Harlequin Blaze June 2015 Box Set: Midnight ThunderFevered NightsCome On OverTriple Time

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  Freddie struggled to his knees. “It’s not my fault. You’ve been giving me mixed signals for months.”

  “Mixed signals?” She raised one Doc Marten and aimed it at him, making him flinch before she broke off and scuffed the ground in front of him. He scuttled back like a frightened crab and she couldn’t help but scoff. “How’s that for a mixed signal, dirtbag?”

  Gabe put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re relieved from duty, Freddie. I’ll see the lady home.”

  “Like hell you will.” Devin shook off his hand. No way she was spending one minute more than necessary with Dudley Do-Right. No matter how dead sexy he was. “The subway’s two blocks from here. I can make it just fine on my own.”

  “I’m sure you can. But a gentleman always makes sure his date arrives home safely.” Gabe tugged off his suit jacket and wrapped it around Devin’s shoulders, shielding them—and the breasts barely concealed by her skimpy top—from Freddie’s prying eyes. “Isn’t that right, Freddie?”

  “I’m not your date.” Devin’s gaze ping-ponged from one man to the other. “Either of you.”

  “Humor me.” Gabe’s hand held steady against the small of her back. The shivers she hadn’t noticed subsided, tempting her to succumb to the warm, reassuring feeling of a good man’s touch.

  His touch.

  “Have it your way.” Freddie stood and backed away slowly. “But I’m telling you, man, the chick is trouble.”

  Devin started for him but Gabe held her back, and damn if his touch didn’t make her quiver all over again. What was it about Holly’s stuffed-shirt brother that got her engine revving faster than a dirt bike at the X Games?

  It couldn’t be the banging body she was pretty sure he hid under all those designer suits—broad shoulders that led to an equally broad chest, narrow waist, lean hips and long, strong legs. Or his stormy, gray eyes, intense and mysterious, never revealing what was going on behind them. And it sure as hell wasn’t his lips, full, firm and just right for hours of sensuous kissing.

  “That’s a chance I’ll have to take.” Gabe slid his hand to her elbow, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake.

  “It’s your funeral,” Freddie tossed over his shoulder as he fled into the darkness.

  “Asshole.” Devin watched him disappear then turned to Gabe. “I appreciate your help...”

  “But you’re fine. Yeah. Got it.”

  She shook off his jacket, thrust it at him and headed for the subway. She hadn’t gone three steps when he caught up with her. “Nice try, but you’re not getting rid of me that easily. I meant what I said. I’m taking you home.”

  His eyes sparked with something. Anger? Frustration? Devin’s insides tingled in response. Maybe letting him take her home wasn’t such a bad idea. Then he could take her against the living room wall. And on the kitchen counter. And in the...

  “Besides, my sister would kill me if she found out I left you alone in Central Park in the middle of the night.”

  Right. His sister. Duty, not fantasy. Thanks for the verbal equivalent of a cold shower.

  “Fine,” she huffed. “But we’re taking a cab. Your treat.”

  “My pleasure.”

  He took her arm, propelling her toward Fifth Avenue, where he hailed a cab. Hustling her inside, he gave the cabby her address, one he knew well since, until recently, his sister had lived in the apartment directly below Devin’s.

  “How is Holly?” she asked to break the awkward silence that descended once the cab pulled into traffic. “I haven’t talked to her in almost a month. Since she and Nick left for Istanbul.”

  “She loves it there.” Gabe loosened his tie and unbuttoned the first couple of buttons on his impeccably pressed white cotton dress shirt, revealing a triangle of fine dark chest hair. “But my parents are worried sick about her. I can’t believe her doctor let her travel in her condition.”

  Devin swallowed hard and turned to stare out the window. She’d tattooed her share of gorgeous, muscle-bound men and hadn’t so much as blinked. But one glimpse of Mr. GQ’s freaking chest hair and she was practically hyperventilating.

  Pathetic.

