An Unsuspecting Heart

by Linda Turner

  "When did that happen?" she asked, frowning. "You should have fixed it."

  "But it wasn't broken. That's the whole point!" Leaning forward, he folded his arms across the back of the front seat, anger flaring in his eyes. "I washed the car before I went to work, and there wasn't a scratch on it. I tell you, Katie, it was a setup. Someone broke the taillight and planted the drugs while I was working. Then they must have tipped the cops off because when that guy stopped me, he knew exactly where to look!"

  Grant's eyes met his in the mirror. "Any idea who would do this to you?"

  His smile was bitter. "Take a guess. You know we've only got one enemy."

  "Cantu." Katie spit the name out like a curse. "I should have known."

  "He warned Katie he'd get to her through me, and I guess beating me up wasn't good enough," Ryan muttered. "Now he's trying to ruin my life."

  And they all knew he could, too, if Mike Gallegos couldn't get the charges against Ryan dropped.

  The minute they reached the house, Ryan headed for the stairs, announcing that he was going to try to get some sleep. Katie started to go after him, then stopped, knowing there was nothing she could say that would reassure him. Sighing, she turned into the living room.

  Grant stood in the doorway and watched her start to pace. Even from halfway across the room he could see she was a nervous wreck. "That's not going to help, you know. Why don't you go to bed and try to get some sleep?"

  She would have laughed at the suggestion if she hadn't been afraid she'd burst into tears instead. "How can I sleep? Ryan's scared out of his mind, and there's nothing I can do to help him!"

  She would never accept helplessness easily, especially when it concerned someone she loved. "Pacing like a caged lion won't help, either," Grant commented dryly. "Would you like a drink?"

  "No. Yes!" She scowled at her own indecisiveness. "Whiskey, neat," she snapped, though she had to laugh when he arched a brow in surprise. "My grandmother always said if you're going to drink, don't mess around. She didn't believe in doing things in half measures."

  "She must have been an interesting lady," he murmured as he strolled over to the liquor cabinet in the corner and poured them both a drink.

  "She was. She died when I was eight, but I can still remember how gutsy she was. She never would have tolerated a worm like Cantu messing with her family." She took the drink he handed her and downed the small amount of whiskey in one gulp. "Damn it, I should have known he'd do something like this!" Resisting the urge to slam her glass on the end table, she carefully set it down, then walked restlessly to the windows. "I know how he operates," she said angrily, jamming her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and staring out at the moonlit night. "He plays dirty; he always has. And I knew that! So what did I do? I dropped my guard, and Ryan's the one who's going to have to pay for it," she said bitterly. "I should have warned him. He's just an innocent kid—"

  "You did warn him," Grant cut in. "You both knew Cantu was capable of anything, but there was no way you could have anticipated this. Face it, Katie, if the man wants to get you, he can. There're a thousand different directions he can come from."

  "That's what I'm afraid of," she whispered half to herself. "If he even suspects that we're tracking down the roller—"

  "He won't," Grant said bluntly. "We've covered our tracks too well." He set his glass next to hers and strode purposefully toward her. He stopped and placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. "Do you remember what we were doing when Ryan called from the police station?"

  She blinked, thrown off guard by the sudden change of subject. "What?"

  His lips twitched, but he patiently repeated the question, then added, "I should warn you that if you have to think more than two seconds, my ego's going to be shattered."

  Her heart skipped a beat, images of his kiss heating her blood. Suddenly, she was achingly aware of the quiet of the night, his closeness, her own need to be held. She stiffened and desperately tried to appear stern. "What has that got to do with Ryan?"

  "I was hoping you'd ask that," he murmured huskily, and took the final step that all but eliminated the distance between them. His thighs brushed hers as he reached up to skim his fingers over her hair. "Your uncle can't do anything for Ryan until morning, and that's still another couple of hours away. I know you're not going to sleep. You can either spend that time worrying, or we can take up where we left off." She hardly felt his hands as they freed her hair from the rubber band. It spilled down around her shoulders and he ran his fingers through her curls. His eyes locked with hers. "The choice is yours."

