Payne watched Emma angle the Hummer back into the parking lot at The Dove’s Nest, then swiftly exit and hurry up the steps before he could follow her. He could have of course, had he wanted to run, but he figured he’d done a good enough job today of rattling her.

Not to mention himself, but that was a thought for a later time.

Like never.

Self-examination wasn’t a favorite or frequent pastime and Payne had become an expert at avoiding it.

Though she had tried to alternately annoy and ignore him out of existence the rest of the morning and afternoon, Payne had continued to follow her. Granted trying to find the watch and keep up with her wasn’t going to be an easy feat, but he couldn’t think of any other way to handle things. He needed to know where she’d been--that was actually a handy perk for himself because he didn’t duplicate her efforts--and if she happened to stumble upon a vital piece of information, then he wanted to know about it.

Despite his late start and his search for Emma-the-pain-in-the-ass, he’d managed to cover a good bit of ground today. Though she didn’t realize it, of course, in a round about way, she’d actually done him a bit of a favor. In his ever-maddening search for her, he’d canvassed the stores she’d missed, so technically speaking, he was ahead of the game. He’d considered pointing this out to Mistress Logic, but was afraid he’d be provoked into kissing her again, so he’d decided against it.

With his world in relatively good order, he’d spent the rest of his day making sure that she was just as miserable and irritated as he’d been this morning when she’d first let the air out of his tires, and if he enjoyed himself--immensely--in the process, well then that was all the better.

Payne felt his lips form a self-satisfied smile and strolled up the steps to the front porch. Norah’s sister and her large pig--once again garbed in matching ensembles, he noted with a wry twist of his lips--sat in a pair of wicker rockers on the far end of the porch. He mentally shook his head, wondering a.) what would make a person want to own bacon for a pet? and b.) have the further effrontery to wrestle it into clothes? It took all types, he supposed.

“Good afternoon,” she called with a welcoming smile. “Having a good time in Gettysburg so far?” The ridiculous-looking pig snorted, seemingly echoing the question. Today she and Matilda were outfitted in blue velour spandex, which did nothing to disguise their considerable girth.

Payne nodded. “I am, thanks.”

“Glad to hear it.” She took a deep breath and gazed out over the grounds as though she saw something he’d failed to notice. “It’s been a lovely day.”

It had been colder than a witch’s tit in a brass bra, but he didn’t disagree with her, merely smiled and walked inside. A merry blaze burned in the fireplaces in dining room to the left and the parlor to the right, sending a blanketing warmth from one side of the house to the other.

Looking warm and happy, Harry stood at the antique check-in desk and spoke amiably to someone on the phone, presumably a potential customer. He offered a kind grin and waved at Payne as he walked in and, though it could have only been a product of his imagination, Harry had seemed genuinely happy to see him. Another perk to B&B service, Payne decided, making a mental note to consider one as opposed to a hotel the next time he traveled.

He supposed he’d always considered them a couple’s- only kind of establishment--and he’d never been a couple’s-only kind of guy--but if this was the standard level of service, then he didn’t give a damn if he traveled with a significant other or not.

For whatever reason, an image of Emma’s elfin face sprang instantly to mind. He’d spent an exorbitant amount of time studying that profile today, had examined it from various vantage points, but the end result was always the same--he found her breathtaking at any angle.

The clean line of her jaw, the smooth roundness of her cheek, the way her sleek dark brows rumpled into an adorable frown when he said something particularly provoking. Those mesmerizing smoky amethyst eyes had the singular ability to make the air thin in his lungs and deliver a blow to his equilibrium that could figuratively knock him off his feet.

And her mouth.

Sweet Lord.

This morning when he’d snapped and kissed her, Payne had known that he’d made a serious tactical error. She’d tasted like hot tea and oranges and the first feel of those ripe, soft lips against his had made his knees quake and his stomach slide into a violent, unexpected tailspin.

If looking into those eyes the first time had rocked his foundation, then kissing her had fractured it.

While Payne had never been the player Jamie had been before he married, or the girl-magnet Guy’s irreverent Maverick-like style attitude had always drawn, he’d nevertheless had his share of attention from the opposite sex. Quite honestly, he’d gotten more attention than he’d wanted, given that all he was interested in was a thorough tumble and a clean, uncomplicated goodbye immediately afterward.

He had never spent the entire night with a woman and, unless he just completely lost his mind or became incapacitated, never intended to. Aside from being a Bachelor’s League mandate, there was something too intimate about the act. A certain implied trust he’d never achieved.

Like any red-blooded man, he had a considerable sex drive and enjoyed the soft pleasures of a woman’s body as much as the next guy. Furthermore, given his Type-A predilections, the idea of not being at the top of his game in any area was unacceptable.

That included lovemaking.

Over the years he’d amassed quite a repertoire of skills when it came to bed play. Though he looked forward to the promise of an orgasm as much as the next guy, Payne had mastered the art of delaying climax until after his partner--it was bad form to leave a girl in the lurch, after all--and hadn’t suffered any sort of close-call or otherwise in years.

Until today.

Simply kissing Emma Langsford--the bane of his recent existence, of all people--had, unbelievably, initiated the launch sequence and if he hadn’t put her down when he had, Payne grimly suspected he would have made a noticeable mess in his jeans. As it was, she couldn’t have failed to notice the bulge in the front of them because he was relatively certain she’d felt it. Gratifyingly, she’d tried to wiggle closer to him. Payne would have liked nothing better than to have plopped her delectable bottom on top of a display case and taken her until her screaming orgasm milked his loins and she no longer had any doubt that he was in charge. He frowned broodingly.

Clearly she was missing that particular point.

