Double the Heat by Deirdre Martin, Lori Foster, Elizabeth Bevarly, Christie Ridgway Page B

you, no.” She sounded wistful, as if she actually wished they could get together.
    Not in this lifetime . Hart opened the passenger door and waited. She turned, stared at him for a moment, then leaned up and kissed him silly.
    Her lips were soft and warm, her tongue bold. With one hand she held her umbrella, and with the other she stroked his chest. She let out a small sound of yearning . . . but she left Hart utterly unaffected.
    All he could think about was how Lisa would feel if she knew he was kissing someone else.
    She wouldn’t like it; that was for sure. But damn it, he had a role to play, so while keeping his eyes barely open, he listened hard for sounds of attack—and let her have her way with him.
    Finally, without his participation to spur her on, she released him and sighed. “You really are so damn gorgeous.”
    Hart almost laughed—but then, for only a flash of a second, Caroline looked beyond him, and Hart knew. He spun around in time to find a masked man skulking from the drugstore—and damned if he didn’t carry a ball bat!
    With Hart looking right at him, the guy froze for a second, as if stunned to be caught. Then he gave a battle yell and ran toward Hart with the bat in the air.
    Hart stepped away from his car and waited. He didn’t run toward the guy, didn’t make a sound. He just prepared.
    The dude’s momentum threw him off balance with the first swing of the bat, making it easy for Hart to dodge the blow and deliver a gut-squelching punch to his unprepared midsection.
    Wind left his assailant in a whoosh , and he bent double.
    Hart didn’t need much more time than that. He brought his elbow down hard on the man’s back, then his knee up into his face, and the idiot collapsed, his bat clattering on the blacktop. His groans were faint and filled with pain.
    “Oh, no, you don’t.”
    Hart heard Joe’s voice and looked around in time to see his cousin snatch a tire iron out of another man’s hand. Before the guy could recover, Joe pulled off his ski mask, and revealed Brad Emery, the fighter. The jerk on the ground had to be his cohort.
    Once Brad was relieved of the weapon, Joe gave him a shove toward Hart and said, “Now see how you fare.”
    Hart grinned. It figured that Joe would enjoy this.
    Gesturing for the man to attack, Hart waited. This guy was a little smarter, taking his time, circling Hart.
    Tiring of that game real fast, Hart said, “Chicken shit, are you going to do this, or what?”
    “You’re a fucking punk, Winston, you know that?”
    “I know I’ll kick your ass. I know you know I’ll kick your ass, and that’s why you’re trying this cowardly bullshit. You’re afraid to meet me on the mat, man to man. You know I’d annihilate you—with ease.”
    That did it. Lacking a fighter’s finesse, Brad launched himself at Hart, and they both went down onto the wet pavement.
    Shit. Fighting on a padded mat was much easier than on the broken blacktop. But Hart, with a background of wrestling skills, and despite having smacked his head hard, twisted until he had the mount, then pounded Brad in the jaw.
    His head snapped back, but Brad didn’t stop fighting. He cursed and wrestled until Hart slugged him again, breaking his nose, then again, stunning him with a shot to the jaw.
    Joe pulled Hart away. “Ease up, Skippy. The cops are on the way.”
    Hart shot a look at Joe. Catching his breath, he said, “I hope that damned name isn’t catching on.”
    Trying to protect his head, Brad groaned and turtled up.
    “I think Skippy sort of suits you.” Grinning, Joe hauled Hart upright.
    “How so?”
    “Skipping out on women? I think that’s where Lisa got it.”
    Well, hell. Hart scowled, but suddenly the first man started to scramble. Joe said, “Let me. Please.”
    Joe snagged the fellow from the back, saying, “Uh-uh, bud. Not so fast.” A brief struggle ensued, but Joe had no problem subduing him. When he was held in a headlock, Joe removed his mask, revealing