An Irresistible Man

by Kylie Brant

  “Is there anything else I can do?” she asked halfheartedly.

  He shook his head. She looked more relaxed already. He saw that her wineglass was half-empty, and reached over to fill it again. “No, why don’t you take it easy? You had a rough day.” Without giving her time to respond to that, he went on easily, “I enjoy cooking. It relaxes me after work.” He winked at her. “Of course, I only do it when I feel like it, so it’s not a chore to me.”

  “It seems like such a waste of time for one person. I rarely make a real meal for myself.” Having someone in the kitchen cooking for her while she sat and relaxed was beginning to gain merit. There was something to be said for laziness. She studied him judiciously, over her second glass of wine. He didn’t look any less masculine moving about in the tiny room with the ruffled curtains. His movements were lithe and sure. He hadn’t been exaggerating. He obviously knew his way around a stove. He stirred several ingredients together in the frying pan, his hand going to adjust the heat. Her gaze drifted over him. It was especially pleasant to watch someone cook for her when that someone was so easy to look at.

  The wine was pleasantly uninhibiting. Her gaze wandered down his well-muscled legs, and back up to trace the inverted triangle of narrow waist, lean back and broad shoulders. His hair looked thick. She wondered if it would be soft or coarse to the touch.

  She mentally shook herself. That way of thinking was not for her. She pushed her wineglass away. It might be responsible for easing some of the day’s tensions, but she’d better stop now, before it drained away some of her common sense, as well. This case didn’t need any further complications.

  “Out of deference for your finicky appetite, we’re keeping the green things to a minimum tonight. I’m fixing a pasta salad.”

  “I like pasta,” she said cautiously. Maybe this meal wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

  “Now how did I guess that?” he joked. “I didn’t want to shock your system by introducing too many new foods at once. We’ll expand your salad appetite another time.”

  Madeline wondered at his assumption that there would be a next time. But he was a surprisingly pleasant companion, conversing the whole time he cooked. By the time dinner was ready their patter had finished the job the wine had started, and she felt thoroughly relaxed.

  Cruz filled both of their plates and set them down at the tiny table in the dining area. She sat down almost nervously. The room wasn’t large enough for a bigger piece of furniture, but since she rarely entertained, she’d never given it much thought. But now, with Cruz sitting across from her, the table seemed too cozy, almost intimate.

  To mask her unease, she turned her attention to her food. To her astonishment, the meal was delicious. She surprised herself by putting her normal reservations aside and ate with enjoyment.

  Cruz watched her over the top of his wineglass. She had approached the first few forkfuls warily, he noted with amusement. She definitely did not have a trusting nature. But after several minutes their conversation had her so involved that she forgot to surreptitiously examine the food, and just ate it. They were arguing about national politics and he was surprised to find that their viewpoints were not that far apart. But he’d never been one to let similar viewpoints get in the way of a stimulating discussion.

  “I agree with you.” He interrupted her in the midst of a spirited argument. He replaced his wineglass on the table and resumed eating his meal.

  She frowned at him. “But you said-”

  “I know what I said. I just wanted to see how strongly you would defend your position. And you did it quite well, I thought.” His eyes twinkled. “You should have been a lawyer.”

  Madeline stared at him. “You did it to me again,” she finally murmured, shaking her head in bemusement. “Why do I keep forgetting how you operate? You just like to get people stirred up, don’t you?”

  “Yep,” he admitted without shame. “It’s my forte. You go with your strengths. Plus your impassioned persuasion kept you so busy you forgot what you were eating.” He pointed his fork at her plate.

  “Very tricky,” she said, noticing for the first time that she’d eaten most of her helping. “But you’ll notice I managed to avoid the peppers.”

  “You did quite well for the first time. And for your reward…” He got up and went to the refrigerator. “I brought something that would earn your forgiveness if you absolutely hated the meal.”