  His hand teased the back of her neck, making her nerves seem to tingle. She dragged in a shuddering breath and felt her breasts graze his chest. Had he moved, or she? Suddenly it was difficult to think, to remember that they weren't alone in the house. "Ryan…" she began breathlessly, only to lose the thought on a sigh as his arms wrapped around her, holding her close.

  "The poor kid's so shook up he'll probably spend the rest of the night staring at the ceiling," he said thickly against her neck. "Kiss me, Katie."

  A kiss. It was all he was asking for. But her emotions were too shaky, too volatile. It wasn't too late to stop herself from falling in love with him. She'd already lost more love than she could handle. She couldn't chance it with a man who'd be in her life only for a short time, who was with her only because of his commitment to the memory of Sam Bradford. "I'm not so sure that's such a good idea," she said faintly, but she couldn't find the strength to step out of his arms.

  At another time, perhaps during the light of day when there was no darkness to tempt him, he might have listened. But she was too close, her body too soft against his, her eyes too filled with a passion that matched his own. The house was quiet, the night warm and seductive, ripe for loving. He couldn't let her go, not now.

  "Shall we see if I can change your mind?" he suggested. Without waiting for her answer, he molded her against him. "Now where were we? Oh, yes. Your arms were around my neck." With only the slightest urging, her hands slid obediently up his chest. His eyes gleamed, and suddenly it was an effort to keep his voice light. "My left arm was around your shoulders," he continued huskily, suiting his movements to his words. "And my right was here." Watching her through eyes that were heavy-lidded and sharp, he wrapped his other arm around her waist and brought his hand to rest just below her breast.

  Katie knew she should stop this before it went any further, but all she could do was stand trembling in his arms, waiting for … him. The thought came to her as he groaned her name and crushed her to him, his mouth searing hers, stealing her heart and soul. How long had she been waiting for him? Aching for the feel of his arms holding her as if he'd never let her go? Had the heat that drew her like a moth to a flame started just days ago when they'd literally run into each other, or was this something ages old, transcending time? She couldn't begin to know, but she knew she couldn't step away from him. Not yet. Just a few more minutes, she promised herself as her hands tightened around his neck, as her body pressed against his.

  Grant felt the change in her immediately, the minute she stopped fighting her needs and gave in to them.

  Sweet! God, she was sweet, melting against him like spun sugar left too long in the sun. And her mouth, would he ever get enough of it? She tasted of fire and whiskey and a dark, exotic flavor that was uniquely her own. He could spend hours just learning all the secrets of her mouth.

  He deepened the kiss with a thrust of his tongue, desire swirling like mist in his blood, thickening, heating. There was no escaping it. It pulled at him with silken fingers, tore at him until it took every ounce of his control not to pull her to the floor. What was she doing to him? No woman had ever moved him so quickly, so completely. As they stood mouth to mouth, hips to hips, she drove every other woman, every other thought, from his mind until there was just the two of them straining with need. If he had to go another night without her, he'd surely go out of his mind.


  Tearing his mouth from hers, he pressed his lips to the pulse thundering in her throat and felt its echo deep inside himself. But it wasn't enough. Nothing short of all of her would do. "I want you." He trailed open-mouthed kisses across her neck to her ear. "Tonight. Now."

  The question he asked was unspoken, her answer from her heart instead of her head. "Yes. Tonight. Now."

  She voiced no doubts, asked for no promises, and moved him in ways he hadn't thought possible. Easing her from him so that he could see her face, he traced the curve of her cheek with the back of his fingers, his touch as soft as a summer breeze across her heated skin. "Come to bed, sweetheart."

  His fingers laced with hers to urge her toward the stairs, but before he could even take a step, her husky murmur stopped him. "No, not upstairs," she said, and pulled him with her through the darkened house to the sleeping porch at the back.

