The Pleasures of Spring Read Free

rapidly.
    She barely had time to register the shadow moving before a large body slid over the counter and onto the floor beside her.
    ‘Oh!’
    His dark eyes, veiled by ridiculously long lashes and shadowed by strong brows, were narrowed. His cheekbones were razor sharp, creating shadowed planes on his angular face. The thin mobile mouth was tight until he saw her hidden behind the counter.
    She caught a wave of his scent, something woodsy and masculine that made her skin flush. How the hell could he have this effect on her?
    Despite his crouched position, he took a moment to make a small bow. ‘Sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but I need to borrow a couple of your knives.’
    The soft Northern Irish burr was breathtakingly sexy. Even in the middle of a shoot-out with guns blazing, something inside her melted. That accent should be licensed. Typical Andy McTavish, flirting with any female he met, even in the middle of a gun battle. And he hadn’t recognized her.
    She quashed a stab of hurt and forced a strong Yorkshire English accent to her tongue. ‘You’re welcome.’ Her disguise had held.
    He ran interested eyes over her, stopping when he took in the bump that strained the front of her dress and his expression changed. ‘Don’t distress yourself, ma’am, I’ll have you out of this in no time, I promise.’
    ‘You and whose army?’ she snapped. If there was one thing she hated, it was men who promised the moon and the stars, but failed to deliver.
    His face changed, hardened. ‘Ma’am. I’m a Ranger. I
am
an army.’
    Despite herself, she couldn’t help believing him.
    One long arm reached up to the display and lifted down three of the knives from it. Andy tested the edges against his thumb, and nodded with satisfaction. ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes.’ He tipped her chin up, planted a quick kiss on her forehead and said, ‘Stay hidden, I promise I’ll come back.’
    Then he vaulted over the counter and was gone.

    A stuttering round of gunfire hit the metal walkway. Sparks flashed as the bullets ricocheted, striking a shop-front and shattering the glass. More screams, but further away this time. A dull
phut-phut
as bullets hit the ceiling, spraying slivers of plaster onto his Savile Row suit.
    Andy grinned and shook his head. Only a sad bastard missed being shot at, but things had been quiet lately. Even for him. What should have been a meeting with an informer about stolen art and the Eastern European mafia had suddenly got more interesting. His grin widened.
    That pregnant brunette in there had doubted him? He would prove he was as good as his word. There was something familiar about her, something he couldn’t put his finger on.
    Another shot sounded and he dismissed the woman from his thoughts and concentrated on the job in hand.
    Crouching, he tucked the smallest knife into his boot, and another one into his belt. The largest he jammed into his coat pocket, slicing the silk lining like a hot knife through butter. A gun would have been better, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
    Andy moved closer to the robbery, sliding along the wall, out of sight, in the direction of the jeweller’s shop, listening intently. It sounded like the idiots were trying to shoot open a safe. Two guns meant two tangos inside and there was probably a third nearby, sweating his ass off in a stolen car.
    The sub-machine gun stuttered to silence.
    ‘How was I to know the safe was on a time lock? Fucking piece of shit.’ The roar came from inside the shop. More expletives followed before the gun sailed through the open doorway and over the railings to land in the fast food court below.
    One weapon out of the way, but leaving empty handed would piss the thieves off and that could be dangerous.
    ‘Get up, bitch. We’re out of here.’ Andy heard a different voice this time, older and harder.
    ‘Please, no. I have a little girl. She’s only four.’ The woman’s plea bordered on hysterical.
    The sound of flesh striking