Solo St. John, a wildlife photographer, is preparing for a trip to Alaska. Suddenly, Solo finds women of all sorts invading his privacy, his home and his office, all cooing nonsense words and blatantly throwing themselves at him. Solo doesn't know why, and he has no idea how to rid himself of the persistent women. He finally decides to beg a favor of his best buddy Nyssa Harrington.
In love with Solo for the past ten years and knowing he doesn't return her feelings Nyssa doesn't want to talk to Solo. She knows if she accepts his phone call, she will not be able to resist the temptation to hope again.
Good, Nyssa thought, she could handle belligerent. She was, after all, Solo’s damsel come to his rescue. This lady should be vanquished in a manner of minutes if she could think of something to say.
Seconds felt like hours while she let her gaze sweep around the room. The door to the bedroom was open. The sheets tossed and tangled as if something playful had toyed with them.
It didn’t take much to envision him, half-naked, sleepy, in bed, and wrapped in the redhead’s arms.
“Nyssa?” His sexy voice brought her out of the spell she’d almost smothered herself in.
“Get your hands off my husband!” Nyssa’s voice blurted out but her few crisp words had the desired effect. The lady’s hands dropped to her sides and her lips moved in a pert little moue.
At least Solo had the presence of mind to take advantage of her verbal warning. Standing, he neatly dumped the woman on her rounded derriere onto the couch.
If Nyssa hadn’t felt such outrage, the scene could have been construed as comical. But she did feel intense indignation and a possessiveness she wouldn’t analyze at the moment.
“Your husband?” The female cooed unbelievingly. “Now why do I find that hard to believe?”
“What a surprise darling.” She turned to Solo. “Is this one willing, eager, or able? Or perhaps a combination of all three?” She did try to push the anger from her voice. But then she thought it was a nice touch and if anger got rid of the female it was worth the embarrassment.
“Of all the nerve!”
“Yes, my wife does have--nerve. Among other things.” Solo still stood, open-mouthed, as Nyssa made her way across the room.
Nyssa ran her hand up Solo’s arm and endeavored for sultry instead of anger in her tone. “Sorry the plane took so long. Just like you asked, I bought a silky little black thing for bed.”
There were a number of things that could go wrong. For starters, Solo could deny the relationship, and then of course the redhead could figure out she lied. Somehow she didn’t expect either scenario.
“Pumpkin,” Solo said with a husky little growl in the timbre of his voice.
“Would you like a glass of wine?”
Before she had a chance to answer, he had maneuvered around discarded clothes and tumbled furniture to make his way to the kitchen and back with a glass, and was now pouring. He grinned from ear-to-ear and she felt a real sense of accomplishment.
“I tried to tell her I was spoken for, but until you showed up she didn’t believe me.”