No Regrets

By Cindi Myers

Go to Spain. Take gourmet cooking class. Sleep with six men before I turn thirty...

After a near-lethal accident forces her to reevaluate her life, Lexie Foster is finished with being Little Miss Conservative. And she has the to-do list to prove it. When she lands a job with private investigator Nick Delaney, it's clear that her dead-sexy boss would be an excellent candidate for a few of the more x-rated things on her list.

Nick has his reservations, however. He may be tempted, but he can't forget about their cases. That is, until the night Lexie exercises her own brand of seduction...and proves to him that he will only regret the things he doesn't do.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Aug 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781488771897

Cindi Myers

Cindi Myers became one of the most popular people in eighth grade when she and her best friend wrote a torrid historical romance and passed the manuscript around among friends. Fame was short-lived, alas; the English teacher confiscated the manuscript. Since then, Cindi has written more than 50 published novels. Her historical and contemporary romances and women’s fiction have garnered praise from reviewers and readers alike. 

Book preview

1

SOME PEOPLE THINK LIFE is full of second chances. But the way Lexie Foster saw it, do-overs didn’t come around that often. When you got the chance for one, you’d better grab it and make it good.

Or so Lexie tried to explain to her best friend, Candace French, as they lingered over frozen macchiatos on a mid-June afternoon in the coffee shop of the building where they worked in downtown Denver.

Where Lexie used to work, that is.

Call me dense, but I’m just not getting this, Candace said as she stabbed a straw into her drink. Your first day back at work since the accident and you quit? Why?

I never liked working at Culpepper and Piper. Lexie took a long pull on the macchiato, savoring the rich caramel and coffee flavor. She’d never really appreciated things like good coffee drinks before, but those days were over. I’ve wasted too much time already in that dead-end job, she explained. The accident taught me that life is too precious to waste a second of it.

She didn’t remember much about the accident itself, but the feelings surrounding the night lingered: the heart-stopping terror as she felt her car begin to slide on the icy road and watched it hurtle toward the guardrail; the confusion as she tried to see the ambulance lights pulsing somewhere to her left through a haze of blood, garbled voices shouting unintelligible words; the bleakness that washed over her upon waking in the stark white world of the hospital, unable to move; the incredible joy when they’d released her restraints and she’d discovered she would fully recover; the desire to get out into the world and experience everything that had consumed her during almost six months of rehab.

She sucked up more of the macchiato with a satisfying slurp and looked at Candace. I’m going to do all the things I was too timid or busy or lazy to do before.

Candace looked skeptical. What kind of things?

I’ve made a list. Lexie opened her purse and pulled out the little red leather notebook she’d bought especially for this purpose. I’ve written one hundred things I intend to accomplish.

Candace opened the book and scanned the first page. Have affairs with at least six men before I’m thirty? Her eyes widened. That’s only three years.

Lexie flushed. That’s one every six months.

You haven’t had that many relationships in six years. Have you?

She shook her head. That’s the whole point. I’m not going to live the way I did before. The old Lexie had been conventional, conservative and too concerned about what other people thought of her to take many chances. The new Lexie reasoned that life was too short to let anyone else’s rules dictate how she should live.

But six? Don’t you think that’s a little ambitious? Maybe you should start slowly and work up.

She smiled. You haven’t read the rest of the list.

Candace flipped through the book, her eyes widening as she read. What? You can’t be serious.

Why not?

I’ve always thought of you as, well, conservative. Reserved.

I was. I’m not going to be that way anymore.

Candace cleared her throat and glanced at the book again. Have sex in a public place? Do something kinky? She fanned herself. That must have been some near-death experience.

Lexie shifted in her chair. Those are fantasies. Don’t you have fantasies?

Yes, but I don’t write them down and set out to make them come true.

Then maybe you should.

Candace returned the book to Lexie. Maybe you’re right. And it sounds like you’re going to have a lot of fun. But what does this have to do with quitting your job?

She tapped the cover of the book. Number four on the list—no more settling for boring and conventional just because it’s convenient. I’m going to find a better job. One that’s more exciting, or at least interesting.

Such as?

