The Lady in Red & Dangerous Deception Page 17

  Playfully tugging on her hair, he grinned. “Don’t let it go to your head, Jones. I still plan on winning our bet—this is just a temporary lull in competition. Once things are back to normal, you’d better watch out. I’m going to eat your lunch.”

  “Oh, yeah?” she tossed back, her own eyes starting to sparkle. “You and whose army? You’re good, cowboy, I’ll give you that. But I’m better and you know it. I guess it’s a man thing.”

  Confused by the sudden shift in her reasoning, he frowned. “What?”

  “Not being able to accept when you’re beaten,” she said sweetly. Flashing her dimples at him, she dared to reach out and pat him on the cheek. “Poor baby. Men have such fragile egos.”

  Lightning-quick, his fingers trapped hers against his face, and suddenly, neither one of them was smiling. His blood starting to warm in his veins, Blake deliberately reminded himself that he’d sworn not to touch her again. Not after he’d gone up in flames with her and come damn close to losing his soul to her. After he’d forced himself to leave her last night, he’d lain in his narrow bed at his grandfather’s and spent what was left of the night convincing himself that he’d blown their lovemaking all out of proportion. It was just good sex, nothing more. His emotions weren’t involved. They couldn’t be. Then he’d heard about the fourth murder and called Adam to find out where Sabrina was. When he’d learned that she’d gone back home, his heart had stopped in his chest.

  He’d broken all speed limits to get to her, and ever since then, he’d been fighting the need to snatch her close. Damn, she tied him in knots! He wanted her—she didn’t want commitment. So where the hell did that leave them? Until he had the answer to that, he had no business touching her. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

  Holding her hand to his jaw, he said in a voice that was sandpaper rough, “My ego’s just fine, thank you very much. And I wouldn’t count my chickens before they hatch, honey. You just might end up with egg on your face.”

  Her eyes darkened, and becoming color stole into her cheeks. “I can handle whatever you dish out, Nickels,” she promised huskily. “And don’t you forget it.”

  Staring down at her, his heart beginning to knock against his ribs, Blake told himself they were talking about the bet, nothing more. But as he slammed her door and walked around the hood of his truck to slide in beside her, all he could think about was that she could handle him, all right. Anytime she damn well pleased, better than any woman ever had before. All she had to do was say where and when and he’d be there.

  Awareness humming on the air between them, they both gave a start as Blake’s police radio crackled to life and a disembodied voice called all available patrol cars within the vicinity of Loop 410 and Broadway to Texas State Bank for a hostage situation. With a muttered curse, Blake started the motor and pulled away from the curb with a squeal of tires. Seconds later, they were racing across town, each of them sending up silent prayers of thanks for the distraction of work.

  When they ended up at the Times right before quitting time, Sabrina couldn’t believe how well things had gone. After Sam Kelly’s grim warning earlier that morning, she’d expected to spend the day looking over her shoulder, wondering when the killer was going to make his presence known. But it was usually Blake her eyes found whenever she looked around, and he didn’t give her time to wonder about anything. When he wasn’t discussing the stories they’d just investigated, he was distracting her with some tall tale that invariably made her laugh.

  For a woman who valued her independence, she should have been more than a little exasperated with him—after all, he hadn’t given her any choice when he’d designated himself her personal bodyguard, and she wasn’t used to a man just taking over her life that way without so much as a by-your-leave. But he hadn’t crowded or pushed or in any way interfered with the way she worked. He’d just been there, a protective shadow who worked alongside her as if he did it every day of the week. And as much as her head hated to admit it to her heart, she’d liked having him there. He was a man a woman could get used to having underfoot.

  When they’d first walked into the Times, she’d expected his boss to demand an explanation once he discovered her identity, but Tom Edwards only lifted a brow in surprise, told her that something big had to be in the works if Blake was conspiring with the competition, then offered her a job if she ever decided to jump ship and come work for a real paper. She’d liked him on the spot.