  “News flash,” Devin said when she could finally breathe again. “Holly’s not due for like five months. Women in her condition travel all the time. And Nick added an ob-gyn and a nurse to their entourage.”

  With his money, he could have a fully staffed maternity ward on set if he wanted to. And she had no doubt he would if shooting on his latest Trent Savage pic went longer than expected. She’d never seen a couple as devoted to each other as Nick and Holly. It was almost enough to make her forget what a fucking farce love could be.

  Almost.

  They lapsed back into silence. Devin focused on the blurred buildings speeding by outside the grimy window. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t ignore Gabe, sitting only inches away. His thigh brushing hers when he shifted. The scent of his cologne—citrusy, with a hint of cedar—teasing her senses.

  Majorly pathetic.

  “Can I ask you something?” His words tumbled out, like he was afraid if he didn’t say them at light speed, they wouldn’t come out at all.

  “Uh, sure.” She turned to him with a shrug. “I guess so.”

  “Would you say I’m...” He raked a hand through his close-cropped, chestnut hair. “Do you think I’m, well, boring?”

  Devin almost choked. Boring? Seriously? Of all the words in the English language, boring was just about the last one she’d choose to describe Gabe Nelson. A little straitlaced, maybe. Serious. Panty-meltingly hot. But boring?

  Hell, no.

  She opened her mouth to answer but Gabe waved her off. “Never mind. Your hesitation speaks volumes.”

  His shoulders stiffened and he turned his back to her to stare out his window.

  Shit. What was it about this guy that always made her say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing? It was as if she was a tongue-tied teenage girl with a crush on her best friend’s hunky, totally hands-off younger brother.

  Which was exactly what she was. Except for the teenage part.

  Before she could figure out a way to straighten him out while salvaging her pride, they pulled up outside her apartment building and Gabe hopped out of the cab, holding the door for her.

  “Keep the meter running,” he instructed the cabbie. “I’ll be right back.”

  She brushed past him, ignoring his outstretched hand, and he followed her up the steps to the main door.

  “Thanks,” she said, digging in her purse for her key. Where the hell was it? All she wanted was to get inside, change into sweats, scarf down a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Coffee Toffee Bar Crunch and forget this whole humiliating night. “Look, about what you asked earlier, in the cab. You’re not boring. A little repressed, maybe.”

  “Repressed?”

  “You know. Old-fashioned. Conservative.”

  She let out a yelp as Gabe spun her around, pressing her against the door with his hips. “How’s this for conservative?”

  “This” was his hands on her shoulders, his lips crushing hers. After a moment of shock, her body responded to him. Her purse slipped from her fingers, her keys forgotten, and her arms came up to circle his neck. Her hands tangled in his hair, holding him tight. Her lips parted and he didn’t waste any time in taking advantage, stealing his tongue into the opening and sweeping it across her lower lip.

  Hot flipping damn. She was right about those lips of his. She could kiss them for hours. Days, even. And that naughty tongue...

  She mentally struck straightlaced off her list of adjectives for him.

  Not to be outdone, she met him lick for lick, running her tongue over his teeth and into the corners of his mouth. With a moan, he nudged her legs apart with his knee and moved between them. She could feel his rock-hard th
igh pressing against her core.

  She was ready to hook one leg around his hip and grind against him like a stripper on a pole when he broke off the kiss as abruptly as he’d started it.

  “Christ, Devin, I’m...”

  She pushed against his chest, resisting the temptation to grab his designer shirt in her fists and pull him back to her. “If you say you’re sorry, I’ll...”

  He backed away, thrusting his hands in his pockets. “Knee my balls right through the roof of my goddamned mouth?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Then I’ll just say good-night.” One corner of his mouth curled into a half smile. “And sweet dreams.”

  She slumped against the door, needing something to keep her vertical, as he climbed into the cab and drove away. Only when the taillights disappeared from view did she let herself slink to the ground, fumbling for her purse in disbelief.

  Dudley Do-Right had done what no man had done before.

