For Services Rendered
“I’m Twenty-Nine Years Old And I’ve Never Had A Lover In My Whole Life.”
“You mean you’re a…you’ve never…”
“No.” Del’s voice got softer and the animation drained from her features. “I’ve never.”
“Why?” How on earth could a woman as beautiful as Del still be a virgin? He knew he should respond like a friend, a co-worker, but his body had other ideas. Ruthlessly, he shoved away the surge of desire that rose.
“Well, look at me. I don’t exactly dress like a guy’s fantasy.”
“So? You could have found someone if you’d wanted.”
“That’s just it. I never wanted. Until now.”
“Why now? And if you’re interested in a relationship, why not go about it in a more conventional way instead of meeting someone here, in this bar?”
“A relationship? No. I just need to get this over with, see what the fuss is all about.”
“Okay. If you’re so damn determined to lose your virginity tonight, then it might as well be with me.”
Dear Reader,
As expected, Silhouette Desire has loads of passionate, powerful and provocative love stories for you this month. Our DYNASTIES: THE DANFORTHS continuity is winding to a close with the penultimate title, Terms of Surrender, by Shirley Rogers. A long-lost Danforth heir may just have been found—and heavens, is this prominent family in for a big surprise! And talk about steamy secrets, Peggy Moreland is back with Sins of a Tanner, a stellar finale to her series THE TANNERS OF TEXAS.
If it’s scandalous behavior you’re looking for, look no farther than For Services Rendered by Anne Marie Winston. This MANTALK book—the series that offers stories strictly from the hero’s point of view—has a fabulous hero who does the heroine a very special favor. Hmmmm. And Alexandra Sellers is back in Desire with a fresh installment of her SONS OF THE DESERT series. Sheikh’s Castaway will give you plenty of sweet (and naughty) dreams.
Even more shocking situations pop up in Linda Conrad’s sensual Between Strangers. Imagine if you were stuck on the side of the road during a blizzard and a sexy cowboy offered you shelter from the storm…. (Hello, are you still with me?) Rounding out the month is Margaret Allison’s Principles and Pleasures, a daring romp between a workaholic heroine and a man she doesn’t know is actually her archenemy.
So settle in for some sensual, scandalous love stories…and enjoy every moment!
Melissa Jeglinski
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
FOR SERVICES RENDERED
ANNE MARIE WINSTON
Books by Anne Marie Winston
Silhouette Desire
Best Kept Secrets #742
Island Baby #770
Chance at a Lifetime #809
Unlikely Eden #827
Carolina on My Mind #845
Substitute Wife #863
Find Her, Keep Her #887
Rancher’s Wife #936
Rancher’s Baby #1031
Seducing the Proper Miss Miller #1155
*The Baby Consultant #1191
*Dedicated to Deirdre #1197
*The Bride Means Business #1204
Lovers’ Reunion #1226
The Pregnant Princess #1268
Seduction, Cowboy Style #1287
Rancher’s Proposition #1322
Tall, Dark & Western #1339
A Most Desirable M.D. #1371
Risqué Business #1407
Billionaire Bachelors: Ryan #1413
Billionaire Bachelors: Stone #1423
Billionaire Bachelors: Garrett #1440
Billionaire Bachelors: Gray #1526
Born To Be Wild #1538
The Marriage Ultimatum #1562
The Enemy’s Daughter #1603
For Services Rendered #1617
Silhouette Books
Broken Silence
“Inviting Trouble”
Family Secrets
Pyramid of Lies
ANNE MARIE WINSTON
RITA® Award finalist and bestselling author Anne Marie Winston loves babies she can give back when they cry, animals in all shapes and sizes and just about anything that blooms. When she’s not writing, she’s managing a house full of animals and teenagers, reading anything she can find and trying not to eat chocolate. She will dance at the slightest provocation and weeds her gardens when she can’t see the sun for the weeds anymore. You can learn more about Anne Marie’s novels by visiting her Web site at www.annemariewinston.com.
For the Out-of-Control Croppin’ Crew:
Kathy, Connie, Janis, Judi, Vick and Susan
It was a sultry night.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Epilogue
One
“Please tell me this is the last one.”
Sam Deering linked both hands above his head and stretched his powerful arms. He had kinks in his back from sitting so long, exactly the kind of thing his physical therapist would give him hell for, but he really needed to get somebody into the new position so he had to finish the interviews today. He dropped his glasses on top of the stack of paper before him and stood, stretching his left leg. It had never been the same since he’d been shot, but it was a lot better than anyone expected, so he supposed he couldn’t complain.
“You okay?” Del Smith, the vice president of Protective Services, Incorporated, looked up from the résumé she was reviewing, her heavily lashed brown eyes focusing on him.
