Too Hot to Handle

by Aleah Barley

“I’m sorry. I’m not very good company tonight. I’ve been out of it for a few days.”

  “I had the most bizarre afternoon imaginable. Would you care to guess what I did?”

  “A dishwasher broke a plate, and you had to track down a new set of china.”

  “Bite your tongue.” Jessica smiled. “Logan Burrows took me out for ice cream.”

  Jack’s throat went dry. Hell. It had been a little over a year since his sister’s last husband died. It was about time for her to start looking for a new one, and Logan was just her type—smart, old, richer than god. They’d have a few good years together, traveling the world, and then he’d keel over on a golf course somewhere.

  Jessica looked good in yellow, but she looked great in black.

  “Please tell me you’re not going to marry him.”

  Logan might be her type, but he was tougher than her previous husbands. When he died, he might take her with him.

  “There’s an idea. I hadn’t even considered that. Mrs. Logan Burrows. I wonder if you can still wear a white dress the fourth time out.”

  Jack’s dismay must have showed, because Jessica laughed. “Just kidding. You should see the look on your face.”

  He could only imagine. “You skipped out of party preparations for ice cream with a man, and you’re not getting married?”

  “We went shopping first. He bought me this rose.” She reached up to pat her hair. “He was very sweet.”

  Sweet. Jack’s eyes swept the crowd, trying to find the “sweet” man who’d bought his sister a rose. His boss had agreed not to suspend him, but only if Jack promised not to go looking for Logan.

  His gaze moved back and forth before spotting Logan over by the punch bowl with his arm around the waist of a woman dressed in scarlet.

  The woman’s back was to him, her body half hidden by Logan’s tuxedoed form, but that didn’t stop Jack from recognizing the shape of her muscular legs and her curvy behind.

  Brilliant curls fell down her back, glistening like an autumn moon.

  “Honey,” he murmured before he even realized his mouth was open. “She’s here with him?”

  “Yes,” Jessica said. “We had a grand time looking for that dress.”

  The dress was beautiful, with a low back that showed off acres of smooth skin and a skirt that swung above dimpled knees. When she turned toward him, the top of the dress cupped her breasts. Jack was no expert on women’s fashion, but he knew what that neckline was called. Sweetheart.

  A sweetheart neckline for his sweetheart.

  Make that the woman who had been his sweetheart. Now, she wasn’t objecting to the grip the old man had on her arm.

  “Honey’s going to marry Logan?”

  “What?” Jessica’s yelp drew attention from all corners of the room. Honey focused her gaze on him. A familiar smile spread across her face, one side slightly higher than the other. Even her smile was crooked.

  The last time he’d seen her smiling like that, he’d been inside her. He’d been so damn happy, he’d felt like he could fly—just like that morning so many years earlier when he’d walked up to her outside the high school with the taste of her kiss still on his lips.

  Cherry cola. It was still his favorite soft drink, but he hadn’t ordered it in years. Too sweet, too sugary. It might taste like sunshine and young love, but he knew it was bad for him.

  Honey was the same way—bad news. Standing in his kitchen a week earlier, wearing his T-shirt and those damn lollipop panties, she’d been original sin. Eve in the garden. She’d offered him the apple, and he’d taken a big, juicy bite.

  But it had ended with pain and confusion, just like always. He had to keep remembering that, or he’d walk over to her and ask for a dance that lasted a lifetime.

  Jessica was talking, babbling, but he couldn’t quite hear the words.

  “What are you saying?” Swallowing hard, he took a deep breath. “Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”

  “For that, I should leave you to squirm. Fortunately for you, I’m a good person.” Jessica gave him a small pat on the arm. Just a little harder than was necessary. “Honey called me this afternoon. She needed help finding a dress. We went shopping. We talked. I like her a lot. I think the two of you will be great together.”

  “She’s here with Logan.”

  “You’re a moron. She’s here with Logan, but she’s here for you.”

