by Karen Rock
For now, great sex was enough. In fact, it was exactly what she needed to get through tonight after discovering the ring circled her father closer than she’d imagined. A group bent on harming them, who wanted them both dead.
Smoothing a hand over a squared shoulder, she soaked in the feel of raw male power. She’d be willing to bet there weren’t many who’d tangled with this particular detective and gotten away with it. Her attempted kidnappers were probably two of the few to get past Blake.
She kissed his shoulder, relishing the warm heat of him a little longer even as reality started to set in again. He protected her, yet he threatened her father and their chance at a reconciliation. She had to join forces with Blake to solve the case. Letting him close again, however, would only make it more difficult to redraw their boundaries.
Boundaries were nonnegotiable.
They were on opposite sides of his case.
And Reese, for her part, intended to keep it that way.
Chapter Ten
Blake dropped the last strip of bacon in the skillet and turned up the flame on Reese’s gas stove. The clock set above the small kitchen’s rear door read 6:00 a.m. Beyond the window, last night’s clouds moved off, leaving a dawning, purple-blue sky. He glanced at the stairwell leading from Reese’s attic room. Still empty.
He rattled the cabinet door as he pulled it open, grabbed a stainless-steel bowl, then banged it down on the large table dominating the space. He paused, cocked his head and listened.
Nothing.
Only the buzz of hummingbirds around a back-porch feeder and a cool, fragrant breeze, filtered through a nearby bed of roses, rustling a birch copse. Why was he so anxious for Reese to wake? He didn’t have a clue what to say to her after their mind-blowing encounter. Once the storm eased, they’d raced home on his bike, then up to her room where they’d made love for hours until falling asleep in each other’s arms. For once, the ever-present feeling of not belonging disappeared as he lost himself in Reese. He’d never connected this intensely with someone before, and it scared the shit out of him.
He pulled the carton of eggs from the fridge, shut the door hard with the back of his foot and stomped back to the table. He cracked them one by one. Using a whisk, he beat them thoroughly, purposefully dinging the metal instrument against the sides of the bowl.
Blake’s eyes flitted to the empty stairwell again.
Nothing.
A stream of hissing brown liquid poured from a Keurig into a carafe set on a chipped countertop. He inhaled the dark roast, his heavy lids lifting. Why had he gotten up so damn early? He pictured Reese, curved away from him in the bed. He’d woken, hungry for her. But when he’d tightened his arms around her, he’d discovered he cradled a pillow instead, a pillow she must have placed between them, separating them, the possible message:
Keep your distance.
A message he should damn well heed.
He dropped four slices of bread into the toaster, grabbed the eggs and returned to the stove. Reese threatened his sanity; she made him feel too much. Passion. Protectiveness. Caring. Once he started feeling those things, his ability to stay objective, to maintain his self-control, the rational side to his nature that defined him as a product of his upbringing, not his birth, would explode in his face.
A pat of butter dropped from his fork to the frying pan and began melting. He stirred it around, then flipped the splatting bacon, crisp side up.
He was one of the good guys. Reese, she wasn’t so easy to define, since he still didn’t know which side she stood on. Worse, she threatened to pull him from his clearly defined boundaries—and then he’d be truly lost. He couldn’t simultaneously feel the things she inspired and keep a level head as he investigated her father and his business.
Something had to give.
Butter now a golden liquid pooling in the pan, he poured the eggs and grabbed a spatula. The bacon popped and sizzled, and he snapped off the flame when the slices turned an even brown color. Bubbling lightly at the edges, the eggs gelled. He scrambled them lightly, his mind turning back to Reese.
He’d set better boundaries this time. And while it would be damn hard to resist the allure of Reese Landon under normal circumstances, Blake had the benefit of a disciplined childhood and a straight-arrow father he’d idolized to keep his worst instincts at bay. He needed to walk the line his father taught him to follow. And that meant not sleeping with daughters of possible suspects.
His purpose in life was to serve and protect, not mindlessly indulge as he had last night, regardless of the intense pleasure. He owed his father and the police everything for saving him: his loyalty and his life. He didn’t have room in his life to share it with someone else, at least not until he carried on his father’s legacy and demonstrated, once and for all, he belonged with the good guys…a debt paid once he completed this sting operation…one that would probably put Pete Landon behind bars and him and Reese on opposite sides.
Eggs now solid, he slid them onto a plate and set it on the table, followed by the bacon and a stack of buttered toast. He grabbed juice from the fridge then searched out glasses. Once he located them, he quickly set the table, plunking down each plate, cup and utensil as noisily as possible.
A thunk, followed by a groan from Reese’s room, curved up the corners of his mouth. He paced to the stairwell’s entranceway then forced himself to back away.
Down, boy.
Still, as her sleepy feet padded down the hallway, his heart leapt like a chained dog welcoming its master home.
Except he was in charge. Not Reese.
Last night, he’d seized control, directed every explosive move and choreographed her multiple releases. Then, and only then, had he allowed himself to slide over the abyss with her, falling asleep when her even breath sounded in his ear, her body warm and slack in his arms.
