Colton's Twin Secrets

by Justine Davis

  Dante had offered, after she’d been interviewed by a detective and her cousin Finn had—to her surprise—shown up to make sure everyone was all right, to have an officer take her and the girls home. She’d refused, not even sure why at the time. But later she’d realized she didn’t want to be separated—she wanted them to go home together. And so she’d waited until finally he was free, they went to get Flash, and all five of them went together.

  But now she was starting to get worried. Dante had been pacing since they’d put the girls, who had finally surrendered to sleep, into their crib. He looked edgy, his jaw tensed and his mouth—that damned mouth she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about—tight. He and Finn had had a long conversation at the scene, and he’d been like this ever since.

  She stood it as long as she could but finally went over and put herself in his path. “What is it? Should I be worried? Is that man going to show up here?”

  He stopped barely an inch short of bumping into her. Started to say something, then stopped.

  “I have a right to know, don’t I? If we’re in danger here?”

  “We don’t know that he even knows where we live.”

  For an insane moment all she could think of was that we. It was a moment before the logical part of her brain told her he meant himself and the girls.

  “You think he just happened to see us at the park?”

  “I don’t know.” He drew in a deep breath and really looked at her for the first time. “But we’re not taking any chances. You go nowhere without me. If you have to go somewhere, I go with you. When we get back, I check the house before you or the girls come in. And there’ll be a marked unit around most of the time.”

  Gemma blinked. “So you’re my bodyguard now?”

  “Sorry. That’s the way it’s got to be.”

  “That wasn’t a complaint,” she said mildly.

  “Good. Because until we nail this guy, we’re joined at the hip.”

  Joined at the hip.

  She knew, knew it was just a turn of phrase, an idiom, and yet when he said it, her mind went haywire, darting into places she’d spent a lot of energy denying existed in the last week. All the ways a man and a woman could be joined at the hip flashed through her mind with vivid clarity, and heat blossomed in her, head to toe.

  “Damn, Gemma.” It came out low and harsh. And she knew what she’d been thinking—and trying not to think—had shown on her face.

  And suddenly she had to know. For so many reasons, many of which were only half-formed in her mind, she had to know. She tilted her head back, looked at his mouth, that mouth that fascinated her. Her own lips parted, and suddenly they were unbearably dry and she had to moisten them with the tip of her tongue.

  He went rigid, staring down at her. This time her name was a question. “Gemma?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  And then his mouth, that mouth, was on hers, and his lips were everything she’d thought they might be, hot and alive, firm yet soft enough to be coaxing, but they were more, so much more, and he was setting her on fire.

  She leaned into him, hungry for even more of this wonderful, glorious heat. This, this was what had been missing from her life, what she’d been longing for even while she was unaware it was possible. The heart wants what it wants, her cousin Quinn had told her. Well, apparently hers wanted Dante Mancuso.

  She brushed her tongue over those lips, both heard and felt his sharp intake of breath. And then he returned the action, and it was as if he were tasting the finest of delicacies, gentle yet insistent.

  And then it changed, shifted from a tentative exploration to a fierce demand. She was suddenly pressed against him, his hands at the small of her back, her hands on his shoulders, pulling him even closer. She wanted more of him and pushed the kiss deeper. She heard a low sound, a groan coming from him as their tongues danced, touched, tasted.

  She wasn’t certain when her hands had moved, but suddenly she was feeling hot, sleek skin under her fingers. Only then did she realize she’d tugged his shirt free and that tight, ridged belly was bare to her touch. She felt as well as heard him suck in a breath, and the muscles beneath her fingers clenched.

  And suddenly he pulled back. Put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her, albeit gently, away from him. She made a tiny sound in the back of her throat, a protest that was utterly heartfelt. She felt a chill, as if he’d been the only thing keeping her warm. And alive.

  She opened her eyes to find him staring down at her.

  His rapid, unsteady breathing was the only thing that heartened her; he couldn’t deny he’d been as affected as she had been. His lips, those lips that had driven her mad, parted, as if he were going to speak. But then he stopped, closing his eyes and giving a sharp shake of his head, as if to clear it.

  He put up his hands between them, palms toward her. She couldn’t think, so wasn’t sure if he meant to ward her off or push himself back. He turned away, and she still couldn’t get her mind to work. She watched silently as he walked across to the front door. She saw him touch his waistband, realized sluggishly that he was checking for the handgun in the holster she now saw was clipped to it. She hadn’t even realized it was there, but of course it was—he was a cop, even off duty.

  He pulled the door open. Seemed to realize something, and stopped.

  “I’m going to check around outside,” he said, his back still to her.

  He was gone without ever looking at her again.

  Chapter 25

  He’d done some pretty stupid things in his life, Dante thought, but it would be hard to top kissing Gemma Colton.

  He tried to concentrate on the task he’d set himself, making sure every outside access point to his front unit was secure and setting up various entanglements for anyone who’d try to use them. If it was just himself, he’d count on the alarm system to alert him in time.

