Forcing herself to move, she sank down on the couch next to him. “What do you mean it’s all right? You don’t look ‘all right’ to me. What happened to you?”
He closed his eyes and eased himself upright on the couch. His slow, careful movements made her realize he was in pain, and she scooted over next to him. “Tell me,” she insisted, taking his hand.
He stared down at their joined fingers as if the sight was completely unexpected. Then he turned his hand so their palms were touching and entwined their fingers.
“My office exploded tonight,” he said in a flat voice. “It was completely destroyed. Another minute and I would have been in the building when it happened. I was just going inside when I heard a boom. I looked up and saw a fireball come out my window, and that’s the last thing I remember until the paramedics woke me up.”
“Your office exploded?” she repeated, fear driving into her chest with stunning force. “Was it an accident?”
“I’m afraid the only thing accidental about it was that I wasn’t in there when it happened,” he answered grimly. “The Bomb and Arson Squad found the remains of a fairly sophisticated little explosive device in what was left of my desk.” He looked at her and quirked one eyebrow. “It looks like someone isn’t too happy with us.”
“It can’t have anything to do with my case,” she whispered, shocked. “You haven’t done anything yet. I just hired you yesterday.”
“Apparently these guys are fast workers.” He looked at her impatiently. “Do you honestly think this isn’t connected with your case? Can you sit there and tell me that someone like Mrs. Bernowski is responsible for bombing my office? Because that’s who the rest of my clients are, people just like her.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured as she looked at him, horrified. “I could have gotten you killed.”
“But I wasn’t killed.” His voice was gruff. “And now I’ve got to admit there’s a lot more reason to believe your story. It may not be Eddie, but someone doesn’t like the fact that I’m working for you.”
“But who could know? It’s not like you’ve been asking any questions yet.”
“I was at headquarters twice today, and more than one person saw me each time. Someone saw us together in my car. Anyone who knew what case you’re working on could put two and two together.”
She looked at him, seeing the weariness and pain beneath the dried blood on his face. “Why didn’t the hospital clean you up? It was the least they could have done.”
“I didn’t go to the hospital.” He closed his eyes and leaned back on the couch.
“But you said the paramedics woke you up.”
“At the scene.” He opened his eyes to look at her. “I couldn’t afford to take the time to go to the hospital. Have you ever gone to an emergency room? You sit there half the night, and when they finally look at you you’re either dead or healed.”
“Why couldn’t you afford the time?”
“I had to get over here, of course,” he said impatiently. “I was afraid they might have tried to bomb your apartment, too. Gas stoves are handy for that kind of thing. So are electronic devices.”
She still held his hand, she realized suddenly, and she gripped it harder. “You didn’t go to the hospital so you could come over here and make sure I was all right?” she said in a soft voice.
As he watched her face, she thought she saw a momentary softening in his eyes. Then he abruptly dropped her hand and pushed himself to his feet. “I have to protect my source of income,” he said as he moved toward her small bathroom.
She banished the disappointment that lanced through her at his words and told herself he was right. This was nothing more than a business relationship. Standing up, she moved to the bathroom door and watched him. He stood at the sink, trying to wash away the blood on his face with hands that were suddenly shaking.
“Here, let me,” she said, pushing past him to take the washcloth out of his hands. “Sit down.” She eased him gently onto the edge of the bathtub and began to clean his face.
He closed his eyes and clenched his hands at his sides. Was she hurting him? Her hands faltered and dropped away uncertainly.
Opening his eyes, he said in a deep voice, “Why did you stop?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not.” His voice was harsh, and for just a second something that wasn’t pain or weariness filled his eyes. She took an involuntary step backward. “You’re not hurting me,” he said more gently. “I’m just not used to having someone take care of me.”
She didn’t move until he closed his eyes again, then she dabbed as gently as she could. Once all the dried blood was wiped away she could see that his face was covered with a crisscross pattern of cuts and scratches.
“How did you get these?”
He shrugged. “Probably from the glass in my window. I was standing right underneath it when it blew.” He looked down at his hands critically. “Looks like glass cuts.”
She filled the sink with warm water and, taking one of his hands in hers, began to clean it, being careful to look for pieces of glass. She tried to ignore the shape of his hands, long and slender and strong. As much to distract herself from the feel of his hand as anything else, she said, “You said the explosion knocked you out. How did that happen?”
He shifted so he could put his other hand in the water, and his hip bumped up against hers. He didn’t seem to notice, she thought as her leg tingled. “The paramedics found me slumped against a car. The force of the explosion probably threw me into it and knocked me out.”
Dropping his hand, she swung around to look into his eyes. “Are you sure you don’t have a concussion?”
“Positive.” Taking his hand out of the water, he looked around and reached for a towel. “The paramedics told me I was okay. They wouldn’t have let me go otherwise.”
She stepped back and watched him dry himself off. Without the dried blood, she could see his wounds were all superficial. But he moved with a stiffness that told her he would be uncomfortable tomorrow.
“What are you going to do now?”
“Go home and get some sleep, I guess.”
