Caped and Dangerous - Isabel Jordan Page 0,3

looking entirely too good for her peace of mind.

Killian looked like the cocky, smirking love child of a Sons of Anarchy biker and David Gandy’s younger, hotter brother. Almost six-three, probably around 200 pounds of pure, lean muscle, a jawline and cheekbones you could sharpen knives on, coal-black, always disheveled and a little too long hair, shrewd green eyes that saw entirely too much…Yeah, he was what an orgasm would look like if it could breathe, walk, and talk in a sexy Irish brogue.

He was also ten years younger than her, which really chapped her ass. He was a unicorn, for fuck’s sake. A hot, 30-ish billionaire who looked like he had plenty of time to eat right, work out, and still run his ginormous corporation, all while wearing designer clothes that had obviously been tailored to fit him and only him.

Greer was forty-six, ate Lean Cuisine meals off paper plates because she didn’t have time to do dishes, and rarely ever found two socks in her drawer that matched. And the only brand name she consistently wore was Old Navy. Not exactly haute couture.

He just had to be a villain, Greer thought. Good guys didn’t ever look like that.

Killian didn’t say a word. Just lifted one brow at her—how the smug fucker did that, she had no idea—and handed her a to-go cup from the Starbucks in his lobby.

That’s right. He had a Starbucks in his lobby. Yet another reason to dislike the man. No one deserved 24/7 access to coffee they didn’t have to make themselves.

Greer waved him off as she limped toward the front door. Stupid arthritic knee. “I can’t drink coffee this late at night.”

He stepped into her path and thrust the cup toward her. “I know, and it’s adorable. This is just hot chocolate, with whipped cream on top.” He shot her that smirk that simultaneously made her want to throat-punch him and kiss the crap out of him. “A cup of diabetes. Just the way you like it.”

She chose not to dwell on the fact that he knew her preferred after hour’s beverage. It was too…intimate. She’d also be ignoring how he used the word adorable to describe anything about her. Greer was a highly intelligent, mature, divorced woman with super strength who could fly. There was nothing adorable about her.

But she took the cup, because, well, hot chocolate. “Thank you,” she said graciously, but grudgingly.

His smirk widened into an actual smile that would’ve driven a lesser woman to her knees. But not Greer Glenanne. No siree. Her knees remained firmly locked in place. And together.

He gestured to the front door with a sweeping gesture, like they were about to waltz their way into a Gone with the Wind cotillion or some shit. “Shall we?”

Greer fluttered her eyelashes at him and gave him a mock curtsy. “Why, Mr. Morgan,” she said in her best Southern Belle accent, “I do declare."

He got into the elevator to the lobby with her, and his scent smacked her in the face. He smelled like sun-dried laundry, clean, warm male skin and sex. That’s what it was. He smelled like sex. Dirty, athletic, fuck-you-up-against-the-bedroom-wall sex. Or against the elevator wall…

Greer fanned her face. Motherfucking hot flashes.

“I saw you on the news this morning,” he said.

She struggled valiantly to rein in her wayward thoughts and pay attention to what he was saying. She was on the news practically every morning. The mayor just loved to put Greer on the news after a job well done, and somehow manage to take all the credit for herself.

This morning was no different. Greer had taken down a gang leader who’d holed himself up in an abandoned building on the east side. He’d held the cops off for about five hours with a stash of semi-automatic weapons and the threat of a rocket launcher. He’d even shot their hostage negotiator in the thigh before Greer was called in.

She’d punched a hole in the roof and dropped down on the punk’s head. Greer trussed him up like a Thanksgiving turkey with zip ties and a length of good, nylon rope and fireman- carried him to the cops who were still waiting outside. The whole take-down had lasted about five minutes.

But to hear the mayor tell the story, you’d think the woman had flown in herself to do the cops’ dirty work.

“I was just doing my job,” she said.

“The mayor doesn’t deserve you. You’re making her look good and she isn’t doing anything for you in