Hard To Handle

by Kylie Brant

  Swinging her legs over the edge of her bed, she rose gingerly and found the headache had abated a bit. She needed to check on her nephew. Callie wouldn’t have left without making sure he was tucked in bed, but Meghan was familiar with the fears that could keep the boy awake.

  She padded down the lit hallway and peeked into the boy’s room. A few seconds’ observation assured her that he was asleep. She made her way to the kitchen for a glass of water and stopped short halfway through the living room.

  Asleep on her couch, looking decidedly out of place and distinctively uncomfortable, was Gabe Connally. Eyes huge, she approached him silently. His torso was bare. In a flash she remembered the state his shirt had been in, covered in her blood. Undoubtedly it had been ruined.

  Logic was replaced by a visceral curl of feminine appreciation. It may have been shock that had pulled her to the couch, but it was definitely something else that kept her rooted to the floor, staring at him. She would have expected sleep to soften that hard jaw, to lend an ease to his features that wasn’t normally seen there. It didn’t. He looked much the same as he did when he was awake. Restless, faintly impatient and a little rough.

  And half-naked. He was even more powerfully built than she’d realized, with muscles that begged to be stroked, kneaded. Her fingers itched, and traveled in his direction of their own volition.

  Her wrist was caught midair in a hard grasp that had her bones aching and the breath hissing out of her lungs. With a quick yank, she was pulled across his chest, his other arm snaking out to keep her immobile. She gasped and found her face very close to a shadowed jaw, firm mouth and narrowed, flinty eyes.

  “Meghan. Christ.” He released her wrist and shoved his hand in his hair, as if he could push back the street reactions that even in sleep always hovered just below the surface.

  “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting…” He stopped, his gaze going to the bandage on her head. “What are you doing out of bed?”

  “Checking on Danny and getting a drink of water.” She was amazed at the steadiness of her voice, given the fact that she was still sprawled intimately atop him. “What are you doing on my couch?”

  He rubbed at his jaw, averted his eyes. “Didn’t want to leave while you were still out. I figured I’d stick around until you were back on your feet.”

  Both spoke just above a whisper. Although no one could ever describe Gabe’s low, rumbling tones as anything so delicate. She’d wondered once what his voice would sound like upon awakening, and now she knew. Whiskey rough, like a callused palm smoothing down her spine, leaving prickles of awareness in its wake.

  Neither of them spoke for a moment. The arm keeping her pressed against him hadn’t loosened, and for some reason Meghan couldn’t find the will to struggle. “Your bed partners must find your reactions upon wakening somewhat alarming.”

  She could scarcely believe the words had come from her mouth. It didn’t seem wise, under the circumstances, to refer to any of Connally’s girlfriends. And it especially didn’t seem wise to provoke this reaction from him. His eyelids grew heavy, and he stared at her with an intensity that stole the breath from her lungs. One didn’t have to be overly experienced to recognize the emotion in his eyes. Hunger. Naked and hot, it fired an answering emotion. The blood in her veins went hot and molten, and her heartbeat stuttered, before slowing to a steady, primal beat.

  “Is that what you’re thinking about, Meghan? My bed partners?”

  Wetting her lips, she shook her head, but the look in his eyes told her he didn’t believe her. His hand slid into her hair, tangled from sleep, and cupped the back of her head. The gradual pressure he exerted was more than matched by her own craving. When their lips met it was with mutual longing.

  His mouth tasted at once familiar and foreign, welcome and forbidden. She recognized the effect he had on her system, the slow roll in her stomach, the tripping of her pulse. But there was something present in his kiss that had been absent that earlier time. Before she could identify it, reaction crashed over her, sweeping aside reason.

  It was like being caught in a current, swift and strong. She was carried along by the pleasure that came from the deft expertise of his touch. But it was that hint of wildness that pulled her under, that tempted her to dive recklessly into uncharted waters. He had the taste of a man who was straining at the reins of control, and the resulting reaction was devastating.