  Her mouth watered on cue when he presented the dessert. “For French silk pie I would forgive you for starting World War III. But there’s no need for it. Everything was delicious.”

  “Thank you, thank you,” he said with false modesty. “But I have to admit, my culinary genius does not extend to baked goods. I got this at a Miller’s Bakery.”

  They savored the sweet dessert and when they were finished, Madeline sat back contentedly. “I don’t think I’ll move for the next several hours.”

  “In that case, maybe we’d better go into the living room. You’ll be more comfortable on the couch in case you fall asleep. I’ll clean up the kitchen.”

  Shaking her head, Madeline rose and walked over to the TV, flipping it on and dropping onto the couch as he’d suggested. “Forget the dishes,” she said. “I’ll do them later when I have more energy.”

  He didn’t need any more encouragement, and sat on the other end of the couch. She would be amazed later to recall how quickly the evening passed. They talked as freely as two friends who’d known each other for years, with an easy familiarity. When Cruz rose later, remarking about the time, Madeline’s eyes flew to the clock. She was shocked to see how late it was getting. She followed him to the door.

  “Thank you,” she said sincerely, “for the meal.”

  “Well, I guess I owed you. I really didn’t mean to offend you this afternoon.”

  “You didn’t have to do this, but…” She smiled impishly. “I’m glad you did.”

  He gazed down at her. “So am I.” She was so close he could reach out and touch her, and he did so without thinking. One finger traced her delicate jawline, and the others curled under her chin of their own accord. He didn’t plan it, but his head began descending.

  Just a quick kiss, that was all he expected. A light brushing of lips, a friendly goodbye. It would have been a fitting ending to a spontaneous evening that had turned out surprisingly well. But once his mouth met hers, his expectations faded, to be replaced with something deeper, more demanding.

  She saw his face draw closer and she didn’t pull away as she knew she ought to. A kiss seemed almost natural after the evening they’d shared, and her eyelids drooped in anticipation. But anticipation didn’t prepare her for the onslaught of emotion that accompanied his kiss. She’d expected a casual peck, perhaps a teasing brush of mouths, and a joking remark to accompany him out the door. But there was nothing teasing about this.

  At the first taste of her, Cruz could feel a spark in his belly quickly grow into a knot of fire. It wasn’t enough, and he followed the dictates of his body, not his mind. He pulled her closer, cupped her head in the palm of his hand and kissed her the way he wanted to, the way he’d thought about doing since the first time he’d seen her, looking so prim and professional.

  His lips pressed hers apart and his tongue swept in, exploring boldly. Not expecting such an intimate caress, Madeline’s fingers clutched reflexively on his chest. The heat from his stroking tongue generated an answering heat in the pit of her stomach. She allowed the sparks to sweep away reason for a moment. For an instant she allowed herself to respond to the demand implicit in his kiss, and issued a demand of her own.

  Their mouths twisted together in a mindless wanting that reduced their earlier friendliness to a sham. It was long moments before Cruz raised his head.

  With her lips bereft of his, her eyes flickered open slowly. He was staring down at her, his eyes still full of the promise his mouth had been issuing a second ago. There was a slight frown on his face. Then he brushed his lips acr
oss her forehead and left, as if not trusting himself to do more.

  His departure seemed no more abrupt than the cessation of that mind-drugging kiss of a minute ago, and when the door shut behind him, Madeline sagged weakly against it. What a fool she’d been just then, she thought dizzily. She’d imagined what a kiss from him would be like. But her expectations hadn’t prepared her for this thought-draining, soul-racking kiss, which left her boneless and alarmingly empty-headed.

  It was some time before her mind cleared enough for her to lock the door behind him. But after she did, she leaned against it again. Later would come the self-recriminations. For now, words escaped her mind, and all she could do was touch her lips in remembrance and smile.

