A Kiss to Kill by Nina Bruhns

edge, evidence that the staff must be cleaning out the ponds in anticipation of spring planting. Which must be how the DB had been discovered. She wondered idly how long the victim had been in the slimy water. Yuck. And how it had gotten there.
    Pulling out her notebook, she turned to the gardeners and ranger and started asking her questions. She was just finishing up with the last witness when a tall, good-looking, fortyish man in a dark blue suit strolled up holding a Burger King bag.
    He peered at her over the rims of amber-colored reflecto-aviators. “Detective McPhee?”
    She did a double-take.
    Oh. My. God.
    Probably a few years her junior, the guy was at that stage of forty-something that made a man look affluent, sexy, and in his prime—fit, tanned, tailored, and financially sound.
    Well, except for the Burger King part. Lunch? Really?
    “SAC Montana, I presume,” she drawled, torn between irritation and annoyance.
    “I brought lunch,” he said with a bad-boy smile that had doubtless captured the heart of many a hapless rookie straight from the Academy who didn’t know any better.
    “Seriously? Burger King?” she said dryly.
    “Angry Whoppers,” he said, and waggled his eyebrows.
    Okay, you had to give the man points for a sense of humor. Unwillingly, she felt her lips form a half smile. “How perceptive of you,” she said.
    “That’s why they pay me the big bucks. So”—he looked around—“where can we sit and chat?”
    She snapped her notebook closed and started back toward the parking lot without bothering to check if he was following. “I can’t believe they let you onto an active crime scene. Somebody’s gonna wish he didn’t get up this morning.” Referring to the guard at the gate.
    “Not his fault,” Montana said from behind her. “He got a call from your lieutenant to let me in.”
    She jetted out a breath, halted and spun, hands on hips. She should have known Harding would—
    Montana ran right into her.
    For a split second the front of their bodies pressed together intimately. No longer than an instant, but long enough to feel the hardness of his muscles and the broadness of his chest against her breasts. Not to mention a few other things she defi nitely should not be feeling.
    Like a crazy zing of sexual attraction in the pit of her stomach.
    Whoa .
    She stepped back. He stood still. He cocked his head, gazing at her over those impenetrable glasses again. His eyes were blue as the spring sky. “I’m hungry,” he said, his voice suddenly pitched low. “How ’bout you?”
    God, had he felt it, too? Was that an invitation for more than Angry Whoppers . . . ? Or had her overactive imagination just skipped from too-fertile to plain-old-stupid, due to being without a man for so long?
    “Um, look—”
    “No strings,” he said. “You don’t have to give me anything you don’t want to.”
    She blinked. What exactly were they talking about here? “That’s good. Because I don’t have much to give.”
    His lips tilted up—mobile lips, no doubt brimming with experience. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
    Holy. Jesus.
    She swiped the bag from his hand. “We can eat in my car.” In full view of the officer guarding the gate , she reprimanded herself sternly. With that, she strode off down the path.
    And wondered what the bloody hell he really wanted.

    GINA awoke with a peculiar feeling in the pit of her stomach. Something was—
    Omigod .
    Then she remembered. The attack! She let out a cry of despair. Visions of blood flew through her mind. Along with the feel of powerful hands gripping her and . . .
    Gregg .
    Bolting upright, she looked around frantically. Mother of God . She was in his apartment!
    And in his bed .
    She would recognize that heavy wrought-iron headboard anywhere. Its unusual custom features had figured prominently in their lovemaking on the occasions he’d brought her here . . . and in her fantasies ever since.
    But those fantasies were about to turn into