  But it wasn’t just himself anymore. He had the girls to think about.

  And Gemma? What about the woman you just kissed, and who kissed you back so hotly you about boiled over right then and there?

  He was insane. He’d turned into a walking cliché, the guy who got the hots for the nanny. Hell, he was a half a dozen clichés, from falling for the nanny to falling for the rich girl. A Colton, for God’s sake. Insanity was the only explanation.

  His own words hit him suddenly, and he straightened up from carefully checking the front window. Falling for? No. No, no, no. He wasn’t. He couldn’t. He’d just been too long without, that was all. He’d been gun-shy ever since he’d caught his woman of the moment slapping Flash when the dog had inadvertently brushed against her in passing, leaving a couple of strands of hair on her black slacks.

  The moment he thought of it, the image formed in his mind of the times he’d seen Gemma petting the dog, talking to him much as she did the twins, and the way Flash had come to accept her with surprising speed.

  Dogs know, isn’t that what they say? They have good people judgment.

  Come to think of it, Flash had never taken to anyone from the beginning, not like he had to Gemma. Of course for Flash, “taken to” only meant he went back to his normal routine of sprawling in his chair and letting out the occasional woeful sigh. But for him, that was tantamount to a trumpeting welcome.

  Trying to focus, Dante walked over to his department SUV and opened the equipment locker in the back, next to the big, flat cushion for Flash. He got out the ever-useful duct tape and some thin wire and walked back to the condo. He strung wire, about ankle height, from shrub to shrub at the sturdy trunks, across the most likely approach to any window. He tore off thin strips of the tape and fastened them from the underside of branches to the windowsills. None of this would really stop anybody, but it would let him know if anyone had prowled around without getting close enough to set off the alarm. He also adjusted the motion-detector lights near both
the front and back doors to activate farther out.

  He’d have to watch that Flash didn’t get entangled, and he’d have to show Gemma so she didn’t—

  Gemma.

  He couldn’t stay out here making up work much longer. He was going to have to go back in there and face her. She’d said yes, but that didn’t make it any less foolish.

  Or cliché.

  He heard the back sliding door open. “Dante, I need help.”

  He spun around, his hand halfway to his holstered Springfield as he scanned the area, looking for a threat he’d missed. But she was in the doorway, looking perfectly calm. At least, she was until she realized what he’d done. Then she paled a little.

  “I just meant with your washer. I’m sorry, I—”

  “No.” He started toward her. “Don’t be.”

  “I should have thought to say something else first.” She managed a smile. “Something without the word help in it.”

  He came to a halt in front of the sliding door. Noted that Flash had come up beside her. And saw her fingers brush over the dog’s head, as if automatically. It made something tighten inside him all over again.

  “Not your fault.” He sucked in a deep breath, let it out, jamming a hand through his hair. “It’s mine.”

  “What’s your fault? Reacting like a cop?”

  “That guy coming after you. Hell, in a way, all of this is my fault.”

  The woman who lived in the condo next door was heading out to the dumpster enclosure with a bag of trash. She waved at Dante through the open gate in the back fence, then glanced at Gemma with speculative interest. Her expression changed to thoughtful, as if she found Gemma familiar. Entirely possible, given how often her picture had appeared in the local news.

  Gemma smiled graciously at the woman but said to Dante, “Perhaps we should continue this inside.”

  He’d slid the door shut and locked it, with both the latch and the more secure foot-activated lock at the base, and reset the alarm when she spoke again.

  “Why is what your fault?”

  “That guy from the funeral coming after you. It was a warning. From the case I was on...before.”

  “But you aren’t on it now.”

  “I guess he didn’t get the memo.”

  She smiled, but it was fleeting and followed by a frown. “How can you be so sure?”

  He walked into the living room, realized he was about to start pacing again and made himself sit down instead. Gemma followed and sat down beside him. Close.

  Too close.

  “He’s done it before.” She simply waited, silently. He hesitated, then decided she had to know, to be fully aware of the danger. “He did a drive-by on an apartment where we found some evidence in the case. Took out all the front windows.”

  Her eyes had widened as he spoke. “He tried to kill you?”

  He grimaced. “Not that much finesse. I was in the kitchen—no way he could have seen me, let alone hit me unless by accident.”

  “What about Flash?” she asked with a glance at the dog, who had returned to his comfy chair.

  Dante heard the concern in her voice, even though it was obvious the dog hadn’t been hurt; he could have been, and she cared. He remembered that moment at the door when she’d touched the dog without even thinking about it. And Flash had let her. Had bestirred himself to get out of his chair and come with her in the first place, even after his morning of romping freely at the K9 center.

  He wanted to kiss her for that.

  Hell, he wanted to kiss her again for any damned reason he could come up with. And it would be so easy—she was so close, he’d only have to move a matter of inches and—

  “What did you mean when you said in a way all of this was your fault?”

  He stomped down on that impulse to kiss her, although his gut knew it was only temporarily quashed. What had happened that day was hardly a secret, nor confidential, like his so far failed effort to find the infiltrator who had stolen the phone.

