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Hot Rocks

Hot Rocks

Titel: Hot Rocks Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: Nora Roberts
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violence in O’Hara’s history, but there was in Crew’s. O’Hara didn’t look good for the two taps to the back of the diamond merchant’s head. And no reason, going by that history, for Willy to run scared of his old pal Jack O’Hara.
    More likely, much more likely, he’d run from the third man, the man Max was convinced was Alex Crew. And following that, Crew was in the Gap.
    But that didn’t tell Max where Willy had put the stones.
    He’d wanted to get them to Laine. Why in the hell would Willy, or her father, want to put Laine in front of a man like Crew?
    He batted it around in his head, getting nowhere. Uncomfortable in the desk chair, he moved to stretch out on the bed. He closed his eyes, told himself a nap would refresh his brain.
    And dropped into sleep like a stone.

CHAPTER 9
    It was his turn to wake with a blanket tucked around him. As was his habit, he came out of sleep the same way he went into it. Fast and complete.
    He checked his watch and winced when he saw he’d been under for a solid two hours. But it was still shy of seven, and he’d expected to be up and around before Laine got back.
    He rolled out of bed, popped a couple more pills for the lingering headache, then headed down to find her.
    He was several paces from the kitchen when the scent reached out, hooked seductive fingers in his senses and drew him the rest of the way.
    And wasn’t she the prettiest damn thing, he thought, standing there in her neat shirt and pants with a dishcloth hooked in the waistband while she stirred something that simmered in a pan on the stove. She was using a long-handled wooden spoon, keeping rhythm with it, and her hips, to the tune that bounced out of a mini CD player on the counter.
    He recognized Marshall Tucker and figured they’d mesh well enough in the music area.
    The dog was sprawled on the floor, gnawing at a hank of rope that had seen considerable action already from the look of it. There were cheerful yellow daffodils in a speckled blue vase on the table. An array of fresh vegetables were grouped beside a butcher-block cutting board on the counter.
    He’d never been much on homey scenes—or so he’d believed. But this one hit him right in the center. A man, he decided, could walk into this for the next forty or fifty years and feel just fine about it.
    Henry gave two thumps of his tail then rose to prance over and knock the mangled rope against Max’s thigh.
    Tapping the spoon on the side of the pot, Laine turned and looked at him. “Have a nice nap?”
    “I did, but waking up’s even better.” To placate Henry, he reached down to give the rope a tug, and found himself engaged in a spirited tug-of-war.
    “Now you’ve done it. He can keep that up for days.”
    Max wrenched the rope free, gave it a long, low toss down the hallway. Scrambling over tile then hardwood, Henry set out in mad pursuit. “You’re home earlier than I expected.”
    She watched him walk to her, her eyebrows raising as he maneuvered her around until her back was against the counter. He laid a hand on either side, caging her, then leaned in and went to work on her mouth.
    She started to anchor her hands on his hips, but they went limp on her. Instead she went into slow dissolve, her body shimmering under the lazy assault. Her pulse went thick; her brain sputtered. By the time she managed to open her eyes, he was leaning back and grinning at her.
    “Hello, Laine.”
    “Hello, Max.”
    Still watching her, he reached down to give the rope Henry had cheerfully returned another tug. “Something smells really good.” He leaned down to sniff at her neck. “Besides you.”
    “I thought we’d have some chicken with fettuccine in a light cream sauce.”
    He glanced toward the pot, and the creamy simmering sauce. “You’re not toying with me, are you?”
    “Why, yes, I am, but not about that. There’s a bottle of pinot noir chilling in the fridge. Why don’t you open it, pour us a glass.”
    “I can do that.” He backed up, went another round with Henry, won the rope and tossed it again. “You’re actually cooking,” he said as he retrieved the wine.
    “I like to cook now and then. Since it’s just me most of the time, I don’t bother to fuss very much. This is a nice change.”
    “Glad I could help.” He took the corkscrew she offered, studied the little silver pig mounted on the top. “You do collect them.”
    “Just one of those things.” She set two amber-toned wineglasses on the

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