Keep reading for an exclusive sneak peek at Jill’s next book in her New York Times bestselling Heartbreaker Bay series, Hot Winter Nights, on sale fall 2018.
IT TOOK LUCAS KNIGHT longer than it should have to realize he had a woman in his bed, but to be fair, he had a bitch of a hangover.
He took quick stock. One, last night was a complete blur. Two, other than the bundle of sweet, soft curves against him, his head was threatening to secede from the United States of Lucas, and his side hurt like . . . well, like he’d been shot.
It had been two weeks since he’d gotten caught in some crossfire on the job, and he hadn’t yet been cleared for more than light duty—something he’d obviously managed to ignore last night, given that he was palming a nice, warm, feminine ass.
Think, man, he ordered himself. He did remember taking a pain med before going to O’Riley’s Pub to meet up with some friends. A client had been there, someone he’d recently helped save from multimillion-dollar corporate espionage. The guy had ordered shots to toast Lucas and . . . shit. He’d hesitated, knowing better than to mix pain meds and alcohol, but everyone had been waiting on him, glasses in the air. Thinking one couldn’t hurt, he’d knocked back the drink, which had clearly been enough to mess him up big time.
Something that he hadn’t been in years, not since his brother had been killed. Shoving that thought away for another time—or never—Lucas cracked open one eye, but when his retina was stabbed by a streak of sunlight glaring in through the window, he immediately slammed it shut again. Taking a deep breath, he told himself to suck it up, and he opened both eyes this time.
Okay, so he was naked and completely uncovered. The woman snuggled at his side was rolled up in his comforter like a burrito.
What. The. Hell.
But some images from the night before began to filter into his brain. Kicking ass at the pool table and winning two hundred bucks from his boss, Archer, who ran Hunt Investigations, where Lucas worked as a security specialist. Dancing with a sexy brunette. And then making his way upstairs . . . but not alone. His head was pounding too hard to remember more, but clearly the brunette had come home with him. She was cuddled up close, but he couldn’t see her face the way she had the entire blanket wrapped around herself. Just a mass of shiny brown waves peeking out the top.
So not good.
Holding his breath, he slowly pulled away until he could slide off his bed.
The brunette’s hair never so much as quivered.
Letting out a relieved breath, he shoved on the clothes he’d so thoughtfully left for himself on the floor—seriously, he was never taking another pain pill or drinking alcohol again—and headed for the door.
But unable to do it, unable to just leave her, he stopped, detouring to his kitchen to make her a coffee. Leaving her caffeine was a nice gesture, right? Right, and . . . he was out of coffee. Not surprising, since he usually grabbed his at work because Molly, who ran the office at Hunt Investigations, made great coffee. And since one of the benefits of living on the fourth floor and working on the second of the Pacific Pier Building meant convenience, he texted the coffee master.
Any chance you’d send up a cup of coffee via the dumbwaiter?
A few seconds later, he heard a cell phone buzz an unfamiliar tone from his bedroom and froze. If his plan was to leave before the awkward morning after—and that was always the plan—he was on borrowed time.
Since he hadn’t heard back from Molly, he was moving on to Plan B and scrawled out a quick note: Had to get to work.
Then he hesitated. Did she even know his name? Having no idea, he added: I’m leaving cash for an Uber or Lyft—Lucas.
He dropped some money next to the note and grimaced at himself for being a complete asshole. He stared down at his phone.
Still nothing from Molly, which meant she wasn’t going to save the day. She was smart, sharp, and amazing at her job, but for reasons unknown, she wasn’t interested in pleasing anyone, especially him. Locking up behind himself, he left.
The Pacific Pier Building was more than a century old and sat in the center of the Cow Hollow district of San Francisco. Five stories of corbeled brick, exposed iron trusses, and big windows built around a legendary fountain. Retail stores and businesses took up the ground and second floors, with residential on the third and fourth. The fifth-floor penthouse belonged to his friend Spence Baldwin, who owned the building.
All of it, thanks to the building’s manager, decorated for the holidays like it was about to star in a Hallmark movie.
Lucas jogged down two flights of stairs to Hunt Investigations, fully prepared to be blasted by Molly at the front desk. Not just for his text, but for his appearance at all. Off duty since the shooting, he wasn’t supposed to be back at work until next week, and that was if his doctor cleared him.
But he couldn’t stay home another day, a fact that didn’t have anything to do with the stranger in his bed.