  # # # #

  Morning seemed to come with the gentleness of a sledgehammer against cement. Cruz hadn’t slept particularly well, and his mood didn’t improve much over coffee. His brilliant idea of the previous evening, to get on a better footing with Madeline Casey, had succeeded all too well. Except for the fact that he’d reacted to her as hot and fast as a randy sixteen-year-old in the back seat of his father’s car. He rubbed his forehead in remembrance. Keep it light, that had been his plan for the evening. But somehow he’d lost that thought at the first taste of her.

  His sudden physical response was not a mystery; he’d been attracted to her from the beginning. He appreciated women, and he especially appreciated women who were smart as well as beautiful. It was his momentary lack of control last night that bothered him. Cruz hadn’t gotten to be a thirty-four-year-old bachelor without his share of experience with the opposite sex. But somehow none of that experience had come to his aid last night, and that was disturbing.

  He was used to arranging things to suit himself. He had an innate charm that prevented people from protesting, even when they realized how he stayed in control of a situation. He’d figured the situation with Madeline had called for a little more camaraderie, a little lighthearted friendliness, and that was exactly what he’d provided. Until he’d lost control of that plan at the end, when their kiss had become much more than that.

  He didn’t like the feeling he had now, as if he’d made a rather large mistake, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on when or why things had gone so awry. All he knew was that they had less to do with him and much more to do with Madeline Casey. And his reaction to her. He brooded over this on the drive to work. When he got to his desk, she was already there.

  “Hi,” she said, glancing up at him. “It’s not often I beat you to work.” She took a closer look at his closed expression. “Bad morning?”

  Bad night, he wanted to tell her. Long, sleepless and fitful. And if you want to know the cause of it, look in the mirror. But there was no way he was going to admit that to her. Not when she sat there in front of him looking fresh and starched, as if she weren’t bothered in the slightest by the memory of her lips opening for his tongue. He shrugged in answer to her question. “Not especially.”

  “I was looking through the files you compiled. I couldn’t find that picture of Valdez we had yesterday. Do you know where it is?”

  Her matter-of-fact manner helped restore his own, even as it annoyed him further. He walked to his desk and pulled open the top drawer. He took out the picture and handed it to her. “What’s on your mind?”

  She studied the picture intently, as if she didn’t already have the face memorized. He’d be shocked if she answered that question truthfully. However, there was no chance of that happening. She’d thought for an instant that he shared her discomfort at facing him this morning. But she’d obviously been wrong. There was nothing in his manner to suggest that. She, on the other hand, had had to mentally prepare herself for the moment she would see him again. And she resented bitterly the fact that the effort seemed to be one-sided.

  But she was, above all things, a professional, and she’d do her job without consideration of any personal feelings if it killed her. She was proud that her voice was matter-of-fact when she answered. “What do you think Stover might have to say if we showed him this and told him we know he got the gun from this man?”

  “Bluff him, you mean?”

  “We don’t have anything to lose,” she reasoned. “He didn’t seem willing to talk without a guaranteed deal from the D.A. We aren’t going to get that. Maybe, if nothing else, we can surprise him. We might be able to tell from his expression, at least, if we’re on the right track.”

  “It’s worth a try,” Cruz agreed after considering for a moment. “Is it your turn to drive, or mine?”

  When they arrived at the South District headquarters they received a shock. Cruz stared at the desk sergeant. “What do you mean, Stover made bail yesterday?”

  The older man looked annoyed at the question. “Just what I said. Some woman came by yesterday afternoon with wads of hundred-dollar bills stuffed into baggies, and he walked.”

  Madeline looked at her partner, stunned. “There’s no way he could come up with that much money. If he could, he would have been out before.”

  The desk sergeant pointedly went back to his paperwork, already dismissing them.

  “Can we see the paperwork on the bail?” Cruz asked.

  The man let out a great sigh, threw his pen down and left his chair. A moment later he came back with the necessary papers. Cruz took them, holding them so both he and Madeline could read them. It was a measure of how much he was coming to rely on her ability; he didn’t even bother to take notes. After perusing the papers they thanked the officer, who didn’t look unhappy to see them go.