  Gabe’s lips twisted against hers in a burst of ravenous hunger. The taste of her was heady, long awaited. He recognized the quick punch of desire from the last time he’d kissed her, but this greed was startling. It sliced through him with ruthless claws, whipping passion to an abrupt churning point.

  He pressed her lips apart, demanding entrance. Her tongue stroked his in welcome, a long velvet glide, and her flavor raced through his system. He could taste her response even as he fought with his own, and identifying it only stoked his own reaction. A dizzying burst of need licked down his spine and exploded in his blood.

  He wasn’t a reckless man and he didn’t take impulsive chances. Risks were calculated, odds weighed. But the risk here, in his arms, was immeasureable. Distance was impossible, and control was rapidly spinning out of reach. He could only think of Meghan, and the feel of her pressed against him. The silky fabric of her nightshirt glided over his heated skin. Her curls were tumbling over her shoulders, brushing his chest. He was swamped in sensation, steeped in pleasure that could have only one outlet. Only one conclusion.

  He dragged his mouth from hers and released a shuddering breath. He wasn’t a particularly kind man, but he tried his damnedest to be an honest one. And if Meghan was going to give herself to him, it wouldn’t be because desire had outpaced logic. It would be a conscious choice, rationally made.

  “Open your eyes. Look at me.” The command in his voice was tempered with passion. Her eyelids fluttered, and he felt as if he’d taken a quick jab in the gut. Her eyes were dazed, and need had deepened their hue to the color of a shimmering pool. Her lips were only a fraction of an inch from his own and presented a temptation that made him edgy.

  “I told you at the beginning that I didn’t want you. It’d be simpler if that were true.” His stomach muscles clenched at the hint of feminine satisfaction in her eyes. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and it took every ounce of determination he had to keep from grinding his lips against hers again.

  “If you stay out here with me, it’s because you choose to. No excuses. No regrets.”

  But he was the one to experience regret. For comprehension dawned on Meghan’s face, mingling with the need that had been stamped there earlier. And because he recognized the expression of uncertainty that followed, he sat up and put some much-needed space between them.

  It would have been easier if she had said something. But she only stared at him, eyes huge in her pale face, her lips still damp and swollen from his own. Though unspoken, her answer was clear.

  There was a primitive force inside him that demanded he reach for her, follow her down on the couch and allow the resurging pleasure to change her mind. But he didn’t play that way. Life itself sure as hell wasn’t fair. He tried to do his best to be.

  Frustration roughened his voice. “Go back to bed, Meghan.”

  For a moment he didn’t think she’d move. For the space of an instant he was convinced that she was rooted in place, and his already tattered control began to fray.

  Then belatedly his words seemed to register and she fled. Gabe was left alone to stare into the darkness and curse chivalrous instincts better left denied.

  Chapter 8

  The living room was empty when Meghan got up the next morning, but voices drifting to her from the kitchen shattered her cowardly hope that Gabe had already left. She stopped, drew a deep breath. She owed him a vote of thanks for the opportunity he’d given her last night to come to her senses. However, she wasn’t feeling particularly grateful. It would have been so much easier if she hadn’t had to face him this morning, if she’d b
een allowed time and distance to gather senses that had scattered beneath his touch. But life, in her experience, rarely worked out to be easy.

  She forced herself to move again and entered the kitchen where Danny was seated at the table chattering nonstop, and Gabe…well, Gabe was making a mess.

  With raised eyebrows she silently surveyed the area. The burned remains of some mysterious substance was heaped on a plate beside the sink. Plops of runny goo were distributed on the counters and ran over the side of the bowl Gabe was holding. If she wasn’t mistaken, a matching streak was smeared across his chest. Which was still bare. Still broad. Still devastating.

  Her gaze raced over his form. His hair was damp and recklessly combed. An intriguing stubble shadowed his jaw. He was wearing the pants he’d had on last night and he was barefoot. For a moment she wondered which was the more incongruous: finding a half-bare man on her couch or finding one in her kitchen. With a quick flutter her pulse decided. The sight had similar effects regardless of the vantage point.

