The Heat Is On

by Jill Shalvis

  He was on his back, far arm stretched above his head, the other wrapped around her. His face was turned toward hers, eyes closed, jaw whiskered in dark shadow. He looked younger, and extremely relaxed, as if maybe someone had stolen his bones, too, and the thought brought a knowing smile to her mouth. She’d put him in that state.

  She could stare at him all night. Except she couldn’t. She had to go.

  He shifted, and drew in a deep breath. Eyes still closed, his arm tightened on her, and he pressed his face to the top of her head. “Mmm. Good way to wake up.” His voice was sleep roughened and sexy as hell vibrating in her ear.

  “Don’t get stirred up,” she said. “I have to get to the shop.”

  “Too late.”

  She crooked her neck and look down the length of him. Yep, it was too late. He was stirring. Everywhere.

  She watched as the sheet became an impromptu tent, and because she couldn’t help herself, slid a hand beneath the fabric to wrap her fingers around him.

  He groaned and covered her hand with his. “I like where this is going.”

  “It’s not going anywhere. I have to start baking or we won’t have anything to sell today. I’m not sure we’ll have customers after all that’s happened, but I know Willow is going to be hoping for the best.” But because she couldn’t help herself, she shoved the sheet free and bent over him, kissing him on the very tip of his most impressive erection.

  It bobbed happily.

  She gave one last sigh of regret and slipped out of his arms and off the bed.

  “That’s just mean,” he said as she padded off to his bathroom. “Cruel and unusual punishment.”

  She was smiling when she turned on his shower, smiling when she used his soap and pressed her nose into her own arm to get as close to his scent as possible, smiling when she felt the door open behind her.

  And then she was pulled back against a solid, hard chest. “No funny business,” she warned him. “If you behave, I’ll meet you for lunch, but for right now, I’ve got to go. Just cleaning up here, that’s it, then I’ll call a cab.”

  “Hmm,” he said noncommittally as his hands slid up her soaped-up, slicked-up body and cupped her breasts, his fingers grazing her nipples.

  Her entire body quivered. “I mean it, Jacob.”

  “Fine. We’ll do lunch.”

  “You mean, we’ll do each other.”

  He grinned against her skin. “That, too, if you’d like. I’ll come to the shop, pick you up and feed you first. Okay?”

  “Mmm.” It was all she could manage with one of his hands on her breast, his other heading south—

  She dropped the soap.

  “Uh-oh,” he murmured silkily. “Better get that.”

  When she bent over to get the soap, he sucked in a breath and gripped her hips. She felt him hard against her ass. “Jacob—”

  “Just pretend I’m not even here,” he said, both laughter and arousal in his voice.

  “I’m only cleaning up,” she repeated weakly, her body on high orgasm alert. Good Lord, it was crazy. They’d had each other so many times last night she’d lost count. How could she still want him like this? “I’ve really got to get going…”

  “Oh, Bella.” His voice was low and full of sexy promise. “You’re going to get going. And coming…”

  The words themselves almost edged her over. “The shop—”

  “You’re going to be late.” He took the soap from her and directed her hands to the tile in front of her, gently kicking her feet farther apart as though he was about to frisk her. Then he slid a hand down her ass and groaned again. “Very late.”

  LATER THAT MORNING, JACOB was at his desk handling paperwork while reliving the morning’s shower—look at him, multitasking—when Ethan stopped by.

  “Just visited your girlfriend,” Ethan said, annoying smirk in place. “She has the same just-been-thoroughly-laid look on her face that you do.”

  Jacob leaned back, lacing his hands over his abs. He was feeling far too mellow to put his fist in Ethan’s mug, probably due to the just-been-thoroughly-laid feeling that was indeed running through his veins today.

  Ethan dropped into a chair and stretched his legs. “We’ve put every spare man we’ve got on this case.”

  “I know. We’re going to get him now.”

