Excerpt of Triple Threat by Regina Kyle

HOLLY SWORE UNDER her breath as she fumbled in her
darkened bedroom for her muck boots. What had she been
thinking when she volunteered for the morning shift at
the nursery? No civilized human being should be required
to rise before the sun.

Of course, her father was probably already dressed and in
the greenhouse, watering the perennials. At sixty-six, he
had more energy than most thirty-somethings.

Including Nick, Holly thought, her outstretched hand
finally coming into contact with the cool rubber of one
of her boots. She felt around for the other, grabbed the
pair and crept in her stocking feet out of the room and
down the long, dark hall. Sure, Nick had offered to help.
But she didn’t think he’d appreciate being dragged out of
bed in the wee hours on his first full day in Stockton.
Seeing his muscles bunch and flex as he mulched the
gardens would have made it worth hauling her own sorry
butt up at such an ungodly hour, though. If she followed
the look-don’t-touch rule, she’d be fine, or so she told
herself. Right before she considered what crimes she’d
commit—theoretically—to see the man in shorts and work
boots. Shirtless, with a thin sheen of sweat covering his
chest and back.

A soft thump and the pitter-patter of furry feet told her
Jasper had jumped off her bed and was fast catching up to
her. His fluffy shadow approached, his purr vibrating
through Holly’s toes. “Hey there, big fella,” she cooed.
“Ready to catch some mice?

With a haughty tilt of his white-tinged chin that seemed
to say “as if,” the tabby snubbed her and glided past.
Rearing up on his hind legs, he stretched his front paws
toward the door handle of Gabe’s room. Nick lay sleeping
in there, wearing who knew how much—or how little.

“Jasper, no,” she hissed, a corner of her brain dimly
recalling Nick’s casual comment at dinner about his cat
allergy. She should have warned him that Jasper was a
regular feline Houdini, able to open doors. “Down.”

Neither “no” nor “down” had any effect on the cat. Holly
dropped her boots and started after him, but before she
could grab the little bugger he had pressed on the handle
and thrown his considerable weight against the door,
pushing it open. With his tail held high and an air of
superiority befitting his Egyptian ancestors, he squeezed
through, leaving Holly staring after him.

Damn, double damn and triple damn.

She had two choices. Keep going down the hall as if
nothing had happened. Or rescue Nick from a trip to the
E.R. for a shot of Benadryl.

“Stupid cat.” Her choice made, she inched the door open
farther. She’d sneak in, grab the beast and sneak out.
Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

Light crept through the half-open curtains, and the faint
smell of freshly mown grass drifted through the open
window. And on the bed…

Holly’s breath hitched at the sight of Nick sprawled, one
long leg hanging off the mattress. He wasn’t naked,
thanks to a pair of formfitting boxer briefs—drat—but his
muscled chest and legs were bare, the sheet bunched
around his ankles, as if he’d been too spent after a bout
of down-and-dirty, muss-the-covers action to bother
pulling it up. He looked every inch the Hollywood bad boy
the press made him out to be, even in sleep, with his
light scruff, deep tan and sculpted-for-IMAX body. But at
the same time, he appeared surprisingly vulnerable, his
eyes closed, long, dark lashes resting against his
cheeks, his strong jaw relaxed, his breathing deep and
even.

She’d seen plenty of him that night in his apartment, but
in her rush to leave she’d never had the chance to study
him undetected. Now, with him prostrate and unconscious,
she could appreciate the perfect symmetry of his face,
cheek over chin next to perfectly angled nose. The
chiseled highs and lows of his pecs and abs. Corded
forearms leading to thick wrists and strong, long-
fingered hands. She itched to touch. Taste. Smell. Curl
up next to him and bask in the heat radiating off his
body.

He’s just a man, she told herself, exhaling quietly in a
futile effort to slow her racing heart. Flesh, blood and
bone, like any other.
But oh, what a delectable combination of flesh, blood and
bone.

She took a tentative step toward him before remembering
what she was there for. Jasper. Where was that darned
cat?

Holly scanned the room and found him coiled at the foot
of the bed, ready to spring onto Nick’s outstretched
legs. “C’mere, Jasper,” she pleaded softly. “Come on,
boy. I saw some Manchego cheese in the refrigerator. Your
favorite.” He might be lower on the evolutionary scale,
but he sure had expensive taste in treats.

Unmoved by the bribe, the cat leaped with unexpected ease
onto the bed, landing inches from Nick’s pillow. With a
swish of his tail, the cat circled a few times before
settling into the crook of Nick’s arm, his cocky orange
head tucked under Nick’s chin and one paw extended across
his sculpted rib cage.

Lucky cat.

Holly held her breath, waiting for Nick to stir. But the
guy slept like a stone. She tiptoed to the bedside and
reached for the cat, ignoring the devil on her shoulder
telling her to oh so casually brush against Nick as she
did. She had to get Jasper out of there before Nick’s
allergies kicked in. She couldn’t imagine anything more
humiliating than him waking up sneezing and finding her
gawking at him like one of his obsessed fangirls. Not
exactly how she’d planned to start her day.

“That’s it, boy,” she crooned softly, getting close
enough to graze his soft fur with her fingertips. “Just a
little bit farther and we’ll go get some of that nice
overpriced cheese…”

“Any farther and I won’t be responsible for what happens
next.”

Holly jumped back at the sound of Nick’s voice, deep and
gravelly and early-morning sexy. The movement startled
Jasper, who dived off the bed with a form worthy of Greg
Louganis and stalked out of the room. Not that Holly
blamed him. She’d be pretty upset, too, if someone got
between her and a nearly naked Nick.