Harlequin Romantic Suspense September 2015 Box Set by Elle James

Author:Elle James
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Harlequin Romantic Suspense
Publisher: Harlequin

It was all too familiar—a hum of conversation, clinking dishes, something hitting the grill with a steaming hiss, hurrying feet. It even smelled just the same, grease and heat and overcooked coffee and a faint tang of chlorine from the bleach rinse. Holly’s knees almost buckled, but she told herself it was just from spending so long in the car.

“Hep ya?” the waitress on greet duty said, blinking sleepily. Her graying hair, pulled back under a net, was still neatly braided, and though she sounded halfway to dreamland there was a sharp twinkle in her hazel gaze.

“Hello. Two, please.”

“Where’s the other?”

What? “At the motel. He sent me to get a table.”

“Just passin’ through?” She fished out a couple of plastic-covered menus, and slight unease began under Holly’s hair, right at her nape.

“We’re on vacation.” Holly’s tone plainly said, Is it normal to get the third degree when asking for a booth? Maybe she looked shabby, or just too tired.

Or maybe this was a truckers-only place? Who knew?

In any case, it must have been the right response, because the waitress nodded. “Ah. We get all types here. Smoking or non?”

Holly dredged up a smile. “I prefer non, but whatever you have free. It looks busy.” You need someone to wipe your board, too. I could have that done in a hot minute, if you’d hire me. Was here far enough away to hide?

“It is.” The woman paused. “Most people go straight on into the city from here, except for the boys. They like to stop.”

“The boys? Oh, we saw the truck stop.” She followed, nice and docile, and asked for decaf.

The smoking side was packed, and the counter on the nonsmoking side, too. Broad backs, T-shirts and heavy jackets, male laughter. The booths were empty, just a sprinkling of heavyset men, very few women. A bright spill of jukebox music ricocheted from the smoking side, and Holly settled on cracked mauve vinyl, keeping her back stiffly away from the needlepoint cushion. Nothing was going to make this sad little place look new again, and she put her backpack on the window side of the booth just to be safe.

The decaf came, half-burned by the smell of it, and she had just picked it up when a shadow fell over her.

It wasn’t Reese. It was a burly man in a flannel shirt, his blue baseball cap settled firmly enough that it might have been glued on and his beard neatly trimmed. His eyes were bloodshot, his jeans were worn and he looked as though he was having some trouble staying upright.

“Hello there, sweet thing,” he slurred, and the intense, inappropriate desire to laugh burbled up inside of Holly.

“I’m sorry?” she managed, politely, frozen with her coffee cup halfway to her mouth.

“How much?” He leaned over, and she caught a breath of unwashed, sweaty man with a little more fat than muscle, but still plenty of both. It wasn’t like Reese’s clean healthy scent.

I could smell it on you. What else could he smell?

“I’m sorry?” she repeated.

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