by Dee Davis
But those kind of things only happened in movies, and she was an idiot to even give voice to the thought. Little girl daydreams had no place in real life. Especially hers.
She slipped on her camisole, and walked over to the chair by the window to retrieve the rest of her clothes. Her gun lay on the table, mocking her. Making all her fanciful thoughts seem shadow—ridiculous. There was no such thing as a soul mate, and just because Gabriel Roarke had made her come seven ways to Sunday didn't mean there was more to it than raw passion.
She stepped into her pants, and was just zipping them up when a sound outside the bedroom made her freeze. She reached for her gun, and moved slowly toward the door, her caution probably unnecessary, but as automatic to her as breathing.
The door slowly swung open, and Gabriel's smile faded to astonishment. "You going to shoot the waffles?"
He held a tray and Madison immediately recognized the smell. Lowering the gun, she felt the rush of heat as emotion threatened to swamp her. His hair was wet, and he wore only his jeans, his feet bare.
He hadn't left at all.
Some investigator she was—jumping to conclusions without even checking the facts. "I guess I overreacted a little."
The smile was back, this time with something she thought akin to tenderness. A lump rose in her throat, and she struggled to swallow, feeling all of about ten inches high, despite the fact that he was not even aware of her mistaken logic.
"Occupational hazard." He shrugged, walking over to put the tray on the bedside table. Then in two strides he was beside her, his arms closing around her. "I didn't want to wake you. You seemed so peaceful." He said it with a note of longing in his voice, as if he hadn't slept like that before.
"I was having good dreams." Her smile came of its own volition, her fingers stroking the unshaven stubble on his chin.
"Funny," he said, his breath tickling her cheek, "I had really good dreams last night, too." His hands were stroking her back, sending little shivers of pleasure dancing through her. Whatever her feelings for the man, he certainly knew how to rev her engine.
"I thought you were hungry." She wasn't sure what she'd meant by the comment, but it came out on a provocative note, his eyes darkening in response.
"I am," he said, one hand moving lower, cupping her bottom, the other closing around her waist, pulling her so close their lips were only centimeters away. "Just not for waffles."
She could smell the soap lingering on his skin, and she watched as a droplet of water fell from his hair to cling to his shoulder. Without thought for the consequences, she leaned forward and licked him dry, savoring the taste of his skin on her tongue.
With a groan, he crushed his lips to hers, their shared passion igniting into full flame again. The kiss was as much a contest of wills as anything, each of them trying to find control, and each knowing it was a losing battle.
Whatever it was between them, it couldn't be stopped. And suddenly Madison wasn't at all sure that she wanted to. He walked her backward toward the bed, each of them struggling to remove clothing without breaking contact, the effort making them both laugh.
There was an ease present this morning that hadn't been there the night before. As if somehow they'd crossed a barrier, opening themselves to each other in ways neither would have thought possible.
Madison pressed against him, reveling in the feel of his hard body next to hers, anxious to prove that the night hadn't been a fluke, that together they were better than apart. She fell back against the covers, pulling him with her, their lips still joined in an endless kiss that seemed to take and give and fill her all at once.
She explored his body, memorizing every part of him. Delighting in the daylight and the new sensory experience of watching him respond. He had scars everywhere. Symbols of who he was—how he lived. She kissed each with a sort of reverence, wanting to know everything about him.
He, in his turn, kissed her from head to toe, sucking and licking and tickling until she was writhing with need, all cognizant thought banished as she concentrated on the rising heat between her legs.
With a swift thrust, he was inside her, and they were again one. Soaring together, reaching higher and higher, searching for release, craving it, yet cherishing the intensity of the ride. She bucked against him, wanting him deeper, wanting to lock them together, savor the moment, keep it as a treasure forever.
And then the world splintered into a kaleidoscope of color. She heard him call her name, his voice hoarse with his frenzy, his body slamming into hers, the rhythm almost desperate.
And for the first time in her life, Madison let go, surrendering herself completely to the moment and the man.
*****
THE INCESSANT MELODY of a cell phone pulled Gabriel out of his postcoital lethargy. Madison was draped across him, her legs tangled with his, their bodies still linked together despite being totally satiated. He hated to break contact, but whoever the hell was calling didn't seem to want to give up.
He shot a look at the clock, surprised to see that it was almost noon. Not that he regretted a minute of his morning. He smiled at her, pushing the hair from her face, and she muttered something incoherent and turned in his arms, snuggling against him without waking.
God, she was amazing. He felt stirrings below, and quickly put the kibosh on them. First things first. Sliding out from under her, he sat up, and searched the room for the offending phone, only to have Eine Kleine Nachtmusik joined by the William Tell Overture. He wasn't sure what either ring said about the owners, and quite frankly, with the current cacophony he wasn't up to trying to figure it out. More important to stop it.
He reached Madison's phone first, and answered it with a terse hello, only to immediately wish he'd not picked it up at all. Philip Merrick was on the other end, and from the bated silence he was currently enduring, none too happy to have his daughter's phone answered by a man.
"Where's Madison?" Merrick finally barked into the phone.
