Shake It Up

  A wife.

  And, dammit, Landon didn't have the heart to tell his friend that what he wanted was a goddamn fantasy. For better or for worse was bullshit except for those few lucky ones. He thought Derek and Amanda fit that bill. He hoped they did. But the odds were good that Matthew wouldn't get that lucky.

  God knew, Landon himself had played the odds, only to have fate give him a swift, hard kick in the balls.

  Determined not to bring Matthew down, Landon forced the thoughts of Vanessa from his mind. "Let me grab a shower and we can walk over together. You got someone watching the desk?"

  Matthew shook his head. "I changed up the hours. Gold members only after seven-thirty. By then, the after-work crowd's cleared out, and everyone who's gold has a key fob to get in."

  Landon nodded, then headed back to the locker room. The Lavaca Street location of Herrington's Gym was one of six in the Austin metropolitan area, and Matthew was talking to an attorney about franchising his business. Landon hoped it worked out; from what he'd seen, Matthew was making bank. Apparently there were a lot of people out there willing to pay good money to sweat, himself included.

  Fifteen minutes later, though, that sweat had been showered away, and he was clean and dressed in jeans, boots, and a clean Austin Police Department T-shirt. The walk to The Fix was short--just a few blocks to the north on Congress, and then a few blocks to the east on Sixth--and they arrived with fifteen minutes to spare, to find there wasn't a seat left in the house.

  They parted ways, Landon to go track down Brent, and Matthew to try to wrangle a free chair, though Landon was pretty sure his real plan was reconnaissance in the hopes of finding the lawyer he was so interested in. As for himself, Landon found Brent near the back, lecturing a skinny-ass kid who'd apparently tried to buy whiskey using a fake ID.

  As soon as the kid scurried off toward the exit, Landon met Brent's eyes. His friend shook his head, half-amused, half-exasperated. "Kids," Brent said.

  "Rough gig you got here," Landon said. "Sure you don't want to come back to the APD?"

  "Don't be an asshole," Brent shot back. "You know damn well I miss it. You also know why I left."

  "Sorry, you're right," Landon said, feeling chastised. "I'm just being an ass." After all, he did know why Brent walked away from the department almost six years ago, despite having just made lieutenant. Not only that, but Landon knew that Brent genuinely loved his job, and The Fix, and the people he worked with. "It's been a rough day."

  "Come work with me," Brent suggested. "You just saw about how rough my world gets lately." He spread his hands. "But at least I know my little girl has a parent coming home every night."

  Since any discussion of the inherent dangers of the job inevitably reminded Landon of why Vanessa left, he shifted the subject back on topic. "I saw you called. Checking to see if I was coming tonight?"

  "Hell, yeah. Didn't you know it's my life's mission to keep tabs on you?"

  Landon shook his head. "Funny."

  "No, the truth is, I need a favor."

  "Anything, man. You know that." As he spoke, the now-familiar Man of the Month music filled the bar, and the spotlight caught Beverly Martin, a rising indie film star who was the contest's emcee, as she walked up the stairs. Almost out of reflex, Landon craned his neck, looking not at Beverly, but off stage to the spot operator. He expected to see Taylor. Hell, he wanted to see her.

  Instead, Mina was there.

  Before he could check himself, he'd whipped back around to face Brent. "Where's Taylor?" he asked, and although it might have been his imagination, he was pretty sure he saw a flicker of amusement play over Brent's face.

  "And that, my friend, is the favor."

  * * *

  Taylor.

  Someone was stalking Taylor.

  And dear God, if that sonofabitch laid so much as a finger on her, Landon would rearrange his face and teach him a new definition of pain.

  He drew in a breath, trying to force himself back down to calm.

  Shit.

  Too bad calm was proving to be more than a little difficult to reach. He had to settle for taking slow, measured breaths. His mind was still churning, but his body relaxed. The calm before the storm, maybe. But at least it was one brand of calm.

