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too small. He had to get away from her, even for a few seconds. “Mind if I look around a little? I need to see what’s involved for the alarm system we install.”
    Thankfully, the phone rang, so she didn’t follow. He walked down the hall and did a quick tour of the office, making a mental note to ask Reggie to show him the suspicious e-mail.
    The apartment suited her, or what little he knew of her, anyway. Decorated in warm tones with splashes of bright color, it was warm, comfortable, and inviting. Just like the woman he’d met in that bar in Maui.
    Business, Gabe. You’re supposed to be looking for points of vulnerability. He noted that the office windows were large enough to allow a man to crawl through.
    The bathroom was typical of an old San Francisco Victorian, with the shower, bath, and sink separate from a closet-size room that housed the toilet. The bathroom windows were small and high enough off the ground to pose a significant challenge to an intruder, but he’d make sure they were wired nonetheless.
    He made a right and entered what could only be her bedroom. Like the rest of the apartment, it was comfortable, cozy, decorated in deep reds, midnight blues, and rich browns. Not a hint of pastel or a square of lace in sight.
    It was the kind of room only a woman could put together—no guy had that many throw pillows—but it wasn’t so feminine as to send him running for the closest sports bar. The king-size sleigh bed with its dark red down comforter and oversize pillows elicited all kinds of images of him and Reggie, naked in a sweaty tangle making damn good use of every inch of mattress space.
    Shaking his head before he got too carried away, he moved to the window. He ran his fingers along the sides and tested the all but useless latch. She was on the second story, but anyone could sneak a ladder around through the alley and climb right up here. That was, if this stalker of hers was as determined as her sister seemed to think.
    This was exactly the type of job he hated. Grunt work. Half the time these celebrities so overestimated their own importance to their fans that they overreacted to what amounted to nothing more than inappropriate fan mail. Disconcerting as it was to receive, more often than not there was no threat behind it.
    His gut told him Reggie wasn’t a woman with an over-inflated ego, but his gut had been so wrong recently, he’d all but stopped giving it credit.
    Just because he knew exactly what the silky skin of Reggie’s inner thighs tasted like, just because the look on her face as she came had saturated his dreams for the past year and a half, didn’t mean he knew a damn thing about her character.
    He went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, wishing he had an ice pack to shove down the front of his pants.
    Once again, he cursed the ridiculous coincidence that had landed him here in San Francisco, less than twenty feet from the woman who’d made him come so hard he’d nearly had a stroke.
    What he really wanted—needed, actually—was a full-scale corporate security consulting job, or even work that involved protecting high-level executives. That was where the real money was, and it would only take a few referrals to bring him a steady stream of business.
    Unfortunately, since a romantic entanglement with his last high-profile celebrity client had nearly annihilated his career as a security specialist, business had barely built to a trickle. As his assistant-cum-adopted mother Marjorie reminded him almost hourly, he was in no position to turn down any work, even if it meant walking little old ladies across the street for a dollar each.
    He stared at himself in the mirror, finger-combing his hair and straightening his tie. So what if his new client was the sweetly sexy woman he hadn’t been able to get out of his head for over a year? He had bills to pay and a professional reputation to rebuild. No matter how badly he wanted to get back into Reggie