Hot Blooded

and registration," Grace said again, keeping her voice cool and
crisp. Then she mouthed, "
We're being recorded
," before continuing
aloud, "Do you know how fast you were going, sir?"
    His eyes flicked down to the pad. "About seventy, I'd say." His voice sounded
like sin and silk sheets, rich and smooth and seductive.
    "The speed limit for this section is forty-five," she told him.
    He reached for his wallet with the prince-of-darkness grin she remembered so
well. "I don't suppose you'd consider letting me off with a warning?"
    She gave him her best cold, emotionless stare from beneath the brim of her
hat. "No, sir."
I'm not sixteen anymore, damn it
.
    His eyes widened in surprise.
Good
. Grace took the ID from those
clever fingers, turned and stalked back to her car to fill out the ticket.
    Settling in the driver's seat, she studied his license in the dome light's
illumination. John Lance, 120 Avalon Way, Brentwood, California. Our hero was
just too cute for words.
    And Grandma was getting too damn clever.
    Not that Grace had any intention of giving either of them what they wanted.
    Â 
    WHAT the hell was she playing at?
    The man who called himself John Lance glowered at the rear of Grace Morgan's
Crown Vic. Having presented him with that $150 ticket, he'd expected her to head
for some secluded spot where they could talk. Instead, she'd continued her
patrol, ignoring the headlights in her rearview mirror despite his dogged
tailgating.
    Why?
    She had to know what he was here for, the opportunity he was offering—a
chance other women begged and schemed and fought for. You just didn't walk away
from that kind of power.
    What had happened to the Grace of twelve years ago who'd thanked him for
saving her life with such adoration in her eyes? There'd been no trace of
remembered puppy love in that cool cop gaze tonight. Or even gratitude.
    And now she was ignoring him.
    Suddenly aware of his own offended masculine ego. Lance grinned.
When did
I start taking myself so damn seriously
? Grace was probably doing him a
favor by deflating him.
    Yet, she had to know the chase wouldn't end until he got what he'd come for.
He didn't quit. Ever. He couldn't afford to, and they both knew it. Sooner or
later, she'd have to give in.
    So he stayed on her bumper, silently willing her to pull over. Grace kept
right on going just as stubbornly, never varying her speed.
    Lance found himself beginning to enjoy the pursuit as he imagined her
inevitable erotic surrender. It would be well worth waiting for; his experienced
eye had detected some very enticing curves inside that stern black uniform. The
coltish young girl he'd known had grown into a luscious Amazon.
    The sudden rising yelp of her siren jolted him out of his lustful
preoccupation. He looked up just in time to see her speed off, blue lights
revolving.
Oh, good
, he thought, grinning.
Another chase
. He
shot after her like the hungry predator he was.
    They'd only gone a block or two when the Crown Vic screeched into the parking
lot of a long, low brick building. He followed, one brow lifting as he glanced
up at the sign over the entrance. Hot-pink neon formed a curvy female silhouette
draped languidly over the word HOTRODZ.
    A strip club? This should be good.
    Lance parked the Jag and got out as Grace stepped from her patrol car. She
didn't even look back at him as she settled her black hat over her blonde head,
squared her slim, uniform-clad shoulders, and strode toward the door. He paced
after her, eying that businesslike walk.
    No doubt about it, his little Grace was all grown up.
    She had the most delicious legs, even in polyester uniform pants and black
cop shoes. In a miniskirt and red heels, she'd be deadly. She wouldn't even need
the big gun holstered at her hip.
Maybe I'll suggest it to the sheriff
.
Lance grinned, suspecting bad guys would happily follow those endless legs
wherever Grace Morgan led—including jail. His eyes lingered on her tight little
behind as she pulled open the door and walked in. Come to think of it, he didn't
mind letting her take the lead himself.
    A female scream cut the air, wiping the amusement from his face.
Grace
!
Heart in his throat, Lance charged inside, ready to kill any man who touched
her.
    He relaxed only slightly when he saw her, unhurt, pushing her way through a
crowd of male backs. He was tall enough to see over them to the other side of
the room, where a big, beefy man in a