  Honey was here for him. The room blurred for a long moment before he swallowed hard, focusing on the woman in red. She was here for him.

  Across the dance floor, something Logan said made her laugh, and her entire face lit up. She shimmied in place, dancing to a beat that was faster than the orchestra’s elegant concerto. Dark jewels glittered around her neck. Floaty red fabric swayed with her, tantalizing and exotic.

  “It’s a beautiful dress.”

  “Thank you,” Jessica said. “She wanted something a size smaller and three inches shorter. Pretty enough, but not really the thing. Consider it an apology.”

  “An apology?” Jack must have been distracted again, because he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what his sister had to apologize for. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “Yes, I have.” A raw quality to Jessica’s voice made him pay attention, even if he couldn’t take his eyes off Honey’s lips. “Mom ran off a dozen of my boyfriends before I started dating men she approved of, but you never had that problem. You always did the right thing. I should have warned you.”

  This was certainly a day for firsts. Honey Moore stood in the middle of the Black Palm Park Country Club looking like she belonged, and his big sister had admitted she’d done something wrong.

  “That’s why…” Damn, he should have realized. Jessica’s attraction to older guys made more sense now. Her husbands had been exactly the kind of men Amelia Ogden would approve of. Even Carlos—the walking, talking domestic assault charge—had his mother’s stamp of approval.

  “It’s my fault as much as it is yours,” he said. “I should have tried harder. With Honey and with you. We’ve never had the best relationship.” His entire life, he’d always seen Jessica as his perfect older sister. A statue on a pedestal, not a real woman. That needed to change. “We should do something. Do you want to have dinner together sometime next week? I’m free on Friday night.”

  “We’ll never get reservations for Friday night.”

  “Who needs reservations? You can come over to my place, and we’ll order in pizza or Chinese food.”

  “Pizza’s not on my diet.” She smiled. “But I think I can make an exception for a family dinner.”

  “Good to hear.”

  His gaze refocused on Honey, caught by the way light reflected off the curve of her neck. Letting her walk away a week earlier had been a mistake, but he wasn’t sure if it was one he was willing to rectify anytime soon, no matter how soft and inviting she looked. The woman was trouble. Hell on his heart, and pure poison when it came to his career.

  “Do you think I should go talk to her?”

  Too late. Honey was already walking his way, with Logan at her side. The only option Jack had if he didn’t want to talk to her was to run away. He didn’t need his sister to tell him that would be a mistake.

  Stalking across the dance floor, Honey reminded him of a cat treading gingerly through someone else’s territory. Not a barn cat hunting mice, but the kind of feral cats that populated Los Angeles alleys.

  “Jack Ogden,” she purred, her head held up high, defiant. “Imagine seeing you here.”

  A laugh, light and warm. It took Jack a moment to realize the sound had come from his own throat. Of course she’d known he was coming to the fund-raiser. He’d spent a week hunting for her, and now she’d come looking for him. There could be no other reason for that dress. It was red, a color she thought looked bad on her. A color he’d complimented.

  Instinct was pushing him onward. He wanted to take her with a kiss, bruising her lips and hearing her moan. Finally his.


  Except that wasn’t true. Despite the red dress. Despite what Jessica said. This was another one of Honey’s games. A half-baked plot cooked up in the steel trap that passed for her mind. Completely incomprehensible to anyone with a little common sense.

  “Honey Moore.” His lips flared upward into a feral smile. “Where did you steal that necklace?”

  “I don’t steal,” Honey said. “I don’t sneak, and I don’t steal.”

  “You stole my car.”

  “I borrowed your car.” Her voice stressed the difference between stealing and borrowing, even if they both meant she’d had the car for the last week and he hadn’t.

  “We were supposed to meet up after I gave my statement.” He struggled to maintain some semblance of control. To keep from bellowing at her in front of his parents’ friends. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “I— I’m sorry. You can have the Super Bee back anytime you want. All you have to do is ask. Nicely.”

  It almost sounded like a polite offer, but Jack knew better. He knew it was a challenge.