  He’d left her wanting more.

  2

  “HEY, NELSON. BOSS wants to see you.”

  “In a sec.” Gabe’s fingers flew over the keyboard, his eyes never straying from the computer screen. “I’m almost done with this motion.”

  “Boss says now.”

  Gabe looked up at his second-in-command, Jack Kentfield. “What gives?”

  Jack lifted a shoulder. “Who knows? But you’re wanted on the seventh floor ASAP.”

  “Great.” Gabe hit Save, closed the document and pushed away from his desk. Being summoned to the penthouse could only mean one of two things. Either he’d screwed up and was going to have his ass handed to him or he’d pleased the powers that be and was getting a commendation.

  He wasn’t in the mood for either.

  “Good luck,” Jack called after him as he headed for the elevator. “If you’re not back in ten I’ll send up a search party. Or start a memorial fund.”

  “Make sure you hit up Tim in elder abuse.” The elevator doors opened and Gabe stepped in. “He owes me twenty bucks.”

  The doors slid shut, leaving Gabe alone to wonder which fate awaited him upstairs. He couldn’t think of anything he’d done to warrant an ass reaming. Although, to be honest, his mind hadn’t totally been on his work since that night with Devin in the park last week. And on her doorstep.

  Their kiss had been nothing short of explosive. Way more intense than anything he’d experienced before. He prided himself on his control. His ability to think before acting. All that had gone the way of the cassette tape when Devin surrendered to him, her soft lips parting under his, her full, warm curves molding to him.

  A stirring below his belt buckle made him shake his head and silently scold himself. Down, boy. Big meeting coming up. Think clean thoughts. Mom. Apple pie. A busload of nuns on their way to a prayer meeting.

  Gabe squeezed his eyes shut. He’d been a selfish, impulsive bastard to kiss her, but at least one good thing had come of it. Now he understood why Kara’s rejection had left him more numb than hurt. He’d been an idiot, proposing to her for all the wrong reasons. Thinking he could choose a life mate based on shared interests and political expediency. Thinking passion would come later and build slowly, like a roller coaster climbing that first hill.

  It wouldn’t. And it wouldn’t have been fair to her. Or him.

  With a ding, the elevator doors opened and Gabe stepped into the inner sanctum of Manhattan District Attorney Thaddeus Holcomb. Teddy to his friends. Mr. Holcomb to his underlings at One Hogan Place.

  “Gabe.” Doris, Mr. Holcomb’s secretary from what seemed like the dawn of time, beckoned him closer with a wrinkled finger. “He’s waiting for you.”

  She ushered him into an office three times the size of his own. Instead of a regulation-issue gunmetal gray desk like Gabe’s, the current district attorney sat behind a massive oak table. Matching bookshelves lined the walls, bright blue statute books and thick legal treatises artfully arranged alongside plaques, trophies and the occasional family photo.

  “You wanted to see me?” Gabe took a seat in one of the two leather armchairs in front of the table.

  Holcomb closed the file he’d been reading. “Nice work on Patterson. Convincing Judge Morrison to let in the defendant’s statement.”

  “Thanks.” Gabe relaxed into the soft leather. Looked like it was going to be door number two.

  “Any word on sentencing?”

  “It’s scheduled for next Thursday.”

  “Good. Keep me posted.”

  Holcomb cleared his throat. Gabe steeled himself. Now came the real reason for their little tête-à-tête. Holcomb pushed the file across the table. “The police made an arrest in the Park Avenue homicide case last night.”

  Gabe nodded. It’d been all over the morning news. A handyman was accused of sexually assaulting and murdering an eighty-five-year-old woman and her live-in nurse. A witness saw him leaving their apartment shortly before the bodies were discovered. “He’ll be arraigned tomorrow. Kentfield’s handling it.”

  Holcomb shook his head. “I want you on this case. It’s a publicity magnet.”