A drawer banged overhead, followed by a string of indiscriminate cussing. A full-on grin spread across his face. Whistling, he grabbed a pair of scissors and ducked outside to the small rose bed he’d glimpsed from the window. Did Reese like flowers? he wondered, careful to snip only the blooms he thought might fade soon.
And why was he behaving like a schoolboy with his first crush?
Back in the kitchen, he halted at the sight of a slightly disheveled Reese. Strands of ebony hair dangled in her sleep-flushed face. Her lips, pink and full from their passionate night, revved his pulse. He filled a bud vase with water, stuffed the roses inside and planted it in the center of the table.
She traipsed further into the room and sniffed. “Is that coffee?”
He headed to the Keurig. “Black?”
“Can I get a double shot of espresso, too?”
“Your dad might have some Sanka I could spoon in.”
“Nooooo,” she groaned, head in her hand. She’d dropped into a chair at the table. “Do they even make that anymore? What’s the expiration date?”
He finished pouring then opened a cabinet and peered inside. “I think it says infinity.”
She laughed, the sound light and real and so damn sexy. “That makes sense. And what was going on down here? World War III?”
“I didn’t hear anything,” he denied, all innocence, and so damn glad she’d joined him at last he could barely keep the smile off his face.
She rolled her eyes then peered around. “Did you make breakfast?”
God, she was gorgeous, he thought, handing over her coffee. She’d donned a pale blue-and-white-striped nightgown that barely touched her knees and a cotton robe tied at the waist. The oversized garment hung on her lithe frame, and the hem dragged on the floor, but she looked sexier to him than if she wore a flimsy negligee. In fact, she looked hot in everything, even the wrinkled top and jeans she’d had on when they’d first met—when she’d knocked him straight on his ass with her swagger, sass and sex appeal.
“Jus
t bacon and eggs.” He speared a few slices onto her plate then scraped a pile of eggs beside it.
“And toast.” Her eyes closed as she bit into a piece of bacon. “God, I love you.”
The fork he’d lifted to his mouth froze in midair, and her lids flew open. Red stained her cheeks. “I mean. I love your cooking.”
He let out a breath and shoveled in a bite, nodding.
“And other things…” Her gaze fled his. “But last night. It was a one-time thing. We got carried away…. It’s not that you’re not amazing.”
“I’m not amazing?” he couldn’t help but tease, enjoying her adorable awkwardness. He wished like hell he’d met her under different circumstances. In another life. As someone else.
“N-no.” She scrubbed a hand over her eyes. “I mean. You were incredible. Wow. Like really. Really. You know?”
“The earth moved…” he prompted, when she seemed to run out of air and words.
She stopped fidgeting with her napkin and lifted suspicion-filled eyes. “Are you teasing me?”
“Probably.”
She bit into her toast and made a face at him. “You’re the worst.”
“You just said I was incredible.”
He ducked, narrowly missing the corner of toast she’d flung in his direction. Luckily, she hadn’t gotten to the juice yet.
“The worst,” she repeated, then dug into her eggs. The corner of her lovely mouth twitched as she fought to contain her amusement.
They ate in silence for a moment, then he reached across the table and laced his fingers in hers. “Last night was incredible.”
Her eyes rose and locked with his. He squeezed her hand then made himself let go. “But—I agree. It was a one-time thing.”
Her tense shoulders dropped.
“And you were amazing too,” he added, then stopped himself before he said too much, like how he’d never met anyone like her, someone who touched him this deeply. He didn’t know how he’d keep things professional when every instinct in his body demanded he scoop her out of her chair, haul her back to bed and make love to her until she screamed his name—no, until she forgot his name, and hers, and everything else but their crazy chemistry.
She ducked her head. “Thanks,” she mumbled around a mouthful of eggs. “And these are really good. Do you do anything badly? Seriously? You’re practically perfect.”
One side of his mouth lifted. “Practically.”
Reese’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t think so?”
“Think what?” He finished his plate, brought it to the sink and flicked on the water.
“Think you’re perfect?”
“No one’s perfect…except Nash.” He rinsed his dishes and placed them in the dishwasher.
“True. I don’t even think he’s human. But I mean…you don’t see all the good in yourself?”
Blake whirled. “What do you mean?” He hadn’t mentioned his past, but had she smelled the reek of trash on him? It lingered no matter how much good he did to wash it away.
She downed the last of her juice, her expression faraway. “I don’t know, it’s like you’ve got something to prove, like you’re afraid to be even a little bad.”
“We were no angels last night.” He couldn’t resist brushing a kiss along the messy part of her hair as he gathered her empty plate and utensils.
“We might have actually broken a few laws…indecent exposure, lewd acts—which is a misdemeanor, right? Not to mention our, uh—choice of position, might be illegal.” She tipped back her head and shot him a cheeky grin.
“Only in D.C.” he supplied, straight-faced. “The missionary position’s the only one permitted there.”
“How do you even know that?” Reese waved a hand. “Forget it. I don’t want to know…. Maybe I bring out the devil in you.”