She couldn’t stand the idea of his going home alone and waking up tomorrow stiff and sore with no one to help him. It was only because it was her fault his office had been blown up, she tried to tell herself. He moved toward the front door, and she found herself saying, “Why don’t you stay here tonight?”
He paused and turned around slowly. “I beg your pardon?”
“I don’t think you should be alone tonight,” she answered hastily. “What if the paramedics were wrong and you did get a concussion? What if you wake up and need help?”
He looked at the couch. “Thanks, but I’ll take my chances at home. I’m going to be sore enough tomorrow without sleeping on that thing to boot.”
“You can have my bed,” she said, her voice gruff.
He raised one eyebrow at her, but she could see what an effort it was. “Any other time and I’d take you up on that offer.”
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” she snapped, but her voice softened when she saw he was swaying on his feet. “Come on, you’re not going home tonight.” She steered him toward the bedroom, but he stopped dead when he saw her rumpled bed.
“I didn’t have a chance to make it when you rang my buzzer,” she began, suddenly uncomfortable.
He turned to her, and even in the dim light that reflected from the living room there was no mistaking the look in his eyes. “The fact that the bed isn’t made isn’t the problem, Julia. The fact that you’re not in it with me is.” He reached out for her, and his hands were as hard as steel. Setting her away from him, he let his hands drop to his sides. “Close the door behind you.”
Backing out of the room, she stared at the door for a long time before she stumbled to the couch. Wrapping her afghan tightly around herself, she made sure the front door was locked again and turned off the light. She lay on the couch, shiveri
ng in spite of the blanket wrapped around her; all she could see was his eyes, glittering at her in the darkness of her bedroom.
Chapter 5
Luke stirred as a warm breeze drifted over him, enveloping him in an unfamiliar scent. He seemed to be sleeping in a garden, he thought drowsily, a garden that reminded him of Julia. The smell of flowers and a more subtle, spicier scent wafted up to him as he rolled over and stretched.
His muscles screamed in pain and he froze, the events of the previous night flooding back into his memory. Opening his eyes slowly, he looked around Julia’s bedroom.
If possible, it was even more inviting in the daylight. Soft and feminine, it seemed like the complete antithesis of the woman he’d thought of as hard and unfeeling.
He’d thought of her that way until yesterday, anyway. He’d found out that parts of her were very soft and definitely felt good. Fighting against the flood of desire that swept over him, he told himself he wasn’t responding to Julia personally. He’d just gone too long without a woman. He couldn’t have been that wrong about Julia Carleton, could he?
Remembering her gentle bathing of his cuts the night before, and her insistence that he stay in her apartment so he wouldn’t be alone, he swung his legs over the side of her bed and stared at the closed door uneasily. Maybe there was more to Julia than he’d thought.
It didn’t matter, he told himself. She was as off-limits to him as every other woman in the world. Oh, he’d enjoy a quick roll in the hay with her, he acknowledged, or maybe even a not so quick one, but that was all it would ever be. He’d had a relationship once, a marriage, and he didn’t care to repeat that mistake.
Slowly and painfully he pulled on the dusty, blood-spattered jeans and sweater that he’d tossed onto the floor the night before. Moving stiffly to the bedroom door, he opened it and looked out into the living room.
Julia lay on her side on the couch, a multicolored blanket wrapped around her and her hands tucked under her cheeks. In the morning sunlight she looked remarkably young and very innocent. Her dark red hair gleamed like the glossy leaves of oak trees in the fall, and her eyelashes lay thick and dark against her cheeks.
His body tightened as he watched her, and he wanted nothing more than to scoop her up in his arms and carry her back to the bed in the other room. As he looked down at her, he imagined how it would feel to lie with her in the sunlight, her scent surrounding them, her long legs sliding around his.
Get real, he told himself harshly as he forced himself to move into the kitchen. Not only does she think you’re some kind of brute animal, you’re working for her. If ever there were two people who were absolutely wrong for each other, it was Luke McKinley and Julia Carleton. Hell, she didn’t even like his name, he reminded himself, remembering their discussion the previous evening.
He yanked open the refrigerator door and stared blindly inside. When he heard her stirring in the living room behind him he tensed, reaching to grab the first thing he saw. By the time he sensed her standing in the doorway behind him, he was peering intently at the label on the jar.
“There’s only so much you can do with coffee,” she said dryly behind him. “Let me make it.”
She brushed past him to take the jar out of his hands and moved to fill the coffeemaker with water. The multicolored blanket was draped over her shoulders and wrapped around her completely. It hid every bit of her body, but perversely it only made him ache more. He wondered if the blanket felt as soft as it looked, and what she was wearing underneath it.
Her back was ramrod straight as she measured out coffee carefully. He wondered if it was his imagination or if her hand was really shaking. Before he could move closer to find out, she said, “How do you feel this morning?”
“About the way you’d expect after getting caught in an explosion. I hurt like hell.”
At that she looked over her shoulder, sympathy in her eyes. “Do you want to take a shower? It might help get some of the kinks out.”
