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“Because you were in no shape to drive last night, and neither she nor I wanted to leave your Benz at the club all night. The neighborhood’s a little iffy, as you know.”
Yeah, he knew. His Mercedes would have been stripped and sold for parts before sunrise. But why her? “Why didn’t you drive my car?”
“Uh, I had my own car to drive. We met there, remember?”
Right. Fuzz still cluttered his mind. But again, why her? She was probably halfway to Mexico by now. In luxurious air-conditioned comfort.
Within a few minutes, Ryan pulled into a modest apartment complex on the outskirts of downtown. There it was—his luxury sedan—parked in front. At least it was covered under a carport. Had she used her own parking spot?
“Here you go, pal. She’s in number 403.”
Chandler widened his eyes. “You’re leaving me here? You’re not even coming up with me?”
Ryan let out a chuckle. “You’re a big boy. You made your bed, now go lie in it.” He shook his head. “I mean that figuratively, of course.”
Ha! Chandler was in no shape to lie in anyone’s bed at the moment, though Jane Rock and her perfectly sculpted body were certainly tempting. “You’re serious.”
“Totally. I have things to do today, and this isn’t on the schedule. Get out.”
“Some friend,” Chandler muttered as he opened the car door and stepped onto the pavement.
Chapter Two
Several hours in jail hadn’t done anything to lessen Chandler Hamilton’s physical appeal. The man was a god. Nature had certainly wasted a vast amount of beauty on the jerk. Even with his striped shirt wr
inkled, his golden hair a mess, he was the most delicious hunk of flesh Jane had seen in some time.
“Hello, Chandler,” Jane said as she held the door open.
“How do you know my name?”
“Ryan, of course, though I could have easily checked the registration in your yacht on wheels out there. You’re Chandler Wade Hamilton the third, of blood bluer than the Pacific. I know all about you.”
“Ah, yes. The curse of the family name.”
“Ha! If it’s a curse to have everything handed to you since day one, please”—she held up her hands—“let your curse fall upon me.”
“Look”—Chandler raked his long fingers through his disheveled blond locks—“could I just have my keys?”
“Sure. Come in for a minute and I’ll grab them for you.”
He shuffled in slowly. Poor thing was no doubt exhausted.
Poor thing? Had that thought really just crossed her mind? The poor thing had heckled her all last night and had cost her Lisa Taylor’s representation. By the time Jane and Ryan had talked Jim out of the charges, Lisa had already left, taking Jane’s big break with her.
“Thanks for not wrecking my car.”
She sighed. What an asshole! No use getting bent out of shape at his rudeness. “I do happen to possess a valid driver’s license in the name of Jane Christine Rock. Which is my real name, by the way.” She waved toward the couch. “Have a seat. I’ll go get your keys.” She hurried to her bedroom and retrieved them from her purse. “Here you are.” She jingled them as she returned to the living room.
Shit. He’d fallen asleep on her couch. A soft snore sneaked from his throat. Just what she needed. She knelt down beside him and nudged him gently. Damn, his hard muscled shoulder felt wonderful beneath her fingertips. Better shoulders didn’t exist on the planet, she was certain.
“Chandler, wake up.”
“Mmmm.” His deep voice rumbled, a husky caress.
Why the hell was this turning her on? Yeah, he may look like a god, but he was an asshole of major proportions.
“Damn it, Chandler, come on.” She nudged him again.