  Asking for his car back nicely would mean admitting he’d loaned it to her in the first place. It would mean admitting she hadn’t done anything wrong. He was willing to believe there’d been some confusion when he handed over the keys, but he wouldn’t proclaim her innocence. Not yet.

  “Mr. Burrows, the last time we spoke, you said you’d never even heard of Miss Moore. Would you care to revise your statement?”

  “Don’t be a jackass,” Honey said. “Your parents were right. I look like Logan’s wife because she was my grandmother. She left my grandfather for him, and he paid for me to go to the academy. Now he’s changed his will to leave me a boatload of cash. It’s all very confusing, and at the moment I could care less. We need to talk.”

  Jack blinked in surprise, taking a moment to digest the information Honey had given him. She was right. It was confusing, and it didn’t explain why Logan had lied to him. Jack had managed to convince the captain not to suspend him, but it had been a near thing. He’d spent the last week stuck on the night shift in the worst part of town, answering 911 calls and riding herd on a bunch of fresh-faced police academy grads while he searched for Honey in his spare time.

  He kept looking not because he wanted her, but because he wanted answers. He wanted to know who had stolen the Volvo Sport. He wanted to know what was going on with Logan. Most important, he wanted to know why Honey had run off with his damn car.

  Her hand extended to rest on his arm, fingers grasping his bicep.

  Honey Moore stood in front of him, talking to him for the first time in a week, and he was trying to pick a fight. Not exactly the smartest move in the world. Experience told him that if he wanted to escape their encounter with his original hair color intact, it would be better to keep quiet.

  But that wasn’t possible. There was no treading lightly. Not after the week she’d put him through. Late-night shifts and worrying.

  “Would you care to dance?” he asked.

  This was something he could do, something he’d been training to do since he was eleven years old and attending his first ballroom dancing class.

  “Logan, hold my purse.” She pushed the small bag into the other man’s hands.

  “Come on.” He put a hand on her waist and pulled her out onto the dance floor.

  “Can you keep a secret?” she asked.

  “Are you about to confess to a crime?”

  “I have no idea how to dance.”

  Jack turned to face Honey straight on. He tightened his grip on her waist.

  “I know.” Her secret was old news. She’d told him the week before in his bedroom. She’d told him she couldn’t dance right before they’d done the rumba, in every possible sense of the word.

  An experience he’d remember until the day he died.

  She simply needed a little reminder. “The man pushes forward and the woman takes, remember?” He picked up her hand, allowing his arm to fall naturally into the perfect frame it had taken him so long to learn. “Only, you like to be the one who pushes. Always pushing.”

  “Maybe you’re just stubborn.” She stepped forward, closer than was proper for the dance. When he took a breath, the scent of oranges filled his lungs, the same way it had back in high school.

  “You smell like oranges,” he said, his voice rough and dark.

  “Tangerines,” she corrected. “The shampoo at Logan’s hotel is supposed to smell like tangerines.”

  Tangerines. Small, sweet fruit with a tangy bite. That made more sense. Still, Jack didn’t like to think about Honey showering in some other man’s hotel room. Not that he’d have any say in what she did after tonight. A swift turn around the dance floor, and they’d go their separate ways. She’d go back to her cars and her cousins, never more than one step ahead of serious trouble, and he’d get back to what was really important. His career. The career he’d almost tanked by withholding information from his captain.

  He gathered his thoughts, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t end in violence. “Logan was really married to your grandmother?”

  “Yeah, I think he’s lonely. They didn’t have any kids, and I’m the closest thing he has to family.”

  Right—there was no one else except Clay Parsons. Jack couldn’t imagine the senator being happy about Honey’s new status in Logan’s life. But he couldn’t imagine the senator starting house fires, either.

  For the moment, he didn’t care if the arsonist was a one-armed man straight out of summer movie madness. Honey had leaned her head against his chest. She felt so damn good there, almost like she belonged.