Or at least not all due to the stranger in his bed.
He scrubbed a hand over his unshaven jaw, feeling incredibly tense, which, for a guy who’d apparently gotten laid last night, didn’t make much sense.
Nor did the fact that sitting on a bench outside Hunt Investigations’ front door were two old ladies dressed up as elves. Knitting elves.
The one on the left looked to be making a Christmas stocking. The one on the right was working on something too small to see. They smiled at him in greeting, lips coated in bright red lipstick. Left Elf had a smudge of it on her teeth and her little elf cap seemed to quiver on top of her white hair. “Hello there, young man,” she said. “We were hoping you were Molly. We’ve got a problem involving a bad Santa, and she said to meet her here.”
Lucas blinked. “A bad Santa.”
“Yes. We work for him at a small Christmas village in Soma. Obviously,” she said, gesturing to herself.
Oh, good. So they didn’t believe they were real elves.
“Santa promised us a certain cut of the profits,” Right Elf said. “But we’re not getting them. He says there aren’t any profits, but that can’t be true because he just bought himself a brand-new Cadillac. Molly’s my neighbor, you see.”
Lucas didn’t see at all. He was good at certain things, such as his job of investigating and seeking out the asshats of the world and righting injustices. He was good at taking care of his close-knit family. He was good, when he wanted to be, in the kitchen. And—if he said so himself—also in bed.
But he was not good in social situations, such as those that required small talk, especially with old ladies dressed up as elves.
“Do you know when Molly might arrive?” Right Elf asked. She was looking at him even as her knitting needles continued to move at the speed of light.
Everything Lucas knew about crafting was stuff he’d learned from his mom and sister—you took something you were going to throw away and instead spent a bunch of money on it to make something else. “I don’t know Molly’s schedule.”
And that was the truth. Hunt Investigations was run by the biggest badass he’d ever met, Archer Hunt, and he employed a team who was the best of the best. Lucas was honored to be a part of that team. All of them, himself included, would step in front of a bullet for each other, and had.
Literally, in his case.
The lone woman in their midst was Molly, equally fearless, though in other ways. She was the one to keep them all on their toes. No one would dare venture into her domain at her desk and put their hands on her stuff to check her schedule, but he could ask around. “I’ll go check her ETA,” he said, and headed inside.
“ETA?” he heard Left Elf ask. “What’s an ETA?”
“I don’t know,” Right Elf said. “Maybe . . . Easy Tits and Ass?”
This caused them both to cackle and Lucas shuddered. He found Archer and Joe in the employee room inhaling donuts. Grabbing one for himself, he nodded to Archer and looked at Joe, one of Lucas’s best friends and his work partner. “Where’s your sister?”
Joe shrugged and went for another donut. “Not her keeper. Why?”
“There’re two elves outside waiting to talk to her.”
“Still?” Archer shook his head. “I told them this wasn’t a case for us.” He headed out front. Lucas followed.
“Ladies,” Archer said to the elves. “As I explained earlier, your case isn’t the kind of case we take on.”
“Oh, we heard you,” Left Elf said. “We’re just waiting for Molly. She promised to help us personally if you wouldn’t.”
Archer looked pained. “Molly doesn’t take on cases here. She’s office staff.”
The two elves tucked away their knitting. “Fine,” Left Elf said. “We’ll just go straight to her at home, then.”
Archer waited until they’d gotten on the elevator before shaking his head. He looked at Lucas. “Why are you here?”
“Gee, good to see you too.”
“Let me rephrase,” Archer said. “How’s your side? You know, where you have a GSW?”
“It’s no longer a gunshot wound—it’s practically just a scratch now. I’m good enough to get back to work.”
“I didn’t get a report from your doctor clearing you.”
Lucas squelched a grimace. His doctor had told him—repeatedly—he had to wait at least one more week. But he’d be dead of boredom after another week. “We’re having a minor difference in opinion.”
“Shit.” Archer swiped a hand down his face. “You know I can’t put you back on the job until he clears you.”
“If I stay home another day, I’ll lose my shit.”
“It’s only been two weeks since you were shot and nearly bled out before we got you to the hospital,” Archer said. “Way too close of a call.”
“Practically ancient history.”
Archer shook his head. “Not even close. I told you to abort. Instead, you sent the team out to safety and then you alone hauled ass deeper into that yacht, knowing it was on fire, thanks to our asshole perps trying to sink it for the insurance payout.”
