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The Ice Breakers. A group of cold case solvers who’d pulled Hunter into their web. Declan’s wife Marley had been the one to first introduce Hunter to the crime-solving, Ice Breaker world. Hell, she’d been the one to convince him to open his PI business, too. Mostly because Marley was also a PI. She’d taken him under her wing, so to speak. Gone through the ins and outs of the business, and, well, maybe he’d gotten a bit addicted to the job.

So…

He’d made a new life plan. He’d decided it was time to break out on his own. Declan had a life now—a wife. A kid on the way. His old friend was good. Hunter didn’t need to protect the billionaire tycoon these days. Marley covered the job.

So…

So Hunter had stopped being in charge of Declan’s security. He’d headed down to New Orleans. The Big Easy. Why? Because he liked to hear jazz music drift in the breeze, he liked to eat beignets at midnight, and the city had felt like home to him from the first moment he’d stepped foot there.

I don’t want to keep Shelby waiting.

“Remember, stay calm, cool, and in charge.” With that final warning, Declan headed out. He left the door open.

Shit, the champagne bottle was still just sitting on Hunter’s desk. Not like he wanted the giant bottle to be the first thing Shelby saw when she entered his office. He grabbed for it.

“Hello?”

And, sure, of course, that would be the moment when Shelby Carter appeared in his doorway. When his fingers were fisted around the long neck of the champagne bottle.

His head whipped toward the doorway. Toward her.

Maybe he forgot to breathe. Because Declan had been right.

She was his dream woman.

A woman who’d gotten him through hell, though Shelby certainly could not know that fact. She didn’t know that he’d been trapped in a hospital bed, barely clinging to life, wondering if there even was a reason to keep going, when he’d looked up at a TV screen and seen her.

A fighter.

She survived. She fought like hell.

So will I.

Her dark hair—a shade between brown and black—skimmed past her shoulders. A light dusting of bangs feathered over her forehead. Her eyes were emerald green. Deep and pure. She had a delicate jaw, slightly angled, and a small, straight nose. Sharp cheekbones gave her an elegant air but her full, unpainted lips gave that elegance a sharp edge of sexiness. Small hoop earrings dangled from her ears, peeking out from the curtain of her hair.

She cleared her throat.

And he wondered just how long he’d been staring at her. Staring at her and gripping the champagne bottle. Sonofabitch. What a crappy way to make a first impression.

Hunter’s left hand wrenched open one of the empty drawers in his massive desk, and he shoved the bottle inside.

“Are you Hunter McQueen?” Shelby’s voice was low, husky, but smooth.

Sexy.

Dammit, dammit, dammit. He had to stop thinking that everything about her was sexy.

“Yes.” Why had his answer come out like a hiss? What was wrong with him?

She took a step inside his office, moving over the door’s threshold.

Black pants. Black sweater. Black flats on her little feet.

“My name is Shelby,” she told him.

Right. He knew that. His hands flattened on the top of his desk.

She bit her lower lip. Glanced back over her shoulder. For a moment, he was afraid that she might turn and walk away. Not like he could allow that to happen. “Tell me what you want me to do,” Hunter heard himself growl. “I’ll do anything for you.”