  “Seems a little strange,” Cruz remarked as they pulled away from the building. “Somehow I hadn’t pictured him as the type to inspire such devotion from a woman. I wonder what her relationship to him was?”

  Madeline shrugged.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked.

  She nodded. “His address was on the papers. Let’s go see if he had any second thoughts about talking after being a prolonged guest of the county.”

  Stover lived in a part of the city that he was unfamiliar with, and Cruz used the GPS on his cell. The neighborhoods began to get seedier. A group of youths on one corner were amusing themselves by setting litter baskets on fire.

  Seeing them, Madeline began to wonder what would be left of the car by the time they were finished talking to Stover.

  “That must be it up ahead,” Cruz finally said. “This is 1014 right here, so 1016 must be the yellow house.”

  Madeline pulled to a stop, double-parking in front. His description was too kind. Any paint the house had ever seen was nothing but a dim memory. Curls of faded yellow latex clung to the siding in places, but more of the house was a dull, faded gray. They walked up to the porch, avoiding the steps that had large holes in them. An old screen door hung uselessly by one hinge. Four mailboxes lined the wall next to the door.

  “Which one is Stover supposed to be in?”

  “1B.”

  They pushed open the inner door and were in a small foyer. Stover’s door was slightly ajar. “Detectives Martinez and Casey, Stover,” Madeline called. “We’d like to talk to you for a minute.” There was no response.

  She shared a glance, and he pounded his fist against the rickety doorjamb. “Open up, Stover. Police.” Still there was no answer. Though she listened intently, Madeline could not hear any sound in the room. She turned away in disgust, but Cruz used his free hand to push the door open all the way, simultaneously barking, “Police!”

  They both saw Stover at the same time, lying facedown on the bed. Slowly they approached him, each sure of what they would find. Cruz pulled the sheet back for a better look at the man.

  There was a neat bullet hole at the base of his scalp.

  Chapter 8

  Madeline felt for a pulse, but her action was merely precautionary. “He’s cold already,” she murmured. “Whoever paid him a visit has been gone quite a while.”

  “Didn’t get to enjoy his newfound freedom long, d
id he?”

  She sighed. “I’ll radio it in.”

  An hour later the room was full of police personnel. Madeline and Cruz stood in the hallway as the CSU and the homicide detectives worked. They’d already told what they knew to the supervising officer, Lieutenant Niles, who stood in the doorway. As the body was rolled by on a stretcher, he stepped back into the hallway,

  “So that was the guy they had dead to rights on the attempted bank robbery?” the lieutenant asked. “Jacobs will scream about this. Way I heard it, the conviction was a sure thing.” He lit a cigarette and peered at the two of them through the smoke. “What’s your angle?”

  “We’re working to nail whoever’s supplying these guys with the guns,” Cruz said.

  The lieutenant grunted, watching his officers search the room. “Good luck. You have any ideas to make my investigation a little easier?”

  “Maybe.” Madeline pulled out the picture of Valdez. “We’d come to question Stover about this man. We think he might have sold Stover the gun.” She gave him a brief description of Valdez’s criminal record. “His prints are on file. If you get a clear print in here, try matching it to his.”

  “You might want to find the woman who put up bail for him yesterday,” Cruz suggested. “Seems pretty odd to me that he sat in that cell as long as he did, and suddenly someone came up with the money.”

  “You got a theory on that?” the man inquired.

  “Maybe. Stover knew there was interest in the supplier. He asked to cut a deal with the D.A. Jacobs turned it down. Could be that someone got wind of that interest and decided to shut Stover up, in case Jacobs reconsidered.”

  The lieutenant mulled this over. “We’ll give that a shot. What district you in?”

  “Southwest.”

  He nodded. “I’ll give you a call if we get anywhere with that. In the meantime, if you catch up with this Valdez, I’d like to hear about it.”