Playing Love's Odds (A Classic Sexy Romantic Suspense) Read Online Free PDF

her further out of sorts. Her nerves went way beyond shot. She'd acted like a witch in Logan's office, attacking and insulting the man.
    Under normal circumstances, she prided herself on being the coolest of cucumbers—which said a lot about her present state of mind. Not to mention these were not normal circumstances. Finding herself compelled to turn to a stranger for help more than validated the fact. She just hoped she wasn't making a mistake by counting on another person to solve her problems.
    The noise of the storm made conversation impossible, and after giving basic directions, Logan had remained silent for the past thirty minutes. That was fine with her. She couldn't think of a single, coherent thing to say to him—quite a hindrance since she needed to talk to convince him to take her case.
    For no matter how uncouth, impudent and crude he might appear on the surface, he possessed the one trait she knew made him a success. Confidence. He oozed it. A cocky self-assured tenacity, but it was there, nonetheless.
    On the pretext of checking traffic, she glanced his way. He sat slouched in his seat, elbow braced against the base of the window, chin propped in his hand, eyes closed. His right hand lay on his thigh, his fingers bunching his pants into a wad of khaki fabric.
    Risking quick, furtive glances as she drove, she studied his hand. The blunt, clean nails. Prominent tendons and veins. Long, thick fingers with tufts of spun-gold hair between the first and second knuckle. Even his hands spoke of confidence, cared for yet incredibly tough.
    She glanced back at his wrist, at the no-nonsense black-banded watch and black leather thong. More golden hair covered his richly tanned forearms before the rolled cuffs of his white shirt interrupted her visual tour. His clothes were another matter, and not in bad taste at all. Quality, from the looks of the style and cut, but he wore them with such indifferent neglect that she wondered if he even knew how he looked.
    He looked tousled. Early-morning sexy. And so different from the boring, sterile, white-smocked laboratory world where she worked every day. With all the scientific data at their fingertips, her co-workers couldn't reproduce Logan's aura. It fit him like a custom weave. Or a long-time lover.
    Her curiosity piqued by this paradox of a man, Hannah chanced a look at his face, only to find him watching her, his tawny eyes twinkling with secrets. She offered a weak smile, forced the alien butterflies back down her throat, and refocused on the road. "Rain's let up."
    No reply.
    "Seems to have washed away most of the heat."
    No reply.
    "Mr. Burke ..."
    "Logan."
    His voice rolled over her, dangerously soft, a provocative, sultry menace. She imagined it pitched low in an erotic whisper and knew her daydreaming had gone a couple of miles beyond smart. "I need to know where to turn. We just came over the Galveston Causeway."
    He directed her to Pier 19. Once there, she killed the engine. Reaching between the bucket seats, she grabbed her purse from the back where she'd thrown it in her haste to escape the rain, then straightened, her face inches from his. Slowly, he tucked one strand of flyaway hair behind her ear.
    "I take it back," he whispered, so close each puff of his breath caressed her cheek. "Your car's not a banana. It's a sardine can."
    With that he was gone, hopping out the door before she could gather her scattered wits enough to reply. She sank back into her seat and exhaled slowly.
Stop it, Hannah. You're thirty-three, not thirteen
. The admonishment didn't help. Her heart refused to decelerate, making her feel rather foolish for reacting like a teenager with a crush.
    Better late than never, she thought with a self-directed shot of candor, opening her door and forcing her face into a mask of composure. She'd never had a chance to act like a teen when she'd been one. She stepped from the car and a long, low whistle skimmed over the air.
    "Damn, but I'm hungry,"