  When he finally told her, it came out in a rush, as if it had been building for a long time.

  “He came after me that day. But he ended up killing my brother and his wife.”

  Gemma drew back, clearly startled. “But...didn’t they die in a car accident?” He saw understanding quickly dawn in her face. She was many things, Gemma Colton, but slow was not one of them. “Drive-by, you said. He caused the accident?”

  He nodded. “Hit them and smashed them into that power pole, completely destroying the car. They never had a chance.”

  He saw her look toward the den, where the girls were napping. “Thank God they weren’t with them.”

  “Yes.”

  She looked back at him. “But you can’t really think that was your fault?”

  “If he hadn’t come after me, the accident never would have happened.” His mouth tightened. Dom and Agostina might have gotten arrested for the stolen car, but they’d still be alive.

  “You were doing your job.”

  “And it got them killed.”

  She was silent for a long moment. Then she said, quietly, “If your job was building roads, or maybe installing power poles, would you feel responsible for a crash?”

  His brow furrowed. He thought for a moment. “Roads yes, poles no.”

  “Explain?” she asked, looking surprised at his answer.

  “Roads, I’d wonder if it had been done right—no unevenness in the surface, no potholes or weird slant that might have contributed. Poles aren’t in the road, so under normal circumstances there’s no way they’d get hit.”

  She gave him a slow, odd little smile as she nodded. “All right. But if you knew your job had been done right?”

  “Look, I see what you’re getting at, and—”

  “You are not responsible. Any more than that road builder is. There’s only one person at fault here.”

  He let out a compressed breath. “I know that. In my head. My gut, not so much.”

  “And that, Dante Mancuso, is why you’re a good cop.”

  He stared at her. She just smiled at him. After a moment he said, “Tell me, do you cultivate that rich glamour girl thing to hide who you really are?”

  He saw a tinge of color rise in her face. Wished he knew if she was embarrassed or pleased.

  “It does have its uses,” she said.

  “Like lulling people until you get what you want?”

  “Doesn’t seem to be working on you.”

  He couldn’t believe what appeared to be showing in her eyes as she looked at him steadily. It took an effort to say lightly, “Depends on what you want.”

  “If you can’t tell, obviously I’m not doing it right.”

  Oh, you’re doing it right.

  And I just might be stupid enough to fall for it.

  * * *

  What was wrong with her?

  The words kept running through Gemma’s mind. Not because she couldn’t seem to focus on Dante’s explanation of the washer, which included a laugh that anyone would ask him about laundry when he’d once ended up with a batch of light blue T-shirts after washing them with a new pair of jeans. Or on sorting the small pile of tiny clothes with various stains. Or even on something as simple as measuring out the liquid detergent.

  Even Dante’s teasing, “You ever even done this before?” didn’t focus her. Because all she could think about was what she hadn’t thought about. She hadn’t had one single thought about Dev since...since...she’d come out to find Dante at the coffeemaker. As good as naked.

  And when he’d kissed her, Devlin Harrington might as well never have existed.

  She was so lost in the contemplation of what this meant that it took her a while to realize Dante was scrupulously avoiding her, at least as much as was possible in his relatively small condo. If she spoke to hi
m she got short, polite answers. He sat in a chair with his laptop, not on the couch with his feet up, like he always had before. As if he wanted to be sure she couldn’t sit down within three feet of him. And even if she walked right in front of him, he never even looked up.

  When the twins woke up—something they seemed to do in unison—she busied herself with them for a while. They were apparently none the worse for the chaos in the park, and she was glad of that. She suspected it had a bit to do with their fascination with the sand, which she had found everywhere when she’d changed them.

  “Be glad, little ones,” she said to them. “Time enough for you to worry about the problems in the world. For now you just enjoy what you can in your own little world.”

  “Ah ew oh,” Zita said wisely. Her sister giggled.

  “Truly?” Gemma asked, smiling at her as she picked up Lucia. “That might just be the answer, my girl. It certainly makes as much sense as what’s going on.”

  And more sense than your uncle is making right now.

  As if her thought had conjured him up, he appeared in the doorway just as she turned around. For an instant silence spun out between them. And then, determined to be as cool as he was, she said in the cheery tone that coaxed wallets out of wealthy pockets, “Oh, good, you’re just in time. Bring Zita, will you?”

  He looked a bit wary. “Bring her? You’re not going anywhere—”

  “Without you. Yes, I got that.”

  She smothered the unsuitable thought that she wished he meant that because he wanted to be with her personally, not as a bodyguard. And she felt a nudge of guilt that she truly had so completely put Dev out of her mind. Of course, she had been shot at...and Dante had ridden in to the rescue.

  She knew she was kidding herself even as she thought it. Because Dante had been the only thing in her mind well before that had happened.

  “I meant,” she explained, in the same kind of polite tone he’d been using, “out to the living room. I presume we’re allowed to go that far?”