Charming, turn-of-the-century house for sale. Furnished with unique four-poster bed...currently occupied by a disheveled, wickedly hot guy!
When she sees photojournalist Rob Klassen sleeping in the bed, real estate agent Hailey Fleming figures she's either in property hell...or some kind of heaven where sexy-pants men just appear in empty beds.
But when Rob decides to stay in his grandmother's house until they find the right buyer, Hailey's libido starts getting out of control. Her only option is a no-holds-barred SexFest for one night. And her commission... is his submission!
"Sick leave?" Rob Klassen yelled, unable to believe what he was hearing from the editor of World Week, the international current affairs magazine he'd worked for as a photojournalist for twelve years. "I'm not sick!"
Gary Wallanger pulled off his glasses and tossed them onto his desktop cluttered with Rob's proof sheets documenting a skirmish in a small town near the Ras Ajdir border between Tunisia and Libya. "What do you suggest I call it? Shot-in-the-ass leave? You damned near got yourself killed. Again."
Gary didn't like his people getting too close to the action they were reporting on and his glare was fierce.
Rob put all his weight on his good leg, but even so, the throbbing in his left thigh was hard to ignore. "I was running away as fast as I could."
"I saw the hospital report. You were running toward the shooter. Bad luck for you. They can tell those things from the entry and exit wounds." In the uncomfortable silence that followed Rob heard the roar of traffic, honking cabs and sirens on the Manhattan streets far below. He hadn't counted on Gary finding out the details he'd have rather kept to himself.
"You want to be a war hero," his editor snapped, "join the forces. We report news. We don't make it." Another beat ticked by.
"There were bullets flying everywhere. I got disoriented."
"Bull. You were playing hero again, weren't you?"
Rob could still picture the toddler cowering behind an oil drum. Yeah, his boss would have been happier if he'd left her scared and crying in the line of gunfire. But he was the one who had to wake up every morning and look himself in the mirror. Truth was he hadn't thought at all. He'd merely dashed over to the girl and hauled her to safety. Getting shot hadn't been in his plan.
Would he have acted any differently if he'd known what the outcome would be? He sure as hell hoped not.
He knew better than to tell Gary any of that. "You don't win Pulitzers with a telephoto lens. I needed to get close enough to capture the real story."
"close enough to take a bullet in the leg."
"That was unfortunate," Rob admitted. "I can still handle a camera though. I can still walk." He made a big show of stalking across the carpeted office, scooting around the obstacle course of stacked back issues, piled newspapers and a leaning tower of reference books. If he concentrated he could manage to stride without a limp or a wince though he could feel sweat begin to break out from the effort.
"No." The single word stopped him in his tracks.
He turned. "I'm the best you've got. You have to send me back out on assignment."
"I will. As soon as you can run a mile in six."
"A mile in six minutes? Why so fast?"
Gary's voice was as dry as the North African desert. "So the next time you have to run for your life you can make it."
Rob paused for breath and grabbed a chair back for support. He and Gary had been friends for a long time and he knew the guy was making the right decision even if it did piss him off. "It was pure bad luck. If I'd dodged right instead of left.."
"You know most people would be pretty happy to be alive if they were you. And they'd be thrilled to get a paid vacation." Gary picked up his glasses and settled himself behind his desk.
"They patched me up at the closest military hospital. It was nothing but a flesh wound."
"The bullet nicked your femur. I do know how to read a hospital...