  Landon and Brent had moved into Tyree's office, and now that Landon was replaying the highlights of their conversation over again in his mind, it was taking every ounce of his concentration to keep his shit together. Especially when all he really wanted to do was put his fist through a wall. Or, better, through the asshole student who'd been stalking her.

  Assuming it was the asshole student.

  "What else do you know about this kid? Do we have a name?"

  "We don't. But if you're willing to step in and keep an eye on her, I'm sure you can get her to tell you."

  "I want to know if he has a record. If anyone at the University has filed a harassment claim. Talk to some of his classmates. See if any of them have the vibe."

  "Which means you're going to do this," Brent said, the words a statement, not a question.

  "Yeah," Landon said, without missing a beat. "I'm going to do this." The truth was, he barely knew Taylor, but the woman had gotten under his skin. He'd first seen her when she'd crashed into him on the sidewalk just outside The Fix. He'd been coming out; she'd been racing to get there on time. Her body and been flush against his for a few seconds, and in that short amount of time, he'd pretty much seen heaven.

  She'd mumbled flustered apologies and disappeared inside, leaving him to his prurient fantasies.

  A few weeks later, he'd popped into The Fix to watch the Man of the Month contest after Brent had given him a heads-up, and he'd been curious enough to take a look.

  He'd been glad that he had. Not because he gave a flip about the men strutting around on that stage, but because he'd sat in the back of the bar, his view of the stage partially blocked by the same woman. He got a better look at her that time. A dark-haired woman with a ponytail, the kind of small waist a man could use for a handhold, and the biggest brown eyes he'd ever seen.

  But it was her face that had really done him in. Pretty, but not classically so. Her mouth was a little too wide, her nose a little too crooked, her chin just slightly off center. But those brilliant eyes ... damn, but they could light up a room.

  As far as Landon was concerned, it was the most interesting face he'd ever seen, and it was paired with a body that had conjured the kind of thoughts that made his mouth go dry. She'd been leaning forward over a step stool as she operated the spotlight, and he'd had a truly enticing view of thighs, long and lean and undoubtedly strong enough to wrap tight around a man.

  He'd lost all interest in the contest at that moment, and he'd spent the time watching the girl. The way her small, cute ass moved in her jeans. The smile that lit her face when she turned and greeted a friend.

  Holy hell, she'd gotten under his skin. And he'd been back every contest since. Sometimes just sitting in the back, alone and anonymous. Other times chatting with Brent or Derek. On more than one occasion, he'd caught her eye across the bar and felt the sparks fly between them.

  He'd learned her name, of course, and they'd even spoken a few times, her melodic voice dancing over his body in a way that made him want to run back to Herrington's Gym and take a cold shower.

  She'd told him that she was a graduate student in the theater department who Jenna had hired as a stage manager. And each time he came to watch the contest, he'd expected her to be less enticing. That he'd look at her and simply see a pretty white woman. Not someone who made his body fire simply from the sight of her.

  Yet that reaction never faded. If anything it had grown stronger.

  He knew better than to think that meant anything, of course. There'd been only one other woman in his life with whom he'd felt that kind of instant attraction--Vanessa. And God knew that hadn't turned out well.

  On top of that, Taylor had to be at least ten years younger than him, and a
s far as Landon was concerned, that was too damn young.

  The girl was off-limits. No two ways about it.

  But goddammit, he couldn't stay away. Especially not now that he knew someone was harassing her.

  On the contrary, he'd stick to her like glue.

  He'd protect her.

  That was all he could do, and he told himself it would be enough for her.

  But it damn sure wouldn't be enough for him.

  He shifted in the chair, turning his attention back to Brent, who was looking at him with the kind of expression that suggested he could read Landon's mind. "Where is she?" he asked.

  "I put her up at The Winston," Brent said. "I talked to Derek before the contest, and he called his security people. They'll keep an eye on the room, and she's registered under my name."

  "Good."

  "I told Mina to go by after the contest. I wasn't sure when I'd get in touch with you, and I figured she'd want a friend there tonight. I suggested she take a bottle of wine, order a movie, and the two of them should just kick back and forget about the whole thing."