  “You’ll have to stop making fun of Black Palm Park if you’re friends with Logan. He built this neighborhood.”

  “I can like the man without liking what he did.” She sniffed. “Anyway, I don’t ‘make fun’.”

  “That’s right. You don’t ‘make fun.’ You attack. I—”

  He sucked in a breath. He’d been so caught up in Honey’s closeness—the feel of her silky hair on his hand and her head against his chest—he’d almost forgotten all the barriers that still stood between them. Honey might fit in his bed, but she didn’t fit in his life. She couldn’t put up with the late nights and the long hours. And he couldn’t put up with her devil-may-care attitude about the things that were important to him. His work. His community. They weren’t just affectations to be dismissed. They were his life. His entire identity. Who he was.

  “I was born here, Honey. I grew up here. My parents still live here. It’s not something I chose—”

  “Who would?” A throwaway response.

  “Honey, I still belong to the country club. I still do things in the community. I don’t live in Black Palm Park, but I don’t hate it either. I—”

  “The truth is,” she interrupted, “I don’t know how I feel about Black Palm Park anymore. I’m not saying I want to go to any high school reunions anytime soon, but it’s only a neighborhood. It’s not a bad place.”

  “I think hell just froze over.”

  “I’m not saying it’s perfect. There’s definitely some room for improvement. For instance, you can’t get a decent beer in this place.”

  “That’s why they call it a champagne fund-raiser.”

  “Yeah.” Honey sniffed again. “Well, I’m definitely not a champagne kind of girl.”

  “You’ve got that right.”

  “Excuse me.” A tuxedoed man inserted himself between the two of them before Jack could say anything. Rough and determined, like he had something to prove. “Mind if I cut in?”

  Carlos. His sister’s ex-boyfriend.

  The smug bastard had a smile on his face and a laugh on his lips. “I should have known this lovely lady was with you, Ogden. You always did have an eye for a figure.”

  The look he gave Honey was bold and lascivious. “My name’s Carlos Green. Why don’t I show you what it’s like to be with a real man?”

  There wa
s a cool retort waiting to be made. A brilliant joke about how Carlos wouldn’t know a real man if one hit him in the face.

  Jack couldn’t think of it.

  Rage warmed his body like aged whiskey. His hands balled up into fists reflexively. “You might want to think about what you’re doing, Carlos. Your friends aren’t here to back you up today.”

  “Please.” He snorted. “Look around you. I’ve got friends everywhere.” Carlos grinned, bright and cheerful. Anyone looking would think they were having a pleasant chat.

  “You really think they’re going to take your side in a fight?” Jack snorted. “Let’s be honest, you need the help. You couldn’t take me by yourself.”

  “You think so?” A second later, Carlos struck, his fist careening into the same spot on Jack’s chest that his buddy’s beer bottle had met a little more than a week earlier. The force of the punch sent Jack staggering back against Honey.

  That was all the encouragement Jack needed.

  He gave no warning. He just hauled off and hit Carlos on the jaw, hard.

  His first day learning how to box, his trainer had told him never to hit someone with a closed hand, but the crack of Carlos’s head slamming backward was damn satisfying.

  It also hurt like hell. He’d used his right, the same wrist he’d sprained. The same wrist he’d shattered when he was trying to fight his way to the top. The steel pins seemed to be holding, but it was going to be a while before he could feel his fingertips again.

  Carlos swung wildly, a sloppy roundhouse to the jaw.

  Rage flooded Jack’s veins. This wasn’t the hot anger and confusion he’d felt when Logan lied to him. This was the cool fury he needed to get the job done. He moved forward, grabbing Carlos’s arm and twisting it hard to the side, forcing the other man to the ground.

  “Okay,” Jack said. “It’s time for you to leave.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Well, that was anti-climatic.” Honey crossed her arms in front of her chest, watching Jack frog march the other man out of the ballroom. She was happy Jack hadn’t been injured—any more than he already was—but a fight would have helped liven up the party.