  It stretched across the entire width of the house, a deep, screened-in veranda that was bathed in shadows and moonlight. As a child, she and her friends had often slept on the porch, sprawling on the old iron daybed and on sleeping bags that they'd strewn across the wood floor. But now it wasn't used much, except as a place for the plants. Ivies and ferns and geraniums were everywhere—turning the place into an indoor garden. Their scents mixed with the sweet night air that rushed in through the screens.

  Stopping at the daybed, Katie turned to face Grant, her fingers unconsciously tightening around his. "Here," she said softly.

  Her dark hair and clothes blended in with the night, but her face was lit by the moonlight. Her dark eyes reminded Grant of the bay on a summer night. The need to cherish, to touch, to explore every inch of her rose up in him. And, where before, in the living room, he'd been consumed with the need to rush her into his bed, now he only wanted to linger, to draw out the pleasure until they were both mindless.

  Closing his eyes, he explored her in a way he'd never explored a woman. He let his fingertips search out all the dainty nuances of her face until they were indelibly etched on his memory. Slowly, silently, he learned the arch of her brow, the delicate plane between cheek and jaw, the straight, pert line of her nose, the tempting curve of her bottom lip.

  "Beautiful," he murmured, and let the touching lead to wanting, the wanting to needing more. His fingers moved from her jaw, skimmed over her throat, never hesitating in their travels as they drifted to her shoulders and beyond.

  At the feel of his hand at her breast, the air rushed out of Katie's lungs, but she never noticed the loss. What was air when compared to his knowing hands? He kneaded, circled, molded her to his palm. His touch was so feathery light she might have thought herself dreaming, but the warmth of his breath in her hair as she went lax against him reminded her that she was very much awake. Heat flowed through her and pooled in her loins. With a murmured sound of pleasure, she crowded closer.

  She'd never been seduced. Not like this. Not by a man who could weave a spell with his hands. He moved from one breast to the other, to her waist, the curve of her hip, the inside of her thigh until she cried out and arched against his hand. And still he left her wanting, aching. When she thought she could stand no more, his mouth followed the path his hands had taken.

  She clutched at him, calling to him in a voice she hardly recognized as her own, but he was intent on giving her pleasures he had never given any other woman. Nothing would deter him. His mouth moved over her unhurriedly, lingering at her bottom lip to gently nip at her before sliding to her ear, the soft skin under her jaw. Nuzzling the T-shirt she still wore, he inhaled the sweetness of her, filling himself with her. His mouth caressed her breast, suckling, teasing, lathering her with his tongue through the cloth.

  She whimpered. White-hot heat streaked to the core of her like a flash of lightning. Her hands tangled blindly in his hair to hold him against her. "Grant … please … please…"

  He lifted his head, his blue eyes fierce with passion. "Tell me what you want."

  Drugged with passion, throbbing with need, she knew he would accept nothing less than the truth. "You," she whispered, fitting her mouth to his. "Only you."

  "Show me," he growled softly.

  She needed no second prompting. The hunger his hands and mouth had driven her to left no room for patience or a slow, lingering tasting of his body. She wanted all of him. Now. Her hands raced over him, fumbling with his clothes, desperate for the feel of his skin hot against hers. With a tug and a muttered curse, she pulled his T-shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor, her fingers already reaching for him. His husky laugh of triumph abruptly turned to a groan as she pressed a kiss to his chest and played with his nipple the same way he had played with hers.

  Their bodies tensed, the heat intensifying until they were both consumed with it. The rest of their clothes seemed to melt away, discarded with hands that trembled. The daybed, soft and inviting, called to them. Wordlessly they sank down to it. The moonlight that fell across the bed caressed them, seeping into them until they seemed to absorb all the light the night had to offer. Dark against light, hard against soft. The night air drifted in on a gentle breeze, echoing their sighs, their murmurs, but they heard only their pounding hearts, their ragged breathing.