“I went deeper because there was still someone on board,” Lucas said. “Our lead suspect’s teenage kid. He was sleeping and would’ve died if I’d left him.”
“And instead you almost did.”
Lucas blew out a breath. They’d had this argument in the hospital. They’d had it twice since. He didn’t want to have it again. Especially since he wasn’t sorry he’d disobeyed a direct order. “We saved an innocent. You’d have done the same damn thing. So would any of us.”
Archer looked over at Joe, who’d been silent through this entire exchange.
Joe lifted a shoulder, an admission that yeah, he might have done the same thing. And so would Archer, and Lucas damn well knew it.
“Shit,” Archer said. “Fine. I’ll unground you, but only for light duty until I hear from your doctor personally that you’re one hundred percent.”
Lucas didn’t dare smile or pump a fist in triumph. “Deal.”
Archer went from looking pissy to mildly amused. “You don’t know what light duty I’m going to make you do yet.”
“Anything would be better than staying at home,” he said fervently.
“Glad to hear you say that.” Archer jabbed a thumb at the door. “Molly’s going to want to take the elves seriously. She’s been asking to take on a case for months now, but our cases are too dangerous.”
Lucas rubbed his side. Wasn’t that the damn truth. “And?”
“And your ‘light duty’ job is to make sure she turns them down,” Archer said. “She’s not ready yet.”
Joe nodded his agreement on that and Lucas let out a mirthless laugh. He got why Archer would tell Molly not to take on a case, but Joe should know better. “Hello, you’ve met her, right? No one tells Molly what to do. Not even her brother.”
Again Joe grimaced, acknowledging the truth of that statement.
Archer apparently didn’t care. “Improvise. And remember, you’re still in hot water. Fail and let her take the case and you’re done. Sleep with her and you’re done. In fact, breathe wrong and you’re done. Got me?”
“I’m seeing the pattern,” Lucas said. And granted, he didn’t tend to be all that discriminating when it came to the fairer sex, but this was Molly they were talking about. She wasn’t the type to go for one-time hookups as he favored, plus she was the baby sister of his friend and coworker, all of which meant she was not on his radar.
Though the fact remained that she’d spent more than a few nights starring in his fantasies. His own deep, dark secret since he liked breathing.
Joe moved away toward his office but Archer stayed put, eyes still on Lucas. “Elle and I saw you at the pub last night,” he said quietly. “Flirting with Molly. What the hell were you thinking? You were lucky Joe was late.”
Wait. What? He’d flirted with Molly? Was he crazy? Okay, yes, there was an undercurrent of electricity between them, an unacknowledged awareness and attraction that neither of them ever admitted to. Him because he had zero interest in mixing business and pleasure, and even less interest in hurting Molly.
And he would eventually hurt her.
Not to mention what Joe would do to him after that. And if Joe failed in that new mission, Archer would happily finish him off. Lucas drew a deep breath and thought of the woman in his bed. “Trust me, nothing happened with Molly last night. Apparently, I was . . . preoccupied with someone else.”
Archer went brows up. “The brunette at the bar?”
At Lucas’s nod, Archer clapped him on the shoulder. “Glad to hear you’re not going to have to die today.”
Lucas let out a rough laugh. “When Molly finds out you’ve put me on babysitting duty, she’s going to kill us both.”
“That’s why she’s not going to find out.”
Lucas stared at Archer, a very bad feeling coming over him. “I’m supposed to keep it from her?”
“Now you’re getting it.”
Lucas didn’t know much about Molly’s past other than something bad had happened to her a long time ago and she still had a limp from whatever it’d been. Joe kept a tight lid on his and Molly’s rough childhood, but both brother and sister had some serious trust issues. “This is worse than monitor duty.”
“Is it worse than dying?” Archer asked mildly.
Shit. Lucas went back upstairs. He needed a shower, fresh clothes, and a clear head before he went to seek out Molly. As well as a good story because he couldn’t tell her the truth. He hoped to hell that a long hot shower would clear his brain enough to come up with something believable, because there was something else Molly was—sharp as they came. He stalked through his bedroom, hit the switch on the wall, and froze.
The brunette was still in his bed.
At the bright light flooding the room, she gasped and sat straight up, clutching the sheet to her chin, her hair a wild cloud around her face.
And not a stranger’s face either. Molly’s face.
Molly was in his bed and his first thought was Oh shit. His second thought tumbled right on the heels of that—he was going to die today after all, slowly and painfully.
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