  Seated at the chair Blake had drawn up for her at his desk, she watched him pound out three stories in record time and couldn’t help but be fascinated. He used two fingers—just two—and never looked at his computer screen until he was finished. And even then, he only made a few changes before he flipped to his notes for the next story.

  Unabashedly reading over his shoulder, Sabrina had to admit the man was darn good at what he did. She could knock out a story in record time when she had to, but it always took her a few stops and starts before her writing really got going and she got out of the way of her own muse. Blake seemed to have no such problem. What came off the top of his head was pretty much what he turned in as his finished work, and there was a grittiness to it that reached out and grabbed her with the first word. She couldn’t help but be impressed, and knew that long after he was out of her life, she would carry in her heart a picture of him sitting at his desk, his forehead wrinkled with concentration and his eyes intently focused on something she couldn’t see, hammering out a story.

  Then, as quickly as he had begun, he was finished. Turning to her with that wicked grin of his that never failed to jump-start her heart, he said, “Now that you’ve seen a master at work, what d’ya say we blow this joint and get out of here, Jones? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

  Feeling a little hungry herself, she started to agree with him, only to frown with mock indignation. “Hold it right there, Nickels. What was that crack about a master at work?”

  His eyes crinkling with amusement, he rose to his feet and reached down to pull her from her chair. “The truth hurts sometimes, Jones. But hey, look at it this way—now that you’ve seen me in action, maybe some of my genius will rub off on you. Of course, some things you just have to be born with—”

  Laughing, she playfully punched him in the gut. “Yeah. Like modesty and talent and true greatness. When I get my Pulitzer, you can say you knew me when.”

  Enjoying himself, he only snorted and hauled her after him toward the nearest exit. “I’ve been meaning to have a serious talk with you, honey, about these delusions of grandeur you’ve been having,” he teased. “I know this good doctor—”

  Glancing over his shoulder to laugh down into her eyes, he pushed open the outside door and never noticed that while they’d been inside, the sky had turned dark and threatening and the wind had picked up. The minute they stepped outside, the rain that had been forecast all day started to fall with just a scattering of drops.

  Surprised, Blake glanced up as thunder rumbled threateningly overhead. “Uh-ho. Better hurry. We’re in for it.”

  Well used to summer storms that could blow up out of nowhere, Sabrina knew better than to linger. Practically running to keep up with Blake’s long stride, she dodged raindrops like bullets and rushed across the parking lot. They were halfway to Blake’s truck when the heavens opened up like a floodgate. By the time they threw themselves into the pickup’s cab, they were both soaked to the skin.

  Laughing, Sabrina shook her wet hair out of her face and turned to Blake, intending to make a crack about not having to wash her clothes when she got home, but the words died unspoken on her tongue. His shoulder almost rubbing hers, Blake sat as if turned to stone behind the steering wheel, totally oblivious of his wet clothes as he stared down at her, his green eyes hot and intense and devouring as they moved over her.

  The thud of her heartbeat, along with the dancing of the rain on the roof of the truck, was suddenly loud in her ears. Sabrina automatically glanced down…and gasped. Drenche
d by the rain, her thin, white cotton blouse, normally sedate enough for church, was nearly transparent and molded her breasts like a wet T-shirt. Embarrassed color firing her cheeks, she hastily moved to cover herself.

  Blake, however, was faster. Reaching behind the seat, he pulled out a lightweight cotton jacket. “Here. This’ll help.” His voice as rough as a gravel road, he draped it around her shoulders, then couldn’t seem to stop touching her as he adjusted the collar and pulled it snugger around her. “Are you cold? I can turn on the heater.”

  Cold? Sabrina thought shakily, swallowing a moan of laughter. Even if it hadn’t been a sticky ninety or more degrees, the brush of his hands would have warmed her if it’d been thirty below. Everywhere he innocently touched—and a few places he didn’t—she burned.

  “No,” she choked. “I’m fine. Really. Just embarrassed to death.”