I saw this ad in the Sunday paper. It’s perfect. She took out the clipping from the Denver Post and showed it to Candace.

Private detective seeks administrative assistant. Must be organized, computer literate and have superior phone skills. Candace frowned and returned the clipping to Lexie. It’s still a secretary. It’ll probably turn out to be just as boring as what you’re doing now. And not as well-paid.

Lexie shrugged. If I don’t like it, I’ll find something else. Number eighteen on the list.

Which is?

Embrace change as good.

Uh-huh. Then what about ditching the scarves?

Lexie touched the paisley silk scarf knotted at her neck. I will. I’m just waiting for the scars to fade a little more.

Candace shook her head. They’re not that bad.

Lexie made a face. They look pretty awful to me. The doctors had to insert a breathing tube in her throat to save her. That and the surgery to repair the resulting hole had left scars that stood out white against her olive skin. Every time she looked in the mirror she cringed.

So what about all these men you’re going to have affairs with? Candace asked. Are you going to keep your neck covered while you’re making love? Or turn out all the lights?

It won’t matter so much with them. I’ll have my mind on other things. At least she hoped that would be the case.

Where are you going to find these men? Candace asked.

They’re everywhere. Lexie smiled. I’m sure I won’t have any trouble finding them.

No, you won’t. She leaned over and patted Lexie’s hand. I’m really proud of you. You go. Wow ’em all.

Lexie tried to look more confident than she felt. It was one thing to sit at home at night and conjure up all these fantasies, quite another to go out and make them into reality. But she’d promised herself she’d do this. Almost dying had made her see how much she’d cheated herself by always playing it safe. Time to take a few chances and really live.

NICK DELANEY GROANED and leaned back in his chair after interviewing yet another ditzy young woman who chewed gum the entire time and appeared incapable of alphabetizing correctly. That’s what he got for expecting to find a competent assistant on the salary he could afford.

He shifted his gaze to the stack of mail on the corner of his desk. Bills, mostly. Some junk mail. Maybe even a new client or two, but between working cases and trying to find someone to help him in the office, he hadn’t time to read his mail. Every day he didn’t have an assistant was a day he was likely losing money.

A knock on the door reminded him he had more interviews to conduct. He only hoped one of these applicants was at least mildly qualified. Come in, he called, sitting up straight.

A looker in a black skirt and sleeveless purple blouse walked in. She had short dark hair, and wore expensive-looking gold earrings and a black silk scarf knotted at her throat. The impression she gave was a combination of sophistication and sexiness—a definite cut above the candidates he’d seen so far.

He rose to greet her, his gaze dropping to her legs, which were long and sleek. Very nice. But could she handle a computer?

He offered his hand. I’m Nick Delaney. And you are?

Lexie Foster. She sat in the chair across the desk and crossed her legs at the ankles. She wore ankle-strap high heels, a particular favorite of his.

He cleared his throat and focused his attention on the résumé she’d slid across the desk. He hadn’t been in Denver long enough to start dating anyone, but clearly he was overdue for some female companionship. His ex-wife had rid him of the idea of wasting his time on anything long-term, but there was a lot to be said for momentary gratification. A good lay might help him keep his mind out of the gutter and on his work.

His eyebrows rose as he read Lexie’s résumé. If everything on here was true, she was more than qualified for the position. This says you’re currently employed at Culpepper and Piper.

She nodded. Yes. I’ve been with them for five years.

He didn’t know a lot about the company, but you couldn’t miss their imposing glass-and-steel headquarters downtown. They were a high-tech success story, and reportedly one of the top-rated employers in Denver. Why are you thinking of leaving them?

She smiled, brown eyes dancing with amusement, as if she were in on some private joke. I’m looking for more interesting work.

Ah. He’d heard that one before. He folded his hands and gave her a hard look. People think P.I. work is interesting. It’s not. It’s deadly dull. I need someone to answer the phone, file paperwork and maybe do background research for civil suits, divorce cases, insurance scams, things like that. Nothing exciting.

He was purposely trying to intimidate her, but she wasn’t buying. She crossed her legs at the knee, giving him a look at a good six inches of firm thigh. He kept his expression neutral, but below the belt there was a definite response.

