She's No Angel

Leslie Kelly

If only he'd taken another route to Trouble, Pennsylvania. Then he'd never have rescued a tire-iron-toting, drop-dead-gorgeous woman whose crazy aunts had stolen her shoes and keys and left her more than a little pissed off.There was no way he was ready to get involved with someone like Jennifer, let alone the decades-old murder case swirling around her nutty family!But writer Jennifer Feeney was one provocative package. And her latest bestseller had stirred up a whole lot of trouble. Which meant that, between rescuing her again and again, Mike had fallen for her, big-time. Just the way he'd promised himself he wouldn't. Now it looks as if her family's past is going to catch up with both of them, and it's time for Mike to choose–solve the case–or get the girl.

She’s No Angel

Leslie Kelly

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

To Bruce. Just Bruce.

I’m so glad you like that I’m no angel.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

OF ALL THE PLEASURES in the life of Mortimer Potts, he’d have to call being the patriarch of a small Pennsylvania town among the finest. In the single year that he’d been living in Trouble, having purchased the bulk of it to save it from bankruptcy, he’d watched the place emerge from its cloak of depression the way a pretty flower might pop out amid a field of weeds and scrub. Not fully in bloom yet, it merely offered a hint at the color curled within its tightly wound petals. Observing it blossom had become his favorite pastime.

But the town wasn’t his greatest pleasure. It couldn’t compare, say, to spending time with his family—his grandsons and new granddaughter-in-law. Or having an eighty-one-year-old body that could perform all its necessary functions without benefit of odious amounts of fiber or Viagra. At least, most of the time. There had been that one occasion with the Feeney sisters when he’d discovered what the hoopla over that little blue pill was all about. It was a wonder his heart had survived the unexpected adventure. Still, watching the town emerge from its sleep was infinitely better than needing the obituaries to see who he’d outlived.

“I heard that sigh,” a disapproving voice said, the clipped British accent unaltered by decades of life in the U.S. “You’re thinking of those wretched sisters again, aren’t you? Either that or the time we rescued the harem in forty-six.”

Mortimer smiled in reminiscence. “A noble adventure.”

Roderick, his manservant—and best friend—sniffed, the same supercilious sound of disapproval he’d made since the day they’d met. “I doubt the sheikh would have been so quick with his golden reward if he knew how many of his wives thanked you personally.”

Ahh, yes. He did enjoy being thanked.

His fond memories quickly faded, Roderick’s words suddenly making him feel very old. Gone were his journeys to other continents, where he and his majordomo had been freewheeling adventurers. Or even, in his later years, where they’d been freewheeling parents, the two of them raising Mortimer’s grandsons.

Having lived life as a citizen of the world, he’d seen no reason to bring the boys up any other way. So while other youngsters their age studied faraway places by reading about them in textbooks in stuffy schoolrooms, his grandsons were visiting those spots. South America. Africa. From sampans in Shanghai to digs of ruins in Greece, Mortimer and Roderick had taught the boys not merely how to think, but how to live.

Now, however, there were no more adventures. No more trips to other continents. If he were foolish enough to get on a horse today, he’d be more likely to break a hip than to win a race across the desert.

“Is everything prepared for Michael’s arrival?”

Roderick nodded. “Right down to his favorite dish.” His brow scrunching in disgust, he added, “Chil