  “Don’t be,” he growled, lifting her chin so that she was forced to meet his gaze. “You’re beautiful. And no one saw you but me.”

  And he had already seen all of her there was to see. The knowledge was there in his eyes, in the tension that curled between them like a lick of fire, in the breathlessness that suddenly seized them both. His hand slid from her chin to her throat in a slow glide, and just that quickly, they were back in his apartment, in his bed, and she was aching for another kiss.

  His own need was just as fierce—she could see it in his eyes, feel it in his hands, which weren’t quite steady as he moved to draw her closer, his head already lowering to hers. Then, on the street that ran in front of the Times’s parking lot, they heard the blare of a horn and the sudden screech of tires as a BMW, going too fast on the wet streets, narrowly missed a van that pulled out right in front of it.

  Stiffening, Blake drew back abruptly and swore, remembering nearly too late that they were sitting in a public parking lot in full view of anyone who cared to look. “Let’s get out of here,” he muttered. A muscle ticking along his clenched jaw, he started the motor with a sharp twist of his wrist.

  They didn’t speak all the way home.

  There was no question that he was staying the night. Or that he was sleeping in his own bed…with her. Neither one of them said anything, but the knowledge was there in his eyes, in the accelerated thump of her heart, in the expectation that filled the air like a gathering storm.

  Restless, all her senses attuned to his every move as he followed her into the apartment, Sabrina knew that making love with him again could be nothing but a mistake. He was coming to mean too much to her. He made her want things she knew she couldn’t have. When he touched her, kissed her, took her into his arms, she felt that anything was possible, that together they could single-handedly defeat the curse that made it impossible for the women of her family to find lifelong happiness with one man. He made her ache to believe in fairy tales and happily-ever-after and the love of a good man.

  Wrapped close to his heart, it was so easy to believe that anything could happen, that he would be with her forever and grow old with her. She hadn’t realized until now how desperately she wanted that, ached for that. She knew, though, that was just her emotions crying out to her. With nothing more than a heart-stopping grin, he stirred the romance in her soul. In her family, romance didn’t last. Deep down inside, she knew that. But still, she couldn’t send him away.

  “You need to get out of those wet things,” he said gruffly from behind her, shattering the silence that engulfed them. “Why don’t you climb into the shower, and I’ll start supper?”

  His jacket still around her shoulders, she nodded, hugging herself as a blast of air from the air conditioner hit her, raising goose bumps on her damp skin. “I think I will. With the rain and everything, I am kind of cold.”

  “Then I’ll put on some soup. Take your time. It’ll be ready when you are.”

  If he’d touched her—just once—she wouldn’t have needed soup or a shower to warm her, but he turned toward the kitchen and didn’t see her need. So she headed for the bedroom to collect clean clothes, then stepped across the hall to the bathroom. She’d just started the shower and was adjusting the water temperature when there was a soft tap at the door. Her heart starting to knock like an out-of-balance washing machine, she called huskily, “Come in.”

  Without a sound, the door glided open to reveal Blake standing on the threshold, his expression solemn as his eyes met hers. “Sorry to interrupt, but I just remembered the city has a serious water shortage, what with the drought and everything.”

  Caught off guard, Sabrina almost smiled. The mayor had asked all citizens to practice voluntary conservation methods, just as he did every summer, but the water supply wasn’t close to critical and they were hardly in a drought, especially considering the fact that it was currently pouring outside and showed no signs of letting up.

  “A water shortage,” she repeated in bemusement. “I hadn’t realized the problem was that bad.” Struggling to keep her expression as serious as his, she felt her heart shift into a heavy, primitive rhythm and could do nothing to quiet it. “What do you suggest we do about it?”

  Without a word, he crossed the threshold and shut the door. A half step was all it took to leave only a few inches between them. Slowly, giving her time to object, he lifted his hands to the jacket she still wore and began to ease it from her shoulders. “We both need to take a shower,” he said hoarsely. “If we took one together, think of the water we’d save.”