  Ethan nodded. “I’ve interviewed Willow, Trevor, all the neighboring shop owners and their employees, and all of the men Bella dated through the singles club.”

  “Except me.”

  “Except you. You haven’t been contacted by the club since the date, right? Or by any of the other participants, other than Bella?”

  “Nope.”

  “And no sense of being watched in any way?”

  “No.”

  Ethan nodded. They both knew that once a cop, always a cop. If someone had been watching him, chances were Jacob would have noticed.

  “Your club date with her was different than the others in two ways,” Ethan said. “With everyone else, they had a meal or a drink, that was it. But with you, you changed venues and did quite a bit.”

  “Yeah. What’s the second way it was different?”

  Ethan waggled a brow. “You’re the only one who slept with her. Did you know that was forbidden?”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  “Okay, it wasn’t,” Ethan agreed. “But it was discouraged. So the question is, why you? Why did she sleep with you?”

  “Thanks, man.”

  Ethan grinned. “I’m actually serious. It was out of character for her.”

  Truth was, Jacob didn’t know why Bella had slept with him. All he knew was that from the moment they’d met, there’d been a spark—a physical, visceral spark—and it was still there, every time he saw her. Every.

  Single.

  Time.

  “You’ve kept seeing her,” Ethan said. “Not that anyone could blame you. But she hasn’t made a move to see any of the others again.”

  “So?”

  “So are you exclusive already?”

  “And that’s pertinent to the case how?”

  “Oh, it’s not. Just wondering what that sweet little thing sees in you. I mean, look at her. She’s warm and funny and sexy as hell. You on the other hand are grumpy, usually scowling, and I’m having a hard time imagining you bringing the funny or the sexy.” He rose lithely to his feet when Jacob’s eyes narrowed, and wisely moved to the door. “Ethan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I can’t see a rhyme or reason to the order in which the eight of us are being targeted.”

  Ethan shook his head. “Me, neither. Just be careful out there,” he warned. “And though I don’t believe she’s the target, I’ve advised Bella to do the same.”

  At lunchtime, Jacob shoved the reports he’d been working on aside and left the building. He was halfway to Edible Bliss when he was called to check on a material witness for a case he was building involving the identity-theft ring.

  Thanks to an uncooperative witness and an unhappy victim, by the time Jacob was back on the road again, it was nearly two.

  Bella had probably eaten lunch without him long ago.

  Still, he headed over there, needing to see her. It had nothing to do with his own emotions and feelings, he assured himself, and everything to do with what Ethan had said.

  She needed to be careful.

  Something bad had happened each day for three days running, and he just wanted to lay his eyes on her—and maybe his hands—and know she was okay.

  Over the years he’d had hundreds of cases, and had met countless people he’d worried about in the scope of the job. But this wasn’t just the job. This was personal.

  Almost too much so.

  He parked his bike in the back lot next to the squad car assigned to the shop, nodding to the cop inside. It was Tom Kennedy, a rookie of less than a year. They spoke for a minute, and when Tom said he hadn’t had lunch yet, Jacob told him to take off and grab something, that he’d watch the pl
ace until he got back.

  Jacob stepped up to the kitchen door, wanting to take a quick peek inside before he made a complete check around the perimeter of the building.

  Bella was alone, bustling around in tune to the sound system, which she had blaring Radiohead. She wore a pair of tiny denim shorts, an oversize white men’s T-shirt knotted in the small of her back, a siren-red apron, and matching red high-tops on her feet. That made him smile. Hell, she made him smile.

  Her wild hair was piled up on top of her head, a few wispy tendrils escaping, sticking to her damp temples. He knew just how that damp skin would taste, and he felt himself stir with arousal just looking at her.

  Then he pictured her in that apron, and nothing else.

  Christ, he needed help. If he had ever doubted the necessity of removing himself from the case, this moment made it irrefutable.

  She hadn’t seen him yet. She was singing to herself as she cleaned the countertop, the motion making her hips rock back and forth.