“Thanks,” he said gruffly, “but I’d rather wait and shower at home. Then I can get some clean clothes.” He didn’t think he’d be able to bear doing something as intimate as showering here in her apartment. Sleeping in her bed was bad enough.
Water gurgled through the coffeemaker and hissed as it hit the heating element. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she turned around to face him. Pushing her tousled hair out of her face, she clutched the blanket tightly in her other hand. Her eyes looked bright green in the light, shadowed by the faint purple smudges beneath them.
As they faced each other something seemed to stretch between them, gripping both of them and pulling tight. Her hand desperately held on to the blanket until her knuckles turned white. He told himself to move, to back out of the kitchen, do something to defuse the tension. He was rooted to the ground.
Slowly he reached out and touched her face, his fingertips sliding over the warm satin of her skin. She blinked but didn’t move away. “Thank you for taking me in last night,” he said softly.
“I’m glad you came here,” she whispered. “I’m glad you stayed.”
“Why, Julia? Why are you glad I came here and stayed?”
Her gaze slid away from his and focused on his wounded hands. “You needed someone to take care of you, someone to be there if you needed help.”
His stomach clenched in fear as he watched the tenderness slowly fill her eyes. He stepped back until he bumped into the counter and turned around blindly, opening the glass door of her cabinet and fumbling around until he found two mugs. “I didn’t need help.” His voice was harsh. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
After a long pause, she said stiffly, “I appreciate that. Would you like some coffee now?”
As he turned to hand her the mugs, she averted her face and let her hair swing down to cover it. He watched her for a moment, astonishment gradually replacing his fear. She had actually looked hurt at his words.
Julia had never seemed the kind of woman who would be hurt by what anyone said to her. She seemed so self-contained, so aloof, that he imagined nothing could wound her. Maybe he’d been wrong.
“Julia, I’m…” What? Sorry he’d come here? He couldn’t be. He’d had to know that she was all right. He swallowed. “I guess I’m a little grouchy in the morning. I’m sorry I said I didn’t need help. Thank you for all you did.”
“You’re welcome. Here’s your coffee.” Her voice was back to the cool, detached tone that made him want to throttle her, the tone she’d use with a total stranger who was out of line.
She set his mug on the little table in the kitchen then sat down without looking at him. Staring down into the black coffee, desperate for something to say that would ease the tension in the room, he said, “You remembered how I like it.”
She looked up at him then and gave him a brief, impersonal smile, one completely lacking in warmth. “I have a very good memory.”
Whatever barriers Julia felt were necessary to protect herself from the world were back in place. For a while last night and this morning, she had lowered them enough to let him in. Now he sat at the table, only inches away from her, but he might as well have been in the next state. Wrapping his hands around the coffee mug, he found that not even its heat could banish the chill he felt.
A half hour later they stood on the sidewalk in front of her apartment in the early spring sunshine. “What’s the plan for today?” she asked in a voice a total stranger would use.
Irritated by her calm remoteness, and angry at himself for letting it bother him, he snarled, “First, we make sure we don’t get killed.”
“I kind of took that as a given,” she answered calmly. “I meant after that.”
He wanted to shake her. Or maybe he wanted to kiss her. Clenching his teeth, he took her elbow and steered her toward his car. He was being perverse, he knew it, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. A little while ago he’d snapped her head off because she’d been concerned about him. Now he ached to do something that wou
ld bring the life back to her face.
He hated the impersonal mask she’d assumed this morning, hated knowing he’d put it there. Busy trying to figure out how to get her to lower her barriers again, it took him a few moments to realize her arm was trembling where he held it.
Slowing his steps, he glanced down at her in surprise. Her head was bent and she was apparently absorbed in the cracks in the sidewalk. He relaxed his hold and eased in front of her, forcing her to stop.
“It would help if you paid attention too,” he said, more gently than he’d intended. “Two pairs of eyes are better than one for spotting something out of place.”
At that she looked up and tried to pull her arm out of his grasp. “I didn’t think anything would happen in the daylight. These guys seem to prefer to work at night.” Her voice was weak and a little breathless.
“That’s what they’d like you to think.”
He didn’t miss how quickly she stepped backward when he released her elbow, and he felt a surge of visceral satisfaction. She wasn’t as unaffected by him as she’d like him to think. He moved toward his car again, this time not touching her as she walked along next to him, and he felt his temper draining away. She could pretend all she wanted, but he’d felt her trembling.
When they reached his car he looked around one more time, but didn’t see anything suspicious. She reached for the handle on the passenger door, but before she could open it he grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
“Just a minute, I need to check something.”
Very carefully, he leaned across the seat and pulled the hood release. Easing the hood open, he examined all the engine parts until he was sure there wasn’t anything extra mixed in. Before he lowered the hood, he got to his knees and peered under the car. It, too, was clean. After he looked in the trunk and through the back seat, he finally closed the hood of the car and allowed Julia to get in.
“Aren’t you being a bit melodramatic? Surely they wouldn’t take a chance and put a bomb in your car in such a public place,” she said as she buckled her seat belt.
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