The wicked sparkle in her eyes tightened every muscle in his body. “Agreed,” he muttered under his breath, stowing the rest of the dishes in the dishwasher.
“Are you planning on visiting Aces Up?” she asked when he returned to the table. Her nose was buried in the roses. “And thank you for these. For all of this. It’s—you didn’t have to…”
“I like taking care of you.” The words slipped out too fast for Blake to consider them.
Truth.
“I guess I’m not used to that.” Her voice grew small, and he wondered again about her childhood, about a father she hadn’t talked to in twelve years. There was so much more he wanted to know about Reese Landon.
“I have to get backstage at Aces Up and search the nonpublic areas to figure out where the shipment’s coming in.”
“I can help you.” She leaned her cheek into her cupped hand, her elbow planted on the table.
“How?”
“Dallas Heat books shows there. I can call and see if they have an opening this weekend.”
Blake had to grip the counter to keep from kissing her. “Good.” He paused, weighing his next question carefully. He needed to understand her motives. “But…why help? You weren’t keen in the beginning.”
Reese paced to the window. “I don’t believe my dad is involved the way you think he is, and I’m going to prove it.”
“Then turn over his financial records and let me search his properties.”
“No.”
And that one word set them right back to square one, on opposite sides of the fence, only he wasn’t so happy with his spot anymore. It hemmed him in and kept him from reaching for the woman he wanted.
But maybe that was the good thing about lines. They showed you the boundaries and kept you in your place.
He joined her at the window. “If I get a warrant, you’ll have to turn over his laptop.”
“I know,” Reese said, her gaze locked on something outside the window. “But for now, we’ve got the casino to visit, a case to solve.”
It took every ounce of willpower not to cup her face and bring her lips to his. Instead, he simply cleared his throat. “And when did this become our case?”
Her eyes burned into his. “The minute my father got shot. The minute they came after me.” She grabbed a banana off the table and swaggered to the stairwell with a hip-swishing strut guaranteed to turn any man’s head. Blake could almost swear he felt a pang of regret in the region of his heart. “Be back in five.”
Gutsy Reese. She didn’t back down, even with her life on the line. Her bravado filled him with respect, but any other emotions for her were just playing with fire.
His head got that.
So why not the rest of him?
And now he had a partner in crime. The thought called up a rueful smile. No denying, he was glad to spend more time with her, even if it meant adding a layer of difficulty to his work: protecting her with his life while chasing down suspects.
He’d rather scope out the steroids ring suppliers alone, a potentially deadly situation if things went awry. But last night proved Reese followed her own rules, come hell or high water. If he wanted his backstage access, he needed to include her in the case.
Any other interaction, though, would complicate his by-the-books investigation. He couldn’t have Reese for any more midnight sex sessions, but after nightfall, he knew that’s exactly what he’d be fantasizing about.
Until then, he had a would-be killer to catch and a steroids ring to bust so Reese didn’t have to think about kidnappers and murderers anymore. She’d be able to return to the New York future awaiting her.
And he’d have to let her go—for the sake of his career and himself. The cost to his heart, if he let himself fall for her, might be more than he could risk.
Chapter Eleven
A few days later, Reese shimmied out of another dress, tossed it on the heap atop her bed, and glared down at her subpar wardrobe. What a disaster. Nothing looked special enough for her Aces Up Casino date with
Blake tonight.
She stopped chewing a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie and frowned.
No. This is NOT a date.
And you are stress eating.
Again.
She stuffed the rest of the cookie in her mouth and sifted through her garments. Tonight’s mission was to help Blake investigate, and hopefully to exonerate her father.
Period.
End of story.
Yet she was as jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof, as Grammy used to say.
Reese grabbed another cookie and perused her limited options. She wished she’d brought some of her sexier pieces from New York. But how could she have guessed she’d meet a man who’d turn her inside out? It was all so confusing. She didn’t want a relationship with Blake, but the possibility of one kept her glued to the floor, wearing nothing but a lacy slip, searching for the perfect dress.
She wasn’t making any sense.
Her messed-up brain chemistry must be causing her muddled thinking.
That had to be it.
The signals in her body were going haywire, especially after tasting Blake’s incredible sexual prowess. Plus, she was sleep deprived. She’d tossed and turned these past few nights, imagining Blake downstairs, fantasizing about waking him and seducing the starch out of him. He could be so uptight and official—especially after they’d agreed to keep things strictly professional between them. Something about this straightlaced man tempted her to make him unravel. Again.
Her long hours at the club, implementing new routines and drink specials to increase business, while dipping into the last of her savings to pay off her father’s debt, was probably another reason.
Looking over her shoulder, worrying about kidnappers, steroid deals, and Dixon, whom she wanted to torture a confession from then fire, was a third possibility. If Blake hadn’t insisted he needed the dealer, she would have kicked his ass out days ago—him and any dancers taking steroids. But her hands were tied. The sooner she put treacherous Dallas Heat in her rearview mirror and returned to New York, the better. Which also meant no more Blake.