Gabe looked over at the bed, only to see her burrowing deeper underneath the covers, a pillow thrown conveniently over her head. He had no idea if she was honestly sleeping or faking it to get out of a conversation with her father, but he wasn't inclined to put it to the test. Let the old man stew.
"She's sleeping."
"Well, wake her up. I want to talk to her." The man's apoplexy carried from tower to tower across Manhattan, probably sending electric meters surging along the way.
"I'll have her call you back, I promise. Right now, I need to answer my phone. So if you'll excuse me..." He didn't give the man the chance to answer, disconnecting and reaching for his jeans and the other phone—still happily playing the theme from the Lone Ranger—in the pocket.
"Roarke."
"Where the hell are you?" It seemed everyone was a little testy this morning. Cullen's tone was just this side of irate.
"None of your damn business." He felt a bit like Romeo and Juliet, only no one was on his side. And the Capulets were in bed with the Montagues.
"Is Madison with you?" The voice was more controlled now, as if his anger were being held in check.
"Yes. And except for everyone calling us, we're fine."
"I'm sure you are." Cullen sighed, the action negating some of the sarcasm in his voice. "But in case you've forgotten, there's a killer on the loose, and every moment matters. I was all for Madison having a bit of time to herself, but enough is enough. I want you both in my office in fifteen minutes. We need to regroup, and I need to provide tangible evidence to Philip that you haven't eaten his daughter alive."
Gabe contained a grin, thinking about doing exactly that. "An hour."
"Half an hour," Cullen insisted. "And not a minute longer. I've got a crisis on my hands, and the two of you are supposed to be fixing it—not each other."
"Fine. Half an hour." Gabe hated being dictated to, but Cullen was right; the respite was over. He clicked off the phone, turned toward the bed.
Madison had removed the pillow, a
nd was sitting propped up against it, her hair spilling down over her breasts in a way that made his throat turn dry. "Anything new?"
Gabe shook his head, fighting hard against his hormones, feeling the effect of her nudity on his lower anatomy. "He just wants us in the office pronto."
"I'm not surprised, considering the body count. We should have been in an hour ago." She was reaching for her clothes, avoiding his gaze.
"You needed a break. Besides, until we get the forensics reports back, there really isn't that much we can do." He followed her lead, and began to dress, trying not to think about what her withdrawal might mean. "Cullen is just worried about the accord."
"Considering Jeremy's death, I'd say the concern is legitimate." She pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and then tucked her shirt into her pants. "But I'm still not convinced we're looking at organized terror. The M.O. is all wrong."
"The first half maybe. But not so much now." He frowned, still trying to pull out of his libido-driven haze. "And I think everyone agrees that the murders are tied to the accord somehow."
"It certainly seems that way."
"You don't sound convinced." He buttoned his shirt, his mind finally shifting to business.
"I'm not completely. But I don't really have anything to base it on, just a feeling. I think we'll know a lot more when we find an identity for W. Smith. Did Cullen mention whether Harrison had found anything?"
"No. He was more concerned with making sure we got the lead out."
She nodded. "When did you say we'd be there?"
"Half an hour." He felt like he was talking to a stranger, the resulting kick to his gut almost winding him.
"No good." She shook her head, slipping into her holster. "I need to go home and grab a shower. Why don't you go on ahead, and I'll meet you there. It'll..." She fumbled with her gun, finally sliding it into place. "It'll be better that way." She shot him an automatic smile, and with an angry grimace, he walked over and grabbed her by the shoulders.
"Just because your father disapproves doesn't mean that he's right."
Her lower lip trembled. "I know that."
"Then why the withdrawal?" He searched her face, trying to understand what was going on inside her mind.
"I just thought it would be better if we concentrated on business. Last night..." She trailed off again, looking down at her feet.
He placed a finger under her chin, bringing her head up, forcing her to look at him. "Last night?" he prompted.
"Last night was wonderful. You know that. But I don't want you to think I expect anything more. I.. .I appreciate what you did for me, but—"
"Don't give me that crap." He cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Last night was a hell of a lot more than me comforting you over Jeremy Bosner's death and you know it. Whatever is happening between us, Madison, it's real. And no one, not your father, not Cullen, not you, is going to stop us from seeing where we go from here." His anger peaked and then died, and he forced himself to meet her gaze head-on.
A tremulous smile threatened as she chewed her bottom lip. "I didn't mean to belittle it. It's just so new, and there's so much happening and—"
He cut her off with a hard kiss, and then abruptly pulled away. "We've got work to do. I'll head to Cullen's and you go home for that shower. But make no mistake, Madison, things between us are a long way from over. And I for one intend to make certain you don't forget."
The smile appeared again, and then she was gone, taking the light from the room and leaving Gabe more alone than he'd ever been in his entire life.
Whoever said that love was a bitch was abso-fucking-lutely right.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
"I WANT TO KNOW what the hell has gotten into you?" Philip Merrick stood at the breakfast bar in Madison's apartment, looking like he was about to go three rounds with Mike Tyson.
"Nothing has gotten into me." Well, something had, but she wasn't about to share it with her father. "I just needed some decompression time, and I knew if I came home last night I wouldn't get it." She eyed her father over the top of her coffee cup, waiting for him to offer rebuttal.
