

Again, I’m sorry.

She loved him. Wow. Harris looked, but there was no signature, damn it. He turned the note over, but no, it was blank. Who had written it? The idea of a secret admirer tantalized him, made him feel warm and full and anxious. He lifted another photo, the one of her stepping into her panties, and smiled. Sweet. Very sweet.

“Slug. Shouldn’t you be helping out instead of snooping through the garbage?”

Startled by the verbal intrusion, Harris glanced up and got snared in Clair’s disapproving green gaze. Her hair was loose, parted on the side and hanging in blunt lines to just skim the tops of her shoulders. She had her head tipped forward a bit to look at him over the rim of her glasses. Her eyes were twinkling at the pleasure of insulting him. Obviously, she didn’t consider him sensitive.

“It’s not garbage,” he grumbled.

“No?” She went on tiptoe to peer over his shoulder.

Harris held the photo out of reach. “You don’t want to see this, Clair.”

“I do too.”

“I doubt that.” He grinned, imagining her reaction if he showed her. “They’re photos.”

“That’s private. You shouldn’t be looking either.”

“Someone threw them away.” He shrugged. “Free for the pickings.”

Hands on her hips, she demanded, “Let me see, Harris.”

Prodded by the devil in him, Harris decided why not? With a flourish, he handed her the photo.

Her face went beet-red and she gasped so hard she nearly strangled. “Harris!”

“Hey, I’m not the photographer.” He winked. “I just found it.”

“That’s…that’s obscene.”

“You really think so?” He took it back from her and stared some more before murmuring with great sincerity, “Nice ass.”

“Pig.”

Laughing, Harris searched through the box. “Here’s another.” He handed her the one of the woman getting into the shower. In that pose, she had one shapely leg bent, one arm raised. Gorgeous.

Clair narrowed her eyes and accepted the photo. After several moments scrutinizing it, a small frown pulled down her brows. But at least this time she didn’t choke.

“And one more.” Harris gave her his favorite, the one of the woman reclined in bed. He thought she might be sleeping, she looked so boneless and relaxed. Her back was smooth and graceful, rising up to a plump rump, then tapering down again to long thighs and shapely calves.

Clair stared so long that Harris cleared his throat. “Anytime you’re done with it…”

“Oh, sorry.” She looked bothered about something, then glared. “I can dispose of those for you if you want.”

“Not on your life.” Harris held the photos protectively out of her reach. “I’m keeping them.”

Clair’s mouth fell open. “Keeping them? But that’s…lecherous! You don’t even know that woman.” And then in a smaller voice: “Do you?”

“Nope. But I know she has a major case for me.” He tapped the letter. “Says so right here.”

Clair went white. She tried to grab the note. “You just said you don’t know her.”

“I don’t. Yet. But she obviously knows me.” Harris opened the paper and pointed out his name. “Harris the firefighter. Gotta be me, right?” He folded it and put it back in the shoebox for safekeeping. “So actually, this pertains to me. I have a right to this stuff.”

“You’re sick.”

“I’m in lust.” Harris touched her nose. “But then, you wouldn’t know about that, would you, Clair?”

Her back snapped straight. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying that you don’t date much. Now if you’ll excuse me, I gotta get to work.”

Smiling sweetly, Clair said, “Want me to hold that shoebox for you?”

“No.” Harris laughed at her fallen expression. “I’m going to run it over to my place and lock it inside, safe and sound.”

The way her jaw worked, Harris thought she might be grinding her teeth. “So you can stare at the photos and fantasize tonight?”

“Don’t sneer, Clair. It makes you look like a prude.” As he walked away, Harris heard Clair call him a choice name. He glanced around in time to witness her stomping toward her apartment. Too bad Clair didn’t understand about lust. If she ever turned all that emotion loose in the sack, she just might be magnificent.

Harris caught his train of thought and growled. He’d better find his mystery lady soon, because lack of nookie was making him crazed.

He needed a woman—his mystery woman. Sexy. Provocative. And she thought he was sensitive. What more could a guy ask for?

CHAPTER TWO

THANKS TO THE DUAL effects of worry and mortification, Clair suffered through an endlessly long, sleepless night and was dragging as she headed into work the next day.

Thank God Harris hadn’t recognized her.

Just thinking about his expression as he’d stared at her—Clair shuddered in agonizing horror. This was too unbelievable. If she ever found Kyle, the jerk she’d dated, the jerk who’d taken those pictures without her knowing, she’d strangle him.

During the darkest hours of the night, memories had flooded back on Clair, memories of Kyle begging her to let him photograph her, and the distinct recollection of her saying a firm, unequivocal no.

But she also recalled him showing off a teeny tiny camera, one he used to take photos without anyone knowing. At the time, he’d claimed it was to get candid, rather than posed shots of people for his gallery. And he had taken some, but to her knowledge, he’d never shown one without a signed permission slip and financial compensation.

At least he hadn’t put hers in the gallery. But to throw them away behind the building…had the idiot never heard of a paper shredder? And to include her notes with them! Clair pulled into the lot where she worked and took a moment to cover her face with her hands. The only saving grace was that she hadn’t signed any of the notes. If Harris had seen her signature at the end…Well, she honestly didn’t know what he’d do.