“Yeah.” He picked up his glasses and resettled them on his nose, then nodded at the door. “Let’s get this over with.” It had been an exciting ride over the past few years, he thought. PSI might have started out small, but it was making up for it now. About a month ago, he’d realized they needed an assistant for their in-house undercover consultant to handle the amount of work they were getting. He liked the fact that his Virginia-based company could respond to so many different needs in people’s lives, from kidnappings to home-security analyses to bodyguard services, but it kept him on his toes.
Del and him, he corrected himself. Without her, he might never have been able to put this all together.
“This is the last one.” Del’s husky voice sounded as relieved as he was. She laid a neat file before him on his desk, picking up the previous one at the same time. “Here’s the next interview.”
Sam flipped open the file, casually riffling through it as he watched her from beneath his lashes. “What do you think so far?”
Del shrugged slender shoulders beneath the oversize man’s work shirt that was part of her standard code of dress. Beneath the open shirt she wore a PSI T-shirt that probably would fit Sam. He suspected there were some decent breasts under those sloppy casual clothes, but in seven years, he’d never once seen her in anything other than her jeans and shirts or a shapeless black jacket and pants she wore when they entertained clients. It wasn’t exactly the kind of thing he could ask about, either. So, Del, what size jugs you got under that shirt? No, probably not a good idea.
Unaware of his thoughts, Del shook her head as she arranged papers in front of her own seat. “The Sanders man probably would be competent, but he didn’t show me anything special, if you want the truth.”
He nodded, forcing himself to focus on the potential employees they’d spent the afternoon interviewing. “I agree. Maybe we’ll get lucky on the last one.”
Del gave him a small smile as she turned to walk to the doorway. “Maybe.”
As she strode across the floor in the no-nonsense sty
le he associated with Del, Sam watched her go. He knew she was slender beneath the baggy jeans and shapeless shirt, but the clothes left him guessing at details. Over the years, he’d become obsessed with trying to catch her in positions that might give him a hint of what lay beneath those layers.
Today, as always, her long, shiny brown hair was braided into a single thick rope that hung from the hole in the back of the baseball cap she always wore and as she walked, it twitched from side to side, brushing across her butt rhythmically, capturing his gaze as surely as if she were stripping in front of him. What would that mane of waist-length hair look like loose and flowing around her shoulders? Hard to believe that in nearly seven years of working in each other’s pockets every day, he’d never seen her with it down.
He shifted in his chair, glad he was sitting down. He doubted any of his employees had any idea how his vice president turned him on and he wanted to keep it that way. It wasn’t as if he had any intention of acting on it, after all.
No, the last thing he needed was any sort of entanglement with a woman. PSI was the only mistress he had time for. A flesh-and-blood woman would never be content with the long hours he put in, the occasional urgent summons and instant response that certain kinds of cases required.
The door of his office opened again and Del ushered in a tall woman in a severe dark jacket and pants with a white button-down shirt. The jacket was a boxy, unconstructed cut and as he assessed her, he’d bet that it had been made to conceal a sidearm, although she wasn’t carrying today.
Del took her seat at Sam’s side with a second file. “This is Karen Munson,” she said. “Karen, Sam Deering, the president of PSI.”
She turned her attention to Sam for a moment. “Ms. Munson has a Criminal Justice degree from Penn State. She started as a beat cop in Miami, worked her way up to Homicide investigations and then applied to the FBI. Her background includes criminal profiling, kidnapping investigations and long-term deep-cover assignments.”
“Call me Karen,” the woman said, smiling at him. There was no hint of flirtation in the smile, and no hint that she recognized him as anything other than the head of the firm.
Good. The last thing he needed was an employee blabbing his whereabouts to the press. He’d had enough media attention nine years ago to last a lifetime. Even Del didn’t know about his past. He’d considered telling her a time or two, back in the early days when even the easiest of physical tasks had been such an obvious struggle for him. But she’d never asked how he’d been hurt, simply did what she could to lighten his load. And in recent years, he’d improved so much that he sometimes even forgot he’d been shot.
“Why did you get out of undercover work, Ms. Munson?” he asked, glancing at the file.
“I had a child,” she said. “I wanted more regular hours.”
“You might not always get them here,” he warned.
She nodded. “I understand. I’ve read the information you gave me. But my circumstances have changed now and I have no time constraints anymore.”
“None? No child care?”
Karen Munson’s mouth compressed into a thin line. She looked away for a moment and he saw her take a deep, fortifying breath. “My son has passed away,” she said quietly. “Frankly, Mr. Deering, the busier you can keep me, the happier I’ll be.” She leaned forward, all business again. “As you can see, I have management experience as well as expertise in a number of the areas you indicate you need.”
The interview went on for another thirty minutes, longer than he’d spent with the other three applicants who had cleared the background checks and job-description requirements. When it ended, he’d hired Karen Munson as an assistant to his undercover ops team leader.
She shook his hand, then Del’s, and Del led her to her office to give her some paperwork to fill out over the weekend. As she shut the door behind them, his intercom beeped. Punching an open channel, he said, “What’s up, Peg?”
