The Cowboy and the Angel

“Hell, Renée, if there were any criminals hanging around the Riverfront, they’ve all fled by now. The area’s a graveyard.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “If you’re breaking the law, I risk losing my job for helping you.”

“I’m bending, not breaking.”

Her eyes must have conveyed sincerity, because he changed topics. “What did you and that Dalton guy discuss at the diner?”

“Mr. Dalton is relocating his computer software company from Tulsa to Detroit.”

“And…?” Rich rested his palm against the butt of his gun.

Good grief. “The man didn’t threaten me.” At least not directly.

“Is he interested in dating you?”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask that question.”

“C’mon, Renée. Mom’s on my case every day of the week to find you a husband. There’s a new cop at the precinct. He transferred in from Cleveland.”

“No. No. And no.” Every cop in Detroit knew Renée was Rich’s little sister and most had heard the circumstances surrounding her adoption. The last person she intended to date or become serious with was a man who felt sorry for her. Too many damned people still treated her with kid gloves. Maybe that’s what made Duke Dalton so intriguing. He wasn’t from Detroit. He had no idea that she had a past. A very public past.

“Too bad. Dalton seemed okay.” Rich peeked into the living room, then warned, “Stay away from that warehouse.”

“But—”

“If you make trouble for Dalton, he’ll lodge a complaint with the police department, then I’m caught in the middle.”

The last thing she wished was to create problems for her brother. She’d have to find a way to stall Duke without resorting to drastic measures. Crossing her fingers, she followed her mother’s suggestion and flashed her dimples. “I promise I won’t get in the man’s way.”

LATE SUNDAY AFTERNOON—right in the middle of the Lions-Bears football game, Renée entered the Detroit Marriott. The hotel was located downtown in the General Motors Renaissance Center, which housed businesses, restaurants, bars, retail shops and a five-story atrium with river views. Across the street and accessible by a skywalk sat the Millender Center with additional stores and businesses.

Both the Renaissance Center and the Millender Center had station stops for Detroit’s elevated light rail, the People Mover. The train traveled a three-mile loop around the area—not that Renée had much use for the mode of transportation in her line of work.

She rode the elevator to the hotel lobby on the third floor. Halfway to the front desk she changed her mind and backpedaled to the elevator bank. Rather than call ahead and notify Duke of her presence, she’d catch him off guard in his room. When it came to the corporate cowboy Renée needed every advantage.

Even though Duke’s confidence and stubbornness irritated her, he was a man that stuck with a woman long after they’d gone separate ways. The sticking part had to do with his handsome face. But it had been the mellow glow in his dark brown eyes that had sucked her in like quicksand. Even if they worked out a solution to the Screw & Bolt Factory she and Duke were from different worlds and had nothing—save a little physical chemistry—in common.

Inside the elevator, she confirmed the number scrawled on the business card and punched the button for the sixty-second floor. In less than a minute she exited the elevator lightheaded from the slingshot ride. A few steps later she stood in front of Duke’s door chewing her lip. When the coppery taste of blood met her tongue she swallowed a curse and rapped her knuckles against the wood.

“It’s open. C’mon in,” he called.

Had he been watching her through the peephole? Cautiously she turned the handle and entered the room, then gasped. Duke stood in front of a flat-screen TV wearing nothing but a white towel slung around his waist. Water from a recent shower dripped from his head and several droplets rolled down his smooth, hairless chest. Peeking out from beneath the terry cloth were masculine hairy calves and two big bare feet.

“Renée? What are you doing here?”

She forced her gaze from his chest to his face. It was four in the afternoon and he’d yet to shave. The dark stubble along his jaw added a swashbuckler element to his cowboy image, taking the guise to a whole new level of sexiness—a cowboy pirate.

The words I’ll return later stuck to the sides of her throat, as she grappled for the doorknob.

“Wait.” He stepped forward, the towel slipping to his hips. He clutched the knot at his waist and flashed a sheepish grin. “I was expecting room service. Make yourself comfortable while I dress.” He retreated to the bathroom, leaving her a clear view of the unmade bed. A fantasy of her and Duke fooling around on the mattress was cut short by the sound of a throat clearing behind her.

A room-service waiter stood in the doorway. She stepped aside. The man rolled the cart past her and arranged service for two at the cocktail table in the corner, then left without pausing for a tip.

Drat. Duke had a date tonight. What rotten timing on her part.

Ignoring the zap of jealousy that pricked her at the idea of him and another woman enjoying a cozy meal and whatever else that followed, she decided to get right to the point.

Her attention rotated between the food, the football game and the bathroom door. Purely by accident her eyes landed on the bathroom door as Duke walked out, wearing jeans and a maroon turtleneck sweater. His big feet remained sock free and she forced her attention from his hairy toes—the whole bare feet thing impossibly intimate for having met the man two days ago.

He’d shaved. A sliver of disappointment pricked her as she studied his clean profile. He checked the game, then paused in front of her. Eternity. The subtle scent of the men’s cologne enveloped her and she breathed deeply. Eternity for Men was one of her favorites. She’d given her brother a bottle for Christmas a year ago.

One side of Duke’s mouth lifted and she caught herself before responding to his smile. This was a business meeting, not a social call. “I didn’t mean to interrupt—” she pointed to the table “—your dinner date.”

He padded closer, his scent intensifying. In addition to cologne, her nose detected soap and shaving cream.

“I don’t have a date,” he said. “They always prepare the table for a guest. Will you join me?” He crossed the room, stopping on his way to straighten the bedcovers. “Sorry the place is a mess. I don’t bother with maid service on the weekend.” He held out a chair and waited.

The pull of his brown eyes tempted her to forget her mission. “I’m here to talk business.”

“Share this pizza with me, then we’ll discuss anything you want.”

What could it hurt? Nothing but laundry and paperwork waited at home. She laid her coat across the end of the bed as she passed by and joined him at the table. He rewarded her with a sexy half smile and her heart flip-flopped inside her chest.

The man’s lonely, that’s all. He’d left family and friends behind in Tulsa. Maybe a lover. Well, Renée wasn’t family. She doubted she’d leave today his friend. And becoming his lover…dream on.

He pushed her chair in after she sat. Duke had manners. Class. Style. She struggled to envision him mixing with Detroit’s working-class. And you’ll never fit into his world. Regardless, it was nice to pretend for a while that they had more in common than a crumbling warehouse.

“Are you a Lions fan?” she asked, as he poured two glasses of red wine, which probably cost as much as a week’s worth of groceries.

“I intend to be.” He served her a slice of pizza.

She sipped from her wineglass, waiting to see if he used silverware. He picked up the pizza slice with his fingers. His casual manner put her at ease. A bite later, she said, “This is delicious.”

“Barbecue.”

“An Oklahoma favorite?” she guessed.

“My stepfather’s housekeeper’s family recipe. I passed it along to the chefs in the kitchen. They loved it, so they added the pizza to the room-service menu.”

A comfortable silence settled between them while they ate and watched the game. “Do you like football?” he asked when a commercial aired.

“Usually I don’t have time to watch the games. Too busy responding to one crisis or another.”

He stopped chewing. “You work seven days a week?”

“Sometimes. I’m on call Saturday and Sunday. Most of my coworkers are married and have families, so I cover weekend emergencies.”

“You must rake in the overtime.”

She shook her head. “I’m on salary, but the station wagon I drive is sort of a company car.” Rich and several fellow officers at the precinct had organized a fund-raiser to purchase the car for Renée. People who had the least donated the most—as they always did when Detroit’s Little Darling was involved.