  Again, Landon nodded. "Also good." He didn't need to go tonight. Better to give her a chance to rest. To gather her thoughts. To have one last night before she was shadowed by a cop.

  Definitely best for her if he went by first thing in the morning.

  The hell of it was, though, Landon didn't want to wait.

  Chapter Four

  As far as Taylor was concerned, The Winston Hotel was the absolute best ever. Sure, the room was small--just one room with a king-size bed, a small sofa, and a wall unit with drawers and a desk--but there was a television with access to the internet, and the bathroom had a steam shower and a wonderfully deep tub.

  Heaven.

  The manager had actually apologized for not having a larger room for "Mr. Winston's guest," then went on to explain to her and Reece how they were almost at full capacity, and that she had literally been booked into the last available room.

  She'd nodded and smiled and told him that she didn't care, but he'd apologized profusely all the way to the room. He'd personally walked her and Reece there, then reviewed the room's amenities, which included a small hidden fridge, a coffee maker, and a complimentary bathrobe. And, since he'd apparently been forewarned that this was an unexpected trip for her, he'd also supplied her with a Winston Hotels logo tote bag with a toothbrush, a razor, deodorant, a hairbrush, a bar of chocolate, a charging cord for her phone, and a Winston Hotels t-shirt.

  Considering she was being harassed by a potentially nutso stalker, it was all pretty cool.

  As for the room, she didn't care that it was small. It wasn't as if she was going to be throwing parties or having guests over.

  The manager had left her with his card and a promise that security would be doing regular passes by her room, and a reminder that this floor could be accessed only with a keycard. "We'll take good care of you, Ms. D'Angelo," he'd said before leaving, and she wasn't sure if that made her feel better--or if all his words did was reinforce that she was walking around with a target on her back.

  The latter, she decided, after Reece reminded her that she shouldn't leave the room, then asked if she wanted him to stay for a while.

  She'd assured him she was fine, but the way he'd studied her with those cool, observant eyes only reminded her that she was in a hotel not because she was on vacation, but because she was in protective custody. Or the closest unofficial thing to it.

  That, however, was something she was determined not to think about--at least not until she left this hotel. Because the truth was, staying here was an exceptional treat, and she intended to enjoy it, and it would be all the better when Mina arrived. Brent had said he was going to send her over to keep Taylor company, and Reece had reminded her of that when he left, ordering her to check the peephole before opening the door.

  Now, Taylor was looking forward to putting on a mindless chick flick, ordering a bottle of wine from room service, and spending two luxurious hours just hanging out and not thinking about everything that was screwed up in her life.

  She spent the first hour after Reece left reading a romance novel on her phone, then realized her stomach was growling. She glanced at the clock and saw that Mina should be there within the hour, depending on how much time she spent hanging out with Cam and the rest after the contest.

  With a sigh, she rolled over and hugged her pillow. She wanted to be there, too, and she hated that some asshole had made her scared of her own shadow. More than that, though, she couldn't shake the fear that Brent was wrong, and that the brick wasn't unrelated. Maybe her stalker was just making use of the situation.

  And if the brick had been about her, then she was putting her friends in danger. The wreck with Jenna could have been so much worse. Hell, just having a crazy stalker put her friends in danger, because who knew when he might go off the rails? He might even grab Mina on the way up, forcing her to use the key that was waiting for her at the front desk to grant access to the floor.

  The thought set Taylor's heart to pounding.

  No.

  Maybe Reggie had gone overboard into the sea of absurd crushes, but surely he hadn't completely snapped.

  Had he?

  It might not be Reggie...

  That thought, however, wasn't even worth considering. Because if she did consider it, it would stick in her head like glue and fear would run like ice water through her veins.

  No, it was Reggie. Landon would scare him shitless, the department would expel him--surely the University had some relevant code of conduct--and he'd slink away back home. Ohio, she thought. Wasn't that where he said his parents lived?