  And making him ache.

  Christ, he was gone. Completely gone over her. He hoped she’d decide to come out and get some air, but clearly she was getting ready to close up. Leaning against the doorjamb, he stood there with a ridiculous grin on his face, just soaking her in. He figured he could probably stand there and watch her all damn day long and not get tired of it, but then she vanished into the front room of the shop, where he could no longer see or hear her.

  And he had a job to do first before he went inside. He straightened up to get on with it just as the hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood up. He jerked around at the exact moment the shot rang out.

  He jerked again at the impact, and fire burned through him.

  He really hated getting shot.

  He opened his mouth to yell a warning to Bella, since he knew she couldn’t hear a thing over her music, but nothing came out. His last thought at he hit the ground was that at least he wasn’t holding a bouquet of flowers.

  11

  BELLA MOVED TO THE front door of the shop, locked it, then looked over the freshly installed window. Remembering the reason for that had a shiver racking her as she flipped the Closed sign. She moved to the iPod dock in the closet and hit the power button, and in the sudden silence, another shiver, this one of dread, raced up her spine. She stepped out of the closet and looked around for the cause.

  Everything looked normal.

  Then Willow’s face appeared in the front door’s window, and Bella near fell back on her butt in surprise.

  “Sorry,” Willow said when Bella had opened the door for her. “Forgot my key and my purse.” She frowned. “I don’t know where my head is.”

  “I do. It’s on the shootings, and the fact that we had half our usual customers today.”

  Willow sighed. “Yeah. That’s it.”

  Her hair was spiked straight up and out today, like Cher in her seventies Oscar run. She was wearing retro derby gear complete with polyester shorts and a green-and-white rugby top. The only thing missing was a pair of skates and the pads. “You’re wearing your mom’s clothes again.”

  “Yeah, I love her closet. I’m going to stay there again tonight. There’s an extra couch…”

  “Thanks. I’ll let you know.”

  Hands on hips, Willow’s eyes narrowed as she studied Bella. “You’re eating your short-crust pastry.”

  Bella looked down at the pastry in her hands and sighed. “Had so much left over today. And it’s good.”

  “It’s great,” Willow corrected. “It’s soft and flaky and perfect. But according to you, it also goes right to your hips.”

  “You forgot your purse and keys due to stress. I’m eating due to stress. We’re quite the pair.” Bella sighed again and tossed the pastry into the trash.

  “Well, Jesus, if you were going to throw it away…” Willow looked wistfully at the trash can.

  “Don’t you dare.” They moved into the kitchen, where Bella gave her a new one from the leftovers bin, and Willow happily bit into it.

  Bella shook her head. “I hate that you can eat like this and stay as skinny as a rail.”

  Willow grinned and took another pastry. “Good genes.” She cocked her head and her smile faded. “There’s something else wrong. Aw, honey. Is it Sexy Cop?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know.” She shook it off. “It’s nothing. He was supposed to meet me for lunch and didn’t. No biggie.”

  “He’s got an important job. He probably just got held up.”

  “Yes. Maybe.” But maybe not. Maybe he’d decided their casual fun was over.

  “He doesn’t seem like the sort of man to play with a woman’s feelings,” Willow said quietly. “And anyway, I’ve seen him look at you. He’d never play with you like that. Something came up. He’ll call.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You keep going down that path,” Willow said, grabbing her purse, “and you’re going to be insane by the end of the day. I’m going to the movies. Trevor’s driving. Come with us?”

  “Not today, thanks.”

  Willow gave her a fast hug. “You’re just afraid because you’re feeling more than you meant to, because you’re falling for him.”

  Bella squeezed her eyes shut. “Maybe.”

  “Don’t worry, Bell, I think he means to catch you.”

  And then she was gone, out through the dining area and the front door, and with a sigh, Bella locked up. For the tenth time, she pulled out her cell phone.

  No missed call.

  Fine. He hadn’t called. That was fine.