Peggy Doonen was Del’s assistant and had been manning the front office during the interview.
“It’s quittin’ time, that’s what’s up!” Peggy’s boisterous good humor boomed around the room. “I thought you said we had a light weekend coming up.”
“We do. What’s your rush?” Sam didn’t generally engage in banter with his employees but Peggy was a force of nature, the office’s self-appointed morale officer, class clown and party planner. He’d actually made part of her job description “employee satisfaction” a couple of years ago, and she was worth every penny of the increase. The office was a pleasant, friendly working environment, his employees a close-knit team that generally ran amazingly smoothly despite all the different personalities.
“It’s Del’s birthday is what’s the rush,” she informed him. “And we’re taking her out to dinner tonight. So unless you’ve got something important going on in there, set her free. Matter of fact, why don’t you relax a little for once and come along with us?”
“No, thanks.” The refusal was automatic. “That might inhibit some people.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Peggy opined. “If you change your mind, we’ll be at O’Flaherty’s Irish Pub. We’re meeting at six.”
“Have a good time,” he said automatically. Del’s birthday. For a moment, he felt vaguely guilty. She’d worked for him since he’d opened the firm seven years ago, was his most trusted employee…and he didn’t even know it was her birthday. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have access to the information, either. He’d just never bothered to learn.
Then he shrugged it off. That was part of Peggy’s job, making sure employee birthdays were recognized. She sent cards from the firm on which he dutifully scribbled his signature when she thrust them under his nose. She organized lunch or dinner get-togethers to celebrate, although he’d never attended—
His intercom buzzed again. “Yo,” he said, punching a button.
“Ms. Munson’s gone. She’ll be here Monday at nine,” Del’s voice said. “I’m heading out, too, unless there’s anything else you need.”
“No. See you Monday.”
“Have a good weekend. See you Monday.”
“Hey, Del?”
“What?”
“Happy birthday.”
“Oh.” She sounded surprised and pleased, and he mentally thanked Peggy for clueing him in. “Thank you.”
“I would sing, but we’d both be sorry,” he told her.
“We’ll pretend you already did,” she suggested. “Thanks for the lovely serenade.” She chuckled, a warm, husky sound that vibrated pleasantly through him. He’d always liked making her laugh, though she did it rarely. Del was one of the most focused people he’d ever known when her mind was engaged on a problem. And in their line of work, problems were commonplace.
“Have a good weekend,” he said.
“You, too.” Her intercom clicked off.
He stood there for a moment, wishing she didn’t have to leave. Then he shook himself. Don’t be ridiculous, Deering. You don’t need to get involved with anyone who works for you.
That was assuming Del would even be interested in him, anyway. As far as he knew, she had never dated anyone from work. Hell, he couldn’t remember her ever speaking about her personal life, so he really didn’t know whether she dated at all. She’d been single when he hired her and he was pretty sure she still was. No husband would put up with the hours Del spent at work. She was with him way more than half her waking hours in any given week.
He was on his way home when the idea popped into his head and wouldn’t go away. Why not? Peggy invited you, he reminded himself.
Yeah, but she didn’t really mean it.
Sure she did. Peggy doesn’t say things she doesn’t mean.
The other employees wouldn’t like it.
How would you know? You’re always invited but you never go.
All right. Fine. So he’d go one time just to see what all the birthday hoopla was about. And because it was Del. After all, she was his second in command, an
d he really should recognize all the work she did for him. He swung the car off the Capital Beltway toward Fairfax, where he knew O’Flaherty’s was located not far from Tyson’s Corner Mall.
He glanced at his watch. Seven-fifteen. He’d be late, but that was good, wasn’t it? This way, his employees would see that he just stopped to offer his best wishes, not to cramp their party style. And they’d have finished dinner by now.
He parked and walked into the Irish pub. He was barely through the front door before he saw them. There were three round tables crammed full of PSI people.
No, that wasn’t right. There was a slender redhead who wasn’t one of his employees. She was so unslender in one particular spot that she must have had implants, he decided. She was snuggling against Gerald Walker, a former federal agent who headed up the security-analysis team. Walker had been through a bitter divorce about a decade ago. Sam knew this because one night shortly after PSI had opened he’d called Walker to come in on an after-hours consult and the man staggered in with one of the worst hangovers Sam had ever seen on someone still standing.
“Saw my ex today for the first time in a couple of years,” Walker had explained. “It was either drink or put my fist through a wall.”
Sam shook his head at the memory as he wove through the crowd. There was one other woman he didn’t know with the group, a petite female with a wealth of chestnut hair softly waving around her shoulders and falling down her back. She wore a strappy little black dress that exposed slim, muscled arms and shoulders and a generous amount of cleavage. Wow. None of his employees looked like that in a little black dress.
She had her face turned away from him, talking to the firm’s accountant with whom she must have come. He couldn’t see if the face matched that truly delectable body. Still, he wondered idly what a woman like that was doing with the chubby, bookish accountant.