Starstruck

Claire turned to face her dead-on, her jaw hanging open. “Why didn’t I know this?”

Alyssa shrugged. “I was still dating Bob. It just happened, you know? And I felt terrible afterwards.”

“Details,” Claire demanded. “Right here. Right now.”

“Honestly, there’s not a lot to tell,” Alyssa said, feeling so under the microscope she was almost sorry she brought it up.

“The hell there isn’t. Start at the beginning.” She waved a hand. “Go on.”

Alyssa sighed, trapped. “The truth is, we went to high school together, so I’ve known him for ages.”

Claire’s brows lifted. “You went to school with Russell Starr?”

“I’m pretty sure his family actually endowed my scholarship.” Her gaze darted again to the Starr property, and she sighed. A family like that didn’t have to scramble for a paycheck or worry about making partner.

“Were you guys friends?”

Alyssa shook her head. “Not back then. He was a grade ahead, but he was every girl’s fantasy guy, you know? The guy in school that you’re certain would be absolutely perfect if only he’d notice you.”

“Well, duh. Starr family. How much more perfect can you get? But, hello? When are we getting to the kissing part? What happened? Tell me everything. He asked you out on a date?”

“Sort of. My car had a flat, and he drove me home.” She shrugged. “On the way, he suggested we stop for drinks.”

Alyssa still thought that was a key piece of information: they’d stopped at his suggestion.

The night had been fabulous, full of wine and laughter and even a few long, heated looks, and it had only gotten better when he’d delivered her straight to her door. She’d invited him in, but he’d declined. What he’d done instead was lean in, tell her he’d had a wonderful time, and kiss her oh-so-gently, but with a ton of promise. She’d felt the tingle all the way down to her toes as he’d walked away. And she’d stood like an idiot in front of her apartment door as he’d walked back to his car and driven away.

Bob had come over for breakfast the next morning, and Alyssa’s Cinderella delusions had evaporated. After all, Russell was a society-page regular, and at the time, she’d still been happily dating Bob. The drink had been a drink, and the kiss a sweet memory. Nothing more.

Still, she could fantasize. And regularly did, for that matter. Her thoughts drifting to what would have happened if he’d come inside for that kiss. Who knew where it might have led…?

She sighed, her breath clouding in the chilly night air.

“Wow,” Claire said. “Talk about the one that got away.”

Alyssa rolled her eyes. “I never had him in the first place,” she said. “He can’t get away if I never had him.”

“A fact about which I hope you are soundly kicking yourself. He kissed you good-night and you never even followed up? Called him again? Made any move to let him know you were interested?”

“I was with Bob,” Alyssa said, her voice small because she knew Claire was going to jump all over that.

“And you told him that?”

“Claire, I was dating him. We were serious. Or I thought we were. Yeah. I mentioned him.”

Now it was Claire’s turn to roll her eyes. “Never mention to a guy that you’re dating another guy. All guys need to be kept in the realm of possible until you’re married. That’s a simple fact of life.” Alyssa scowled, but Claire barreled on. “So what happened after you and Bob broke up? With Russell, I mean?”

“What happened? Nothing happened.”

“You didn’t call him? I mean, forget the whole legal-retainer stuff, but didn’t you at least call and ask him out for drinks?”

“No! Of course not.”

Claire shook her head as if Alyssa had utterly failed. “You know, if it wasn’t for Joe being an absolute prick and you being completely clueless, we could be double-dating tonight instead of escorting each other.”

Alyssa sighed, knowing that Claire was absolutely right.

She glanced around, taking in the dancing lights of the Highland Parks neighborhood. The children going from door to door singing Christmas carols. The couples strolling the neighborhood, their faces close as they shared kisses under mistletoe.

Romance was in the air tonight. It just wasn’t in the backseat of the carriage.

2

“DROP THE KNIFE.”

“I don’t think so.” Max Dalton held the small pocketknife steady as he stared down the barrel of Eli Whitacker’s Glock 9mm. Not exactly an ideal situation. He’d broken into the abandoned warehouse hoping to find a clue as to where Whitacker might have stashed the girl, but he’d never expected to find Whitacker himself.

Max never considered that he might not walk out of the warehouse at all. That things weren’t going exactly as planned was an understatement, to say the least.

“I said,” Eli repeated, “drop the knife.”

Max tried to calculate his odds, came up with a depressingly low probability of success, and let the blade clatter to the concrete floor.

“Good boy. And now if you’d be good enough to get down on your knees.”

“I don’t think so.”

Eli’s grin widened. “No problem. You can die just as well standing up.”

Eli’s finger moved, gently squeezing the triggerthat would, at any moment, fire a shot of lead into Max’s gut.

He did the only thing he could do, even though it was futile and useless—he tried to dive to the left.

And as he did, his eardrums burst as a shot rang out. He flinched automatically, anticipating the pain of the bullet connecting with soft flesh.

But there was no pain. Just Eli standing there, a red stain spreading out on his chest, and a blood bubble forming at his mouth.

Eli fell to his knees, revealing the woman behind him, a gun held tight in her shaking hands.

Her.

Dark hair that fell in soft curves to brush against her shoulders. A square jaw and dancing green eyes. Long dancer’s legs that he could imagine wrapped tightly around him.

He saw her, and he wanted. Craved. Needed.

She was his fantasy. His inspiration. His complete and total distraction.

“Alyssa,” he heard himself whisper. “Alyssa, you’re alive.”