"I'm sorry if I came on too strong." His attempt at contrite was just this side of believable.
Madison smiled. "Dad, the day you stop meddling in my life will be the day you're dead, so stop trying to pretend otherwise. And for the record, I'm fine. Honestly. I was a little shaken up last night, and Gabriel offered me a way out for a bit." An understatement that almost had her blushing.
"I'm glad you had the time you needed, but I hate the thought that you didn't come home because of me. I only want what's best for you." His expression was one she recognized, frustration and pride mixed together with a bit of bewilderment. Her father never had been comfortable dealing with a daughter.
"You want what's best for you. Or maybe just what you believe is best for me. But neither of those alternatives is what's best for me. I'm the only one who can determine that, Dad. And the sooner you get that, the easier it will be for both of us." It was an old argument, and she didn't really expect a breakthrough today. It was just an obvious way to turn the conversation away from Gabriel.
"I try."
He did not, but if he thought he did, then he got credit. She shot him a tolerant smile, thinking of Gabriel growing up all alone. At least she'd always had her parents— to some degree. And God's honest truth, it was better than the alternative.
"I love you, Dad. And I appreciate that you worry about me. But right now, I've got to get over to Dreamscape and my team. There's a murderer on the loose, remember?"
He opened his mouth to protest, but shut it again. Wise man. "Can I give you a lift?"
"That'd be great." It was as close to peace as they were ever likely to come, but he was her family, no matter how dysfunctional. "Just let me grab my gun." Even as the words came out of her mouth she realized it was the wrong thing to say.
"Damn it, Madison, I wish you wouldn't carry that thing around with you." He'd gone from penitent to mulish in something under fifteen seconds. Might be a record.
"It's hard to kill the bad guys without it." She shuddered as the thought brought back vivid memories of Jeremy Bosner taking a bullet. Her gun hadn't done him a bit of good.
"I'm sure you did everything you could, honey." Philip Merrick didn't use endearments, he didn't even do comforting very well, and here he was mind reading to boot.
She forcibly closed her mouth, her eyes on her father.
He shrugged, a smile lighting his usually stark features. "I won't pretend that I like what you do, Madison, but that doesn't mean I'm not perfectly aware of how good you are at your job. If anyone could have saved Jeremy it would have been you. So stop blaming yourself. All right?"
Madison wasn't sure how to take the new and improved version of her father, but she decided face value was usually best—with caution, of course. "Thank you for that."
Her father reached out to hug her, the gesture awkward and touching all at the same time. "I just don't want to see you hurt."
She pulled back, knowing that they'd stopped talking about her profession. Even without words, she knew her father was referring to Gabriel. And she would have shot back something pithy, except she wasn't sure that he wasn't right.
Whether she wanted to admit it or not, Gabriel Roarke certainly had the power to hurt her. Only time would tell if that, in fact, would turn out to be the case. She supposed she ought to guard her heart or at least pull back, but she'd tried that without much success. There was something about the way he looked at her that turned practical intentions to hard-boiled mush.
He'd said they'd take things as they came. That there was something worth nurturing. But she wasn't as sure. Experience was a hard teacher, and she'd learned from the master. Still, there was always the exception to the rule.
And on that thought, she rinsed her cup, and grabbed her gun.
*****
GABRIEL WAS HAVING a hell of time concentrating on the files in front of
him. If he were honest, he'd admit that it was because he couldn't keep his mind off last night, but instead he pretended he was just irritated with her for being late.
"You taking medicine?" Harrison asked without looking up from his computer terminal. The man had eyes in the back of his head. "That's the third time in the last half hour you've checked the clock by the door."
Gabriel didn't bother to answer, just shot another look at the blasted clock.
"I've got a ballistics match," Nigel announced. "Or at least I think I do." He was sitting at a separate computer station, looking at a graph of the bullet's serrations.
"I thought Tracy's forensics people were working on that." Payton, too, was working on tracing forensics data. He had spent the last couple of hours comparing the partial fingerprint they'd found at the abandoned apartment to those listed in AFIS.
"I just thought I'd get a jump on it," Nigel responded. "Beats chasing my tail. Anyway, I think I've got something."
Gabe pushed all thoughts of Madison aside and looked over Nigel's shoulder at the computer screen, Payton and Harrison flanking him on either side.
"Based on striation and composition, it looks to me as if our .223 is a match to one used in a confirmed terrorist attack in Beijing two months ago. Two shots were fired during an informational meeting between the Department of Defense and the Chinese equivalent. No one was hurt, and a local dissident group claimed credit. However, officials never identified the shooter."
"Was anyone from the consortium present?" Gabe asked.
"No." Payton shook his head in response. "I remember the incident you're talking about, Nigel. And at least when I cross-checked it, I found no personnel on either side that are currently involved in negotiations. In fact, I don't remember finding a ballistics report."
"I have a bit more pull than you do these days." Nigel tipped his head back to meet Payton's gaze. "The report is obviously need-to-know information. But considering the ballistics match, I made it clear that we needed to do just that."