It had taken Clair a moment to realize she was the subject of the photos. Her hair had been longer then, and her face hidden. But she had recognized herself. Harris, however, had been utterly oblivious to that fact. He plain and simply didn’t see her as a sexual woman, which emphasized how little attention he paid to her femaleness.

That had been really frustrating over the past few months, but now she was more than a little grateful. She only hoped he never showed the photos to anyone. Even if no one ever guessed her identity, she couldn’t bear the thought of people seeing her in the raw.

Because moping wasn’t something she enjoyed, she shoved her car door open and stepped out into the blistering day. If the humidity had been bad before the storm, it was ten times worse now. Immediately her shirt stuck to her back, and even through her dressy, flat-heeled sandals, she could feel the scorching heat of the blacktop. As a concession to the weather, she wore a sleeveless cotton shirt and loose, flowing skirt. She slung a canvas bag over her arm and started in.

She’d use the day at work as a distraction to get her mind off nude photos, thickheaded men, and her jackass ex-boyfriend. At the moment, there wasn’t anything she could do about any of them, so it was best not to dwell on it.

Cool air-conditioning rolled over her the moment she entered the building. Though she was early, Dane and Alec, the P.I.s she worked for, already had a client in the inner office with them. They’d relocated from the city so they’d have more free time for their wives and kids. But it seemed their small town was rife with drama, and they often stayed busy. At least here, though, the cases were seldom all that threatening.

Clair could hear their quiet conversation, see the movement of male bodies through opaque glass. She put her purse away and turned her computer on, then went straight to the coffeepot.

She already had things underway when Dane stuck his head out the door. “Clair, would you mind bringing in some coffee?”

“Not at all. It’ll be done in two more minutes.”

“Thanks.” He ducked back inside.

Making coffee wasn’t in her job description, but small requests never offended Clair. It helped that Dane and Alec were consummate gentlemen and didn’t take her, or her talents, for granted. As often as not, they carried coffee to her.

A few minutes later, with sugar, powdered creamer and three mugs of steaming coffee on a tray, Clair used her foot to tap at the door. Alec opened it. He looked darker and more intense than usual, but then Alec could be a poster model for tall, dark and dangerous.

He gave her a nod. “Nothing like caffeine to kick off the day.”

Clair smiled. “Tough case?”

“Different, that’s for sure.” He took the tray from her and she started to exit the office.

“Hey, Clair.”

At the sound of Harris’s voice, Clair froze in midstep. Oh no. Please, no. Slowly, wincing with dread, she pivoted stiffly to face him.

He was at Dane’s workstation—the cursed photos spread out on the surface.

Oh. Dear. God.

Heat rolled from her chest right up to her hairline, making her dizzy with the shock of it. For a single moment, Clair thought she might faint, especially when Dane picked up the shower shot for a closer look.

Alec rejoined the men, staring at her naked body with a frown. “Do you see any distinguishing marks? Moles or scars or anything?”

Clair’s knees trembled, threatening to buckle.

“No. No jewelry either.”

Did she have time to run out and get her ears pierced?

Dane shook his head. “Just lots of smooth skin. Maybe we should have these photos blown up.”

Clair staggered back against the door. Blow them up? Blow them up! As in, make them…bigger? Her throat closed and she couldn’t draw breath, couldn’t say a single word. She tried to get out a denial, to dissuade them from that horrendous plan, but all that emerged was an appalled squeak.

Harris glanced her way, did a double take, then rushed toward her. “Damn, Clair, you okay?” He caught her arms and physically forced her into a chair. Good thing too, because she was about ready to sink to the floor. Maybe through the floor if she got lucky.

Over his shoulder, Harris said to Alec, “I think she’s been in the heat too long this morning. You got a cold cloth or something?”

Alec was a man of action. Within seconds, he had a pad of paper towels, dripping with icy water from the rest room.

All three big men loomed around her, Harris trying to slap the wet towels against her face, Dane fanning her with a stack of papers, and Alec taking her pulse.

They’d seen her naked.

It wasn’t to be borne. Never in her life had she known such bone-deep humiliation, and it numbed her.

Harris reached for the top button of her blouse. “I’m going to loosen her clothes. She still looks too pale.”

That brought Clair around. She shot to her feet, staggered, got steadied by six big hands, and shoved away from them all. She waved a fist with credible intent. “Touch my clothes and I’ll brain you.”

Harris straightened. He still looked concerned. “You’re all right now?”

She wanted to die. “I, uh…you were right. It was just the heat. I’m fine.”

Dane cocked a brow. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

Clair stared at him, aghast that he’d come to such a conclusion.

Alec nodded. “Celia stayed light-headed when she was pregnant. Especially when she got too warm.”

Laughing, Harris said, “Clair’s not even dating, so unless you can get pregnant from a toilet seat, I don’t think that’s the problem.” He again tried to reach for her top button.

Clair swatted at him. “I’m not preg—”

“She dates,” Dane argued. “Okay, not much, but I know a few months back she was seeing some guy.”

Harris scowled. “She was?” He turned to Clair. “When were you dating? Who was he?”

Ohmigod. No way in hell was Clair going to talk about Kyle. Not with his photographic efforts spread out in all their lack of glory on Dane’s desk. She swallowed, found her voice, and rasped, “Enough. From all of you.”