  Their bodies grew slick, desperate. And still they tarried, driving each other toward the boundaries of madness, control teetering on a ragged edge. Then he slipped into her and it shattered. The world fell away, taking the darkness with it, leaving them adrift among the stardust…

  * * *

  Only hours later, Katie awoke slowly and found herself in her own room, sunlight streaming across the sheets. At her side, Grant sat on the edge of the bed fully dressed in blue dockers and a white knit shirt, his hip brushing hers. Memories of the night returned in a rush, and along with them, sanity. What had she done? She scrambled into a sitting position, clutching the sheet to her breasts, when her eyes abruptly focused on the grim lines of his face. Alarm shot through her as she suddenly remembered the wild trip to the police station, Ryan. "What is it?" she demanded. "Ryan—"

  "Ryan's fine," he said quietly. "But you'd better read this."

  She took the morning paper he handed her and stared at it blankly before she finally saw the picture of her Uncle Mike aligned next to one of a thin, dark-haired man who looked vaguely familiar. Foreboding stirred in her. Casting a quick glance at Grant's closed face, she quickly returned her attention to the story that accompanied the pictures and read:

  The body of a man identified as Leonard Fernandez was discovered floating in the Tamiami Canal late yesterday, apparently the victim of a street gang killing. The death is believed to be drug related, but the police have no suspects. The victim's employer, Michael Gallegos, is outraged over the senseless killing and has vowed to do something about cleaning up Miami streets and neighborhoods.

  Katie paled, her hand fluttering to her throat.

  "Leo!" she breathed, stricken, her shadowed memory of him suddenly crystallizing into the man pictured next to her uncle. "Oh, my God!"

  "You know what this means, don't you?"

  The terse question brought her gaze swinging back to Grant's. Her fingers curled into the sheet at the hard, flinty look in his eyes. "Someone knows he's been talking," she said through dry lips. "They killed him just like they killed Sam. If they find out he was talking to us…"

  They, too, would be killed.

  The words hung between them, chilling the air. Grant reached for one of her hands, capturing it in his own. "It's not someone anymore, Katie. The pieces of the puzzle are all there," he said quietly, motioning to the newspaper, "just waiting to be put together."

  Leo. Working for the roller on the side. Working for his legitimate boss at the refinery. His boss. Michael Gallegos. Her uncle must own the refinery! Her eyes widened, a sick feeling of dread sliding into her stomach. Dear God, could Leo's two bosses have been one and the same man?

  "No!" Shaking off Grant's hand, she snatched up her robe lying across the foot of the bed and strug
gled into it, giving him no more than a glimpse of thigh and breast before she turned on him in outraged fury. "How dare you! How can you even think such a thing after what he did for Ryan last night? Damn it, he's one of the finest men in the state. You read the paper," she snapped, tossing it at him. "Why would he make a vow to clean up the streets if he's the roller?"

  "Because he's a sharp customer," he retorted as he caught the paper and lounged back against her bed, watching her pace, desperately searching for answers that weren't there. He'd expected her to be hurt and angry; her innate loyalty to the people she loved would allow her to be nothing else. But she was a reporter and a damn good one. She wouldn't be able to ignore the facts for long.

  "Leo admitted that his supervisor knew what the refinery trucks were being used for," be reminded her. "And after all our sleuthing we read right here in the paper that your uncle owns the refinery. Do you honestly think he doesn't know what's going on at his own plant? A sharp businessman like that? Come on!"

  It wasn't possible. "I don't care what the papers say," she retorted, sweeping her tousled hair back from her face with an unsteady hand. "I know Uncle Mike. Damn it, Grant, every Thanksgiving he rents the convention center and gives a free meal to the elderly and homeless. How can a man like that be involved in drugs and murder?"

  His dark eyes gently mocked her naïveté. "If I was putting a million dollars of coke on the streets a day, I could afford to be generous, too. It's a smart move. No one expects charity to be dirty."

  "Damn it, it's not dirty!" she cried. "There's got to be another explanation."

  His arched brow dared her to find one.

  She swore and started to pace when Ryan suddenly yelled up the stairs. "Katie! Uncle Mike is here. He wants to talk to you."

  * * *

  Chapter 7

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  Grant took one look at the dismayed expression on Katie's face and rose from the bed. "I'll go down and keep him busy while you get dressed."