  And in the meantime, she was safe in this little Winston Hotel cave, and she was going to damn well enjoy it. Stretching, she grabbed up the phone, punched the button for room service, then ordered a quesadilla, chips and salsa, and a pitcher of margaritas. Screw wine. Tonight was worthy of the hard stuff.

  While she waited, she stripped out of the jeans and Tee she'd been wearing all day, then snuggled into the hotel robe. It was soft and fluffy and she breathed deep, enjoying the freshly washed scent with a hint of lavender. She brushed her hair, tried out the moisturizer that was on the bathroom counter, then smelled the shampoo and conditioner. Quality stuff.

  Right as she was leaving, there was a sharp tap at the door, and she jumped before remembering that it had to be room service, a conclusion that was confirmed when the deep voice announced, "Room service!" only seconds later. She checked the peephole, saw the guy with the tray, and opened the door.

  "Good evening, Ms. D'Angelo," he said. "Where would you like this?"

  She turned to point as she said, "On the desk would be great. My friend and I are going to have a movie night." Then she turned back to close the door and had to swallow a scream.

  Landon.

  Relief flooded through her, and without thinking, she reached out and shoved him back, her palm flat against his chest. "Jerk! You scared me to death."

  His hand closed over hers, holding her palm in place. She could feel his body heat through the APD T-shirt he wore, not to mention the tightness of those superior muscles. She felt more than that, too. A sexual charge, a seductive shimmer, a wild awareness. She didn't know what to call it. All she knew was that it had engulfed her, stealing her breath and making her hope beyond all reason that he'd keep holding her hand against his chest forever.

  Oh. My. God.

  Roughly, she yanked her hand free, breaking the spell, though a few isolated sizzles remained. Her breasts felt tight. And she was suddenly very aware of her inner thighs and parts in-between. Not only that, but she was aware that she was naked under the robe.

  For a moment, they just looked at each other, and she thought she might drown in those dark chocolate eyes. Not a bad way to go, really...

  Then he took another step toward her, and all the tiny hairs on her body started to vibrate in anticipation of another touch. But he was only stepping asid
e to let the room service guy pass, his polite, "Have a good evening," lingering in the air after the door closed behind him.

  "Land--" she began, but he cut her off with a sharp, "What the hell do you think you were doing?"

  Her eyes went wide and she took a step back. "Me? What?"

  "You're here for your protection, Taylor. But you left the door wide open. You didn't even know I'd stepped in." Those usually kind eyes were hard now, his kissable mouth pulled into a thin, angry line, and she reacted in kind, straightening her spine as she prepared to do battle.

  But then she took a closer look. Not angry, she realized. Afraid.

  The tension left her body with an almost audible whoosh. "Oh, God. I--I'm sorry."

  Immediately, he relaxed as well, then scrubbed his hand over his close-shaved head. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled. But, dammit, I want to trust that you'll be safe even when I'm not there to watch over you."

  She turned away, stepping further into the room to hide the smile that danced immediately to her lips. "I guess that means you took the job, despite the low pay and terrible hours."

  He chuckled, and when she turned back again, he was right there, having followed her all the way in with amazingly quiet footsteps for such a big man. Taylor was five-eight, pretty tall for a woman, but she still had to look up to see his eyes. Though, honestly, she probably shouldn't. He had the sexiest eyes she'd ever seen. Bedroom eyes.

  And here they were in a bedroom. How interesting was that?

  Stop it.

  "What?"

  She cringed, realizing she'd spoken aloud. "Just telling myself to stop being stupid. I've taken self-defense courses. And I'm pretty much addicted to romantic suspense novels. I'm really not too stupid to live. You're totally right that I should have shut the door. I was just ... in awe, I guess."

  "Awe?"

  She lifted a shoulder, feeling silly. "This place," she admitted. "I've never stayed any place like it."

  He glanced around, obviously taking in the room. The dresser, the desk, the sofa. And, of course, the bed. Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought his eyes lingered on the bed.

  "It's nice," he said. "But not that different from most hotels."