Working for a large firm like Culpepper and Piper is very impersonal, she said. I’d enjoy the chance to work one-on-one in a small office.

He shifted in his chair, thinking about the kind of one-on-one activities he obviously hadn’t enjoyed enough of lately. You know I can’t afford to pay you what you’re making now.

That’s all right. I’m sure we can come to some agreement.

Was she intentionally coming on to him, or was his horny imagination taking over? He studied her for clues, but she sat there, serene and perfectly relaxed, her posture almost prim, except for the short skirt and sexy shoes and the ends of the scarf trailing over her breast like a flag marking a hazard.

Working with her might be a hazard to his concentration. Then again, he was desperate for someone competent to help him in the office. He glanced at the stack of mail on the corner of his desk. Did he hire the only qualified person he’d interviewed so far who was willing to work for the salary he could afford, or did he waste more time trying to find someone else for the position?

He looked at Lexie again. When can you start?

Her smile widened, positively dazzling now. I can be in first thing tomorrow.

He nodded, a little breathless in the face of thatsmile. He struggled to his feet and shook her hand, then watched her leave the room, his eyes focused on her curvy bottom in that tight skirt. He knew plenty of guys who’d count themselves lucky to have just hired a secretary this sexy.

But those were guys who hadn’t spent the last year digging out from under a fiasco of a failed marriage. Guys who hadn’t learned how dangerous a really sexy woman could be.

LEXIE SET THE BUD VASE on the corner of her desk and stepped back to admire the single pink rose she’d bought on the way to work this morning. From now on, she wanted flowers on her desk every day. Today, her first at her new job, was special and called for a rose, but other days she might have carnations or daisies. The kind of flower didn’t matter so much as treating herself to that little bit of extra beauty.

She looked around the front office space of Delaney Investigations and couldn’t suppress a thrill of excitement. It was happening. She really was changing her life. No more sitting back and dreaming about what could be. Now she was all about making things happen.

She smoothed a hand over her new gray tweed dress. The dress and the matching cropped jacket were made of a conservative fabric, but were cut to cling to every curve. No more dull clothes for her. Now she was a real bomb-shell with a whole closet full of pencil skirts, fitted jackets, bustiers and designer diva fashions.

The door to the back office opened and she turned to greet Nick Delaney. Though landing a hunk for a boss hadn’t been on her list, she had no complaints. Nick looked exactly like the image of a private investigator she’d always had in her mind: dark hair and eyes, broad shoulders, ruggedly handsome features. He hadn’t smiled much so far; at times he was almost surly, but there was no real anger in his grumpiness. If this were a movie, he’d be a better-looking Humphrey Bogart and she’d be the femme fatale who stole his heart. It was fun to pretend to play the part. Can I get you something, Nick?

I need a letter typed. He handed her a sheet of paper on which he’d scribbled an address and a few figures. It’s a bid to do background checks on potential employees. It needs to go out this afternoon. There’s stationery and envelopes in the supply cabinet.

Sure, I’ll get right on it. She took the paper and walked over to the computer, aware of his eyes on her. She knew the combination of tight skirt and high heels drew attention to her figure but then, that was the idea, wasn’t it? No more blending into the background for her. And she couldn’t say she disliked the idea of Nick being attracted to her. After all, he was good-looking and apparently single—there were definitely sparks between them.

She sat and rolled her chair up to the desk. Is there anything else? she asked, deliberately keeping her voice low and sultry.

He blinked and she suppressed a smile. Make a copy for the files while you’re at it, he said.

She nodded. There weren’t many files so far. She’d checked. In fact, everything about the place indicated Nick hadn’t been in business long. How long have you been a private eye? she asked.

He frowned and she thought he was about to tell her to mind her own business. But he said, A little over a year. Before that I was a cop.

In Denver? She opened the word processing program on the computer.

Houston.

She thought she’d detected a bit of a Texas drawl. Very nice.

As long as we’re asking questions, I’ve got one for you.

Her stomach gave a nervous shimmy. Did he intend to interrogate her? She had nothing to hide. She looked up, meeting his gaze. He had amazing blue eyes, pale against his tan skin. What would you like to know?

