Chapter One
Lafayette, Louisiana
* * *
Nick Navarro had been out of prison exactly thirty-five hours. Long enough to get a good night’s sleep, stock up on a few necessities, and visit his old friends, the Santiago brothers. Then he’d started putting his rusty P.I. skills to good use, methodically searching Louisiana for the woman he hadn’t forgotten a single detail about during the fifteen months of his incarceration.
He intended to hunt down the bastards who had both offed his childhood friend Mike Porter and framed Nick for a crime he hadn’t committed so he could repay these fuckers in spades.
Mike’s widow, Sasha, was the key.
At first, it looked as if the pretty blonde had disappeared off the face of the earth. She’d fled her house, quit her job, abandoned her car, seemingly gone underground. But his gut told him she was still alive. She had reasons to fight.
No matter what it took, how long it took, Nick vowed he’d burn down the world to find her.
He was forcing himself not to pace manically when his doorbell rang, sounding above the din of pounding rain. He zipped his gaze to the clock. Quarter ’til midnight. Obviously this wasn’t a social call. Had his enemy gotten wind that he was shaking the trees for Sasha? Or had that corrupt son of a bitch come back for another pound of flesh?
With every light in the living room on, Nick couldn’t pretend he wasn’t home. Besides, he refused to let this asshole think he was afraid. So he drew his weapon and jerked the door open, wearing a snarl.
Nick expected trouble, a gunfight, a battle for his life. Instead, Sasha Porter stood under his little portico, huddling near the door to avoid the deluge of November rain.
Without a coat, the exhausted blonde shivered. Her tattered shirt clung to her skin, soaking wet from the downpour. A wrung-out little girl slept on her hip under a drenched baby blanket, blond curls askew. A ragged duffel bag hung over Sasha’s other arm. Water ran down her unmistakably bruised cheek. Dark circles discolored the skin under her hazel eyes, now wide with fear as she stared at his SIG, rosy mouth gaping open. Cursing, Nick scrambled to holster his weapon.
This wasn’t the soft, sweet woman he remembered. This Sasha wore the struggle for her survival all over her delicate face. The sight made Nick seethe, but he blanked his expression and opened the door wider.
“Hi, Mr. Navarro, we met once about three years ago. You probably don’t remember me…” She drifted off nervously, shivering in the unrelenting midnight chill.
He ached to show her how wrong she was. Instead, he scanned her body. Since he’d last seen her, she’d lost weight, lost curves. He’d fix that. But as she had the first time he’d laid eyes on her, she incited a roaring lust in his blood that electrified every muscle, pore, and nerve ending. He didn’t just want this woman; having her felt necessary to his sanity. The fact that her honey hair straggled out of half a ponytail or that she wasn’t wearing a shred of makeup didn’t make Nick want her any less. Baggy jeans, plaid shirt…whatever. Sasha stood here in all her beauty, her goodness. She’d been through so much, but radiance still shone from her eyes. The brightest of angels tempting the devil himself.
Then he remembered she was his childhood friend’s beloved widow. Off-limits. Forbidden. A sin to even consider touching.
After all, men like Mike married women like Sasha and spent their lives protecting, supporting, and impregnating them. Men like Nick stood outside, shielding the rich and beautiful from the big, bad world so they could live a glittering lie. But men like him were never invited inside.
At the reminder, he killed his smile.
“Mike Porter was my husband.” Her voice still shook. “You visited our house once. I’m?—”
“Sasha,” he assured, determined not to frighten her. “Come in.”
Chapter Two
Blinking at Nick Navarro in surprise, Sasha inched inside his surprisingly posh house, hyperaware that she was dripping on his travertine floors. “You remember me?”
“I never forget a face.” He shut and locked the door behind her.
Because he’d once been a private investigator? She stared but his unreadable expression cloaked his thoughts.
Her late husband had called Nick a great friend…and a very dangerous man. Mike had made her promise to come to Nick if she ever needed help. Sasha was having second thoughts now.
Merely dangerous men could be reasoned with. Even they had limits. Staring at the six-foot-three mountain of muscle who holstered a gun he clearly wasn’t afraid to use, she feared no one could reason with Nick Navarro.
Dangerous seemed far too tame to describe him. It wasn’t just the harsh shave of his black hair down to mere stubble or the glimpse of new ink flirting with the edge of his gray V-neck. The T-shirt pulled across his chest and bunched around his thick biceps as if it strained to contain him. It molded so closely to his abs that Sasha could see his six-pack. Dark jeans cupped his bulge and tore a disreputable snag down his thigh. His black leather boots belonged on a biker.
Sasha swallowed.
Like the first time she’d met him, the air around him pinged with life. And violence. His conviction for rape certainly didn’t give her a warm fuzzy.
The closer he came on silent footsteps, the more wildly her heart beat. Every speech she’d rehearsed seemed silly now. Would begging for his help even do any good?