  You’re falling for him. Willow’s words echoed in her head. They were a scary truth. Her scary truth, because she was falling.

  But was she the only one? Hard to tell. But if so, that was okay. He’d said casual. It wasn’t his fault that she hadn’t managed to keep it that way. She’d get herself together. She would.

  She sagged a little, feeling the ache behind her ribs that showed her up as a big, fancy liar. With a shake of her head, she turned off the lights, grabbed her key and went to push open the back door, but it got stuck on something. She pushed a little harder, and when it moved enough for her to squeeze out, she nearly tripped over—

  A body.

  He was on his side facing away from her. Dark hair, buff arms, broad shoulders, blood pooling beneath him on the ground—

  Oh, God.

  This wasn’t just any body, this one was as familiar to her as her own.

  With a groan, Jacob shifted, and she stepped over him and dropped to her knees with a shocked sob. “Jacob!” His shirt was light blue, so she could clearly see the hole in his shoulder, and the blood pumping from it. Panic clenched her hard in the gut, and she ripped off her T-shirt, wadding it up to press it to his wound as she whipped out her cell phone and pounded 911.

  He rolled to his back, face tight in a grimace as she gave the information to emergency dispatch.

  “Goddamn,” he said through his teeth when she was done and pressed harder on the wound. “That hurts.”

  She slid a hand beneath his head to move it to her lap, and her fingers came away bloody. “You must have hit your head.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.” He was staring up at her and blinking rapidly. “Explains why there’s four of you.” He closed his eyes. “Get inside and stay away from the windows.”

  “What? I’m not leaving you!”

  “Goddammit, Bella. The shooter could still be out here somewhere.”

  She lifted her head and looked around, heart pumping so hard she could scarcely breathe. “No one’s out here.”

  “Did it go through?”

  “What?”

  “The bullet. Did it go through?”

  She let out a breath and looked him over. Hole in the front. Gently she leaned over him so she could see the back.

  God.

  God, there was so much blood. “Yes,” she said shakily. “It went straight through.”

  “That’s good.” His eyes were a little glazed and
fixed on what was right in front of his face—her chest. “Nice bra.”

  She made a sound that was a half laugh, half sob, and applied more pressure.

  “Oh, shit,” Jacob rasped through his teeth.

  “I’m sorry. You’re bleeding so much.”

  “Call Ethan. Have him tell Tom his lunch break’s over.”

  Again she used her cell. Onlookers were starting to trickle into the parking lot, one of whom brought her a shawl to wrap around herself. Two of the adjacent shop owners were there, too, and several people that Bella didn’t know, all standing a respectful distance back.

  She heard sirens. “They’re coming.”

  He didn’t move or open his eyes and she gripped him tight. “Jacob!”

  “Shh,” Jacob whispered. “He’s sleeping.”

  “No. Stay with me,” she said fiercely, leaning down to put her face right in his. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

  “Bella,” he said softly, sounding pained. He squeezed her hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Okay, then.”

  He didn’t say anything more, but she could see his chest rising and falling. Breathing. Breathing was good.

  The ambulance pulled into the lot and everything happened in super speed then. She was pulled free of Jacob, who was quickly assessed, his vitals taken and an IV started. She heard the EMT report to the hospital that they had a thirty-two-year-old male with a through-and-through GSW to the shoulder, vitals stable, possible slight concussion.

  She never took her eyes off Jacob. He was clearly woozy, but he’d been able to give his name, age, the time and place. That had to be good, she told herself.

  Then he was loaded up.

  She tried to go with him, but another EMT detained her, gaze running over her gently as he assessed her to make sure the blood all over her wasn’t hers. By the time it was determined she was fine, the ambulance with Jacob had left.

  Fine. She knew just where the hospital was, since on her first week in Santa Rey she’d cut her finger with her paring knife and had required three stitches. She needed a shirt anyway, and she had to lock up, and she had to—