  Gabe folded his arms across his chest and frowned. Jack might be a bit of a prick, but he could handle the press as well as anyone. There had to be more to this than the boss was letting on. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing.” Holcomb shrugged, his innocent expression making Gabe even more convinced the DA had a secret agenda. “You’re my best prosecutor. You’re taking this one. End of story.”

  Gabe picked up the file and stood. He knew when to press his luck and when to walk away. “No problem.”

  “I’m not done yet.” Holcomb motioned for Gabe to sit back down, so he did. “There’s another matter we have to discuss.”

  “Is there a problem?” Gabe’s frown deepened.

  “I understand you’re thinking about running for this position when I retire next year.”

  “Yes, sir.” Running for public office was the next logical step in Gabe’s career plan. First district attorney, then the state legislature and maybe even Congress. He figured he’d have to wait a few years before starting down that road. But Holcomb’s announcement that he wouldn’t run for a third term had sped up Gabe’s timeline a bit.

  “I expect you’ll want my endorsement.”

  “I was hoping.” Holcomb just admitted Gabe was his best prosecutor. That had to count for something.

  “You’re an excellent lawyer, Gabe. The youngest man ever to head Special Victims.” Holcomb tilted his chair back, and Gabe’s heart rate kicked up a notch. This was it. Holcomb was going to give him his thumbs up. And with his backing, Gabe would be the front runner for DA.

  “But I can’t endorse you.”

  Wait, what?

  The “thank you” he’d been about to utter stuck in his throat. Gabe barely suppressed a cough. “I don’t understand.”

  “There’s more to being district attorney than trying cases.” Holcomb crossed one ankle over his knee. “You’re the face of the division. The people’s representative.”

  “And you don’t think I’m ready for that?”

  Holcomb twisted the gold signet ring he always wore on his right pinkie finger. “I don’t think the people of Manhattan are ready for you.”

  “What’s that mean?” Gabe rubbed the back of his neck. He’d been crusading for justice ever since fourth grade, when he’d begged to be appointed hall monitor so he could help stop the bullying that went on behind the teachers’ backs. Now the feeling of his well-orchestrated future slipping away washed over him like fog. Cold. Damp. Foreboding.

  “Let me put it to you this way.” Holcomb tented his fingers under his chin. “Remember the grand opening of the Family Justice Center?”

  Gabe shuddered.


  As if he could forget it.

  The ceremony had been the one and only time Holcomb had asked Gabe to stand in for him. And it was a disaster from beginning to end. All his courtroom skills had deserted him. He’d flubbed the deputy mayor’s name, accidentally insulted the governor’s wife and dropped the cartoonishly large scissors trying to cut the damned ribbon.

  But that wasn’t even the worst of it. No, the worst came later, at the reception, where he had to mix and mingle. Make small talk. Be charming.

  He’d tried. But the harder he did, the more awkward the conversations became. He was about as charming as a cardboard box. He’d ended up leaving early, claiming he had to prepare for a trial the next day.

  He could face a panel of black-robed Supreme Court justices. A jury of his peers. But put him in a room and make him talk to strangers one-on-one?

  Crash and burn.

  “Stick to your comfort zone.” Holcomb spun his chair around to reach for something on the credenza behind him, dismissing Gabe. “Shaking hands and kissing babies isn’t your forte. And it’s a job requirement for district attorney.”

  “I can learn,” Gabe insisted. “Give me a chance.”

  Holcomb twirled back around to face him, considering him through narrowed eyes. “Tell you what. The Feast of San Gennaro is in a few weeks.”

  “Right.” Everyone knew that. The Italian street fair was one of New York City’s biggest and most popular events.

  “I make a point to attend every year. Come with me, prove you can fit in with the crowd, and I’ll reconsider.”

  “Fit in?”

  “Meet people. Talk to them. Show me you can convince them to vote for you.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  Gabe rose, and Holcomb followed suit, extending his hand. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” He was going to need it. Because he had less than a month to learn how to “fit in” with the masses who populated the festival. And no freaking clue how he was going to do it.