Hours later he still couldn’t explain his actions. One minute he’d been standing there, seething, and the next, when she’d made that ridiculous comment about “climbing up there and clobbering him”--Her? Little, tiny, her an actual match for him?--he’d been struck dumb by the incongruity of it all, and he’d done the first thing which had come to mind. He’d lifted her up and planted a kiss on that arrogant, outrageous, sinfully beautiful mouth of hers.

The new issue, of course, would be not doing it again.

Frankly, for the first time in his life, Payne was worried about keeping his so-called iron will in control. He lost it more times in the space of twenty-four hours as a result of Emma’s interference than he had in his entire life. She was gorgeous and intriguing, witty and ruthless, sexy and vulnerable and something about the combination made him forget to be on guard. Made him want to know her better, of all damn things, when he shouldn’t give a damn about her one way or the other. Made him want to believe in the inherent goodness he saw in her, in addition to the drive.

He wasn’t merely intrigued. Intrigue he could handle. Intrigue left him interested but still able to utilize good judgment. Unfortunately he’d bypassed intrigue and had gone directly into obsessed.

Dangerous waters, he knew, and with every passing minute in her company he felt himself wading further away from the bank of his own self-control.

 

*   *   *

 

Atlanta

 

“Payne’s in trouble,” Jamie announced with a bewildered scowl as he holstered his cell phone. The noise inside Samuel’s Pub, their usual beer and sandwich hang-out, had forced him to take the call outside and he’d only just returned.

Guy looked up from his hot wings and went on instant alert. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t know who this chick is, but--“ he started chuckling “--she’s completely knocked him off his game. She gave him the slip this morning.”

Guy stilled and felt a slow disbelieving smile slide across his lips. “You’re shittin’ me.”

“No, I’m not,” he said, plopping back down into his chair. “Don’t let me forget to take Audrey those hot-wings she asked for,” he said absently. “She’ll kill me if I come back empty-handed.”

He doubted that, but he had witnessed a particularly ugly mood swing from the usually even-tempered Mrs. Flanagan this morning, so he supposed it could happen. People had snapped over less, he knew. “Payne actually told you that? That Emma had given him the slip?”

“Not initially,” Jamie said. “I could tell that he wasn’t in his regular dry ice form, so I kept pushing until he had to tell me.”

That made more sense. Payne actually admitting to a misstep or failure of any kind had to be difficult, especially since to Guy’s knowledge his cool-headed friend had never made a mistake to start with. “How’d she do it?”

“She kept him up all night, waited for him to get in the shower and then made her escape.”

Guy selected an onion ring. “I warned him about her. She’s got a reputation for being ruthless.”

“That could simply be sour grapes from guys she’s bested,” Jamie scoffed, playing devil’s advocate. “You know better than to listen to rumors. Would Hastings have sent her if she wasn’t a good choice?”

He supposed not. Still... Any woman who could trip up Brian Payne bore watching closely. “Has he asked for help?”

Jamie took a pull of his Guinness. “No and I got the impression that he doesn’t want any. I don’t think he wants to utilize our services, doesn’t want to have an unfair advantage.”

Guy smirked and shook his head. Noble bastard. Now that was the difference between the two of them. Were he in Payne’s position, he’d have everybody at Ranger Security stepping up and helping him out. He’d use every possible advantage he had and wouldn’t give a damn whether it was fair or not. He’d complete the mission using any means possible, simply to be done with it. Half of Guy’s mouth hitched up in a grin. But that wasn’t The Specialist’s style. He’d always been so damned good at everything that he hadn’t had to get creative to make the end justify the means, to ensure success.

Another thought struck. “If he doesn’t want out help, why did he call?”

Jamie chuckled. “Why the hell do you think? Just checking in, making sure everything is running smoothly in his absence.”

That figured, not the least bit insulted. Guy knew it was killing him to be away, to surrender control of Ranger Security to the two of them. Payne had always been a control freak, but Guy and Jamie had both noticed that their friend seemed to have gotten worse since Danny’s death.

First he’d thrown himself into getting out of the military and then he’d thrown himself into building Ranger Security and handling the renovations on their building and apartments. Knowing that he’d needed the distraction, he and Jamie had merely stepped back and let Payne manage--it was what he did best, after all. Handling the details had been Payne’s Novocaine. Until he’d found Audrey, sex had been Jamie’s.

Guy had merely plowed ahead and hadn’t looked for a pain-killer. He didn’t deserve one. He just planned to meet each day with the same stoic resolve he had since Danny had died, to deal with having the death of a friend on his hands as a deserved penance for his mistake.

Like Jamie and Payne, he wanted to get his favor to Garrett over with, wanted that last tie to the military and that life he’d had before severed for good, but while he knew that Jamie had found peace after his mission was completed--with Audrey’s help, of course--and suspected that Payne would be able to let go of some of his own guilt as a result of completing his last favor, Guy didn’t hold out any such hope. The ultimate forgiveness would have to come from within and he knew he’d never reach that place. How could he, when things had gone so terribly wrong? When, as senior officer, he’d been the one in charge and had gotten his friend killed?

“Emma Langsford sounds familiar,” Jamie commented.

“Maybe you slept with her,” Guy said, ribbing his friend about his prior sexual habits.

“Shut-up, you bastard,” Jamie told him, chuckling also. “I’m serious. I’ve heard of her.”

“She was Hastings’ go-to girl. Like I said, she developed a reputation for being ruthless, unpredictable and lucky with good instincts.”

Jamie shot him speculative smile. “I remember hearing about her. She reminded me of someone at the time.”

Guy frowned. “How could she remind you of someone when you’ve never met her?”

“I’ve met her type.”

“Her type?”

Jamie took another drink and his lips slid into an unrepentant grin. “Right. She’s just the feminine version of you.”

Guy chuckled, recognizing the truth in that insight. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said.

Jamie grunted. “Let’s just hope Payne isn’t.”