  Gabe poured some of the stuff into the pan he held in his other hand, and belatedly, Meghan understood. Pancakes. No doubt her nephew had prevailed upon the man to fix his favorite breakfast.

  Meghan leveled a look at the culprit in question. Danny was at the table standing on a chair, scrutinizing Gabe’s actions. “Don’t make them too big this time. They’ll just burn up again.”

  “You’re supposed to burn the first batch,” Gabe informed him. “It gets the pan warmed up.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” He tossed the boy a quick grin and saw Meghan in the doorway. His smile quickly faded. The familiar, impassive mask slid over his features, and the contrast seized her heart. He hadn’t been guarded last night. She’d seen his face stamped with passion, felt his control begin to shred. But she’d made her choice then, and it had been the right one. Gabe Connally was the last man she should get involved with. He was a cop. He was intent on pulling her nephew into the middle of a police investigation. And he seemed to put a high value on honesty. That was something she couldn’t afford to reciprocate.

  “Okay, here you go, ace. Pancakes a` la Connally.” With swift, economical movements Gabe produced a plate with a flourish, atop which sat a misshapen and slightly singed-around-the-edges pancake.

  Danny eyed it critically. “It looks funny.”

  “That’s because it doesn’t have syrup on it yet. And because you’re looking at it from a height.” With one arm, Gabe scooped him up and deposited him in a chair. “Pancakes are best surveyed up close.” He slid the plate in front of the boy and reached for the syrup, making a big deal out of pouring it to Danny’s specifications.

  Meghan’s chest tightened when her nephew laughed at Gabe’s antics. Where had this casual ease between the two of them sprung from? Danny’s customary reserve with strangers was understandable, considering everything he’d experienced in his young life. But it hadn’t taken long for his fascination for the detective to overcome his usual reticence.

  “Morning.” Gabe’s expressionless voice had her attention shifting, and she met his too-observant gaze. “Head still hurt?”

  Unwilling to give voice to the pain that still sliced at any careless movement, Meghan lifted a shoulder. “Not bad.”

  Danny looked up with a mouthful of pancakes. “What happened to your Band-Aid?”

  “It came off in the shower.” And it had, with a little help from her. She wasn’t about to walk around for the next few days looking like a crash survivor. Her still-damp hair covered the stitches well enough. It was obvious from Gabe’s scowl that he disagreed.

  “That intern specifically told you not to get the Band-Aid wet.”

  She found it more comfortable to avoid his eyes, so she went to the cupboard and took out a glass. “It’d be a little tough to wash my hair without getting it wet.”

  “You don’t take orders very well.”

  “I don’t take orders at all.” Pouring orange juice into her glass, she finally turned back to face him. “I thought you’d be gone when I got up.” When she realized how the words sounded, she flushed. “I mean, I thought you’d have to get to work.”

  “I do. Cal’s bringing some of my stuff over so I don’t have to drive home first. And then he can update me on what he found out last night. I called him before the ambulance arrived. I wanted him to get a look at the scene before the uniforms showed up.”

  As if on cue, the buzzer rang. Gabe padded out of the kitchen to the intercom mounted beside the front door. After a terse exchange he turned back to Meghan, who had followed him. “He’ll be right up.”

  It occurred to her that he had a way of taking charge, even in her apartment. But she swallowed her protest. At last it seemed as though she’d get some answers. Gabe had been maddeningly elusive when she’d questioned him last night.

  “I’m done.” Danny scrambled from the chair and headed toward them. “I can get ready for school now.”

  “Not so fast.” With effort Meghan pulled her thoughts from last night and focused on her nephew. “I don’t suppose you had a bath last night?”

  His head started to bob, then, catching Gabe’s eye, turned into a negative shake. “Then I’ll go in and run the bath water. You can’t go to school covered with syrup.”