  Her eyes locked with his, she felt the jacket slide to the floor and found herself holding her breath, waiting for his eyes to drop to her wet blouse, but his gaze never left hers. He didn’t touch her again, but simply stood there, waiting as the bathroom filled with steam. The next move, if there was going to be another one, was clearly hers.

  A wise woman would have taken a moment to step back and give herself time to think. A smart one would have insisted on it. But right from the beginning, she hadn’t been wise or smart when it came to this man. He tempted her past all bearing, confused her, haunted her, made her long for the impossible. And in the end, he was going to hurt her. Oh, he wouldn’t do it intentionally, but she knew him well enough now to know that there would come a time that he would want to talk of the future. And they didn’t have one.

  Still, she couldn’t deny herself—deny them—these precious moments stolen out of a lifetime of being alone. Swallowing the lump that had risen to her throat, she lifted fingers that were far from steady to the top button of his shirt. “I suppose, then,” she murmured, “that you could say it’s our civic duty.”

  He nodded, a whisper of that wicked, wicked smile of his flirting with his mouth as his hands copied hers and reached for the top button of her blouse. Between one heartbeat and the next, he slid it free. “No question about it,” he agreed huskily, turning his attention to the next button. “It’s the only right thing to do. We save time…” His hands still busy with her buttons, he leaned down and nuzzled her ear. “And water. And—”

  “Soap,” she finished for him softly as her head fell weakly back and her eyes grew heavy with desire. “I could rub it on you. Then you could rub against me….”

  She didn’t finish the suggestion, but she didn’t have to. He growled in approval, his hands fisting in her partially opened blouse as he pulled back to stare hungrily down into her eyes. “Is this one of your favorite blouses?”

  Thrown by the sudden shift in conversation, she frowned. “Not particularly. Why?”

  “I’ll never forget it, but right now it’s in the way.” His fingers tightening in the material, he gave a quick jerk of his hands and sent the remaining buttons flying.

  “Blake!”

  He grinned. “There. That’s much better. Do you mind?”

  How could she mind when he was looking at her as if he’d just gotten three wishes for his birthday and all of them were her? His eyes scorched her, his hands worshiped her, and his mouth…she couldn’t even think when he stripped her bra from her and kissed his way down to a ni
pple that pouted for his possession. Her cry of pleasure echoing above the drumming of the shower, she clutched his head to her breast and felt her bones melt one by one.

  When he finally kissed his way back up to her mouth, she couldn’t even remember her own name. Giving her a quick, hard kiss, he tore at his own clothes and what remained of hers until they were both naked. His green eyes dark and intense in the mist that shrouded them, he pulled her into the shower with him, laughing as the warm spray immediately soaked them both. Then he was pulling her in front of him, his back to the shower head, blocking the water from hitting her in the face. “Now what was that you were saying about soap?”

  His eyes sparkled with a dare; his grin said she flat-out didn’t have the nerve. He should have known better. With him, her heart was quickly discovering, she would dare just about anything. Happiness bubbling up in her like the clear, laughing water of a spring, she picked up the bar of soap from its holder on the side of the shower stall and slowly lathered it between her hands, her smile hot and sultry and wicked. “It seems to me,” she murmured huskily, “that I mentioned something about rubbing….”

  His grin broadening, he spread his hands wide, the outrageous man not the least bit self-conscious when it came to his body. “Start anywhere you like, honey. I’m all yours.”

  She could have started with his very obvious arousal and brought him to his knees, and she knew he wouldn’t have offered a word of complaint. Instead, she reached for his hand—his left—and folded it between her palms.

  “I like your hands,” she said simply. Hugging his wrist to her bare breast, she gently transferred the soap on her hands to his, and all the while she talked. “Sometimes at night when I’m sleeping, I picture them touching me, undressing me, then slowly driving me out of my mind.” Rubbing her fingers over the back of his hand in slow-moving circles, she looked up and asked in a sexy rasp, “Have you ever done that? Pushed a woman right over the edge with nothing but your hands? Stroking? Caressing? Everywhere?”