Your name. I’ve never known anyone called Lexie before.

It’s short for Alexandra. But no one calls me that, not even my mother.

He nodded, apparently satisfied, and turned to go into his office. She wanted to ask him to stay, to talk a little longer. She’d like to get to know him better, but she supposed that would come in time. She hated to waste time these days. She had so much she wanted to accomplish, she was impatient to take care of one item on her list and move on to the next.

The letter was done in ten minutes and she took it in for his signature. He was on the phone when she entered, and signed without comment. So much for continuing their conversation.

The rest of the morning passed with agonizing slowness. She straightened magazines and watered the lone rubber tree in the corner of the office. With nothing else to do, she took out the Spanish textbook she’d recently purchased and began leafing through that. Tonight she started Spanish classes at Red Rocks Community College. Number seventeen on her list.

Shortly before noon, Nick emerged from the office and walked straight to her desk. Startled, she slammed the book shut and shoved it into a drawer. Did you need something? she asked.

Do you have plans for lunch?

No. She’d thought about walking to the fast-food place on the corner and bringing something back here. Maybe he’d like her to bring him something, too.

Good. You can come with me. Seeing as it’s your first day, I thought I should buy you lunch.

Not exactly an invitation to a hot date, but she’d take it. She took her purse from the desk drawer and stood. That would be great.

They went in his car—a Ford Explorer that had seen better days. He had to sweep out a litter of food wrappers and convenience-store coffee cups before she could climb into the passenger seat. Sorry, he mumbled. One of the things about doing P.I. work is you tend to live out of your car.

She fastened her seat belt, then picked up a key map and a telephone directory off the floor. I guess you use these in your work.

He nodded and stashed the books behind the front seat. There’s a telephoto lens, binoculars and a cell phone charger down there somewhere, too.

Tools of the trade, she said.

That’s right.

They headed south from the office on Colfax, past tattoo parlors, pawn shops and funky boutiques, to Vick’s, a six-table café wedged between a liquor store and a mini-mart. It’s not fancy, but the food is good, he said as he ushered her inside.

The first thing she noticed was all the cops—two sheriff’s deputies, three police officers and a man with a federal badge filled the tables. Is this some kind of cop hangout? she whispered as she slid into a chair across from Nick.

Yeah. We know where all the great dives are.

His grin startled her—all white teeth and a light in his eyes that stole her breath. She’d thought he was handsome before, but smiling, he was transformed. The word devastating came to mind.

The waitress arrived and they ordered from the menu that was written on a chalkboard posted on the back wall—a burger for Nick and a Greek salad for Lexie.

Why did you decide to quit being a cop and become a P.I.? she asked when they were alone again.

He picked up his fork and began turning it over in his hand. It’s a long story.

She spread her napkin in her lap and gave him an expectant look, saying nothing. She’d learned that if you kept silent long enough most people would say something to fill it.

He took a long drink of iced tea, then set it down with a loud thump. You really want to know?

She nodded.

I was married. One day I came home and found all my stuff packed in boxes and suitcases in the front hall. My wife asked me to move out. His voice was calm, but the lines around his eyes deepened and his knuckles whitened on the hand that held the glass.

That’s pretty cold, she said, trying for sympathy without pity.

Yeah, well, she said she’d been trying to let me know how unhappy she was, but I was so wrapped up in work I hadn’t noticed, so she figured kicking me out was one way to make sure I got the message.

Give the woman points for being direct. What did you do?

I was stunned. I really hadn’t had a clue. I got a room at a cheap hotel and promised her I’d make things better. Since she seemed to think my job was part of the problem, I quit. I decided being my own boss offered more flexibility and better hours.

Wow. He must have really wanted to save his marriage. She couldn’t imagine loving someone enough to make that kind of sacrifice. But it didn’t work?

He shook his head. "Nope. Turns out the problem wasn’t really my job—it was her boyfriend who’d lost his job and wanted to move in with her."

She winced. Ouch.

The waitress delivered their order. The salad looked delicious. Why didn’t you go back to your old job when things didn’t work out with your wife?

He