  Gabe watched the pair walk toward the bathroom. The boy’s words drifted behind him. “You make me take too many baths. My skin’s gonna get soaked off. I’ll just be bones.”

  Meghan’s response reached Gabe just before the taps turned on. “Think how cool you’ll look then.”

  A corner of his mouth lifted. He could almost imagine the kid’s response. The boy seemed to have a macabre interest in things like that. He didn’t know why he was so surprised that Meghan realized it. It was obvious she was devoted to her nephew. Sometimes, though, he thought she was as guarded around the boy as she was with Gabe.

  A knock sounded, and he pulled the door open and let Cal in. “Thanks,” he said, taking the hastily packed bag from his partner. “I would have hated to have to fight the traffic all the way home and then back to district headquarters.”

  “No problem.” Cal’s attention was fixed on Gabe’s state of undress. “I didn’t realize just how desperately you needed a change.”

  Gabe laid the bag on the coffee table and unzipped it. Peering inside, he pulled out a pin-striped shirt with a scowl. “What’d you bring me this one for? I hate this shirt.”

  “Which probably explains why it was the only decent one in your closet. God, Connally—” Cal walked over to the couch and sat on it “—your clothes are just a cut above the ones we found in D’Brusco’s closet.”

  Leaving the shirt half-unbuttoned, Gabe glared at him while he exchanged his pants for the ones his partner had brought. “There’s nothing wrong with my clothes.”

  “Nothing a good rummage sale wouldn’t fix.”

  “Listen, pal, you weren’t exactly a fashion plate yourself until Becky took you in hand.”

  “Then it’s time you were taken in hand. Got someone in mind for the job?”

  Gabe chose to ignore the speculation in his partner’s voice. Meghan had returned to the room and was watching him with huge eyes. He shoved the tails of his shirt into his waistband with barely controlled violence. If the woman was intent on keeping their relationship platonic, she damn well ought to stop staring at him like that. A man could be forgiven for mistaking that look for something else. Like wanting. Hunger. The kind he’d had a taste of last night. The kind he was itching to taste again.

  He zipped his pants and buttoned them, keeping his gaze firmly trained on Cal. “Why don’t you tell us what went down when you got there last night?” Meghan sank into one of the easy chairs flanking the couch, and he took the other.

  “Actually, I got there right after the ambulance pulled away, about ten minutes before the uniforms. Found the watchman on the floor of his station. He was just coming around.”

  “The watchman?” Meghan’s
attention jerked to Gabe who nodded.

  “I figured as much. The punk must have knocked him out after gaining access. Any chance the guard can ID the guy?”

  Cal shook his head. “He never knew what hit him. There was a door in back that had been jimmied open. The intruder probably entered there. How about you? Did you get a look at him?”

  Gabe made a sound of disgust. “Not enough for a description. Five ten or eleven, maybe 170 pounds. Wore dark clothes, a watch cap over his head, and gloves. I almost had the punk by the stairwell. He threw something at me.” His gaze went to Meghan’s, held. “I recognized it as your flashlight. He took off down the stairs, and I went back for you.” And he’d found her. Hurt. Bleeding. There was a single vicious twist in his gut at the memory. He never should have left her in the darkness alone. He hadn’t been there when she’d needed him. It would be a long time before he forgave himself that.

  “So we just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?” Meghan looked from one detective to the other. “Maybe this guy was a thief hoping to ransack some of the compartments, came upon us and panicked.”

  “Maybe.” Because he couldn’t resist that hopeful tone in her voice, he tempered his own. “Or maybe he wanted to see what we were up to.” He despised himself then when he saw the flash of fear in her eyes, but she wouldn’t thank him for trying to sugarcoat the truth. That much, at least, he knew about her. “The lighting went out just before things started to break.”

  Cal nodded. “The fuse box for each floor is located in the stairwell, right behind the door. Looks like our guy went up the stairs, checking each floor on his way. The first two levels had the lights out, too.”

  “So he hit the third floor and heard us talking,” Gabe surmised. “He cut the lights and made his move.”