by Alison Kent
Immediately, his gaze shot to hers. Around a mouthful of cheese and crust he mumbled, "What?"
"The box of diskettes sitting next to my computer."
He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "What was on them?"
"Half were blank. The rest were letters, all personal, and my budget."
"Nothing connected to ViOPet?"
Hannah hugged her legs to her chest and propped her chin in the cradle between her knees. Cynicism fueled her answer. "Not unless you count my budget. Maybe they'll see how tough I have it making ends meet and offer me a raise."
"Maybe they'll offer you a bribe."
Hannah's eyes widened. "Think so?"
"They won't do anything until they're sure what you know."
"They've got my briefcase. They know what I know."
"But do they know you know they're following you?"
Hannah shrugged. "I hope they wouldn't think me incapable of tying this ransacking to the theft of my briefcase. It's too coincidental."
"If they know you're onto their activities, will they make a move or make you sweat?"
"Or sweat it out waiting to see if I make a move?"
Logan crossed his eyes and made a disgusted face. "This conversation is making me dizzy."
"How can a conversation going nowhere make you dizzy?" she asked, needing the light-hearted banter to keep from thinking about the possible danger stalking her.
"Nowhere?" Logan asked, bemused. "It's going in more circles than a roll of toilet paper after a chili cook-off."
"That's disgusting," she said, groaning as she hopped up from her chair.
"Wait." His hand snapped out and snagged her wrist. He wiped his thumb across the corner of her mouth and brought it to his own, licking away a smear of tomato sauce. His gaze grew bold, heated. She watched his thumb slide between his lips. Unused muscles clenched deep inside. She thought she'd die right then and there.
And then she saw the olive slice caught in a fold of his T-shirt.
"You're a bit messy yourself," she whispered and reached for it. Her fingertips grazed over the ribbed neckline of his T-shirt, her knuckles whisked over the tendon in his neck.
His pulse jumped and he grasped her wrist, lifted her hand to his mouth, and captured her finger gently between his teeth. With the tip of his tongue, he slid the olive into his mouth. Her stomach quickened, her thighs clutched hard.
Just as she felt ready to wrap her arms around his neck and pull his head to her breast, he dropped her hand and stood. In a voice a bit too deep, a bit too husky, a bit too thick, he said, "Think I'll tackle the mess in the living room."
"Good idea," she muttered in response, waiting a minute before following him.
In the living room, Logan spoke first. "What about the CDs?"
"Alphabetize them by artist."
"Last name first?"
"First name first."
She tried to focus on the task at hand but had trouble looking beyond the tense set of Logan's neck and shoulders. Not to mention his backside that gave new meaning to cotton sheeting.
Tearing her eyes away from what she found herself wondering about and wanting with dangerous hunger, she righted the bookshelf and returned her fantasyland of wizards and dragons to order. Books came next, shelf after shelf of titles encompassing every genre imaginable. She scooped them into a pile and dropped to the floor nearby.
"You never finished telling me how you got into the business," Hannah prompted after a long spell of quiet, the living room almost resembling a habitable area.
"Not much to tell. Got hooked on intelligence in the army. Once my four years were up, I went to school and majored in criminology."
"Police work never appealed to you?" Hannah glanced at Logan and caught him frowning at a CD in his hand.
"Nah. Too rigid. I like to work at my own pace." He waved the CD at her. "What is this stuff? Don't you have any Bob Seger? Or Creedence?"
Hannah rose to her feet and stretched out the kinks. "You like the old stuff, huh?"
Logan shrugged. "Call me a rebel."
"Relic not rebel." She crossed to the shelves housing her music collection. "You didn't come across anything you like?"
"I didn't recognize half of it. You got The Who?"
"Who?"
"The Who. You know, Roger Daltrey."
"No. But I have The Cure."
"The cure for what?"
Hannah glared.
"Never mind. How 'bout Led Zeppelin?"
"How 'bout R.E.M.?"
"How 'bout we admit right now we have nothing in common?"
"Wait. I've got something you gotta love." She dug through the rows of discs to the Cs, found the one she wanted and loaded it. "Amazing. You do know your alphabet," she teased, adjusting the controls on the player.
Gutsy guitar riffs, a throbbing bass beat, and the sensual jazz of a saxophone primed the air. The music demanded movement, dance in its purest elemental form. Hannah realized her mistake the minute the music started, the minute Logan moved up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her hips back against his.
"Dance with me." His command left no room for debate. Nor did he give her an inch to move. He held their bodies aligned, his front to her back. His shoulder pillowed her head, his mouth oh-so-close to her neck. The warmth of his breath feathered moist against her skin. The stronger the beat, the more Hannah relaxed, until she was absolutely spineless. If not for Logan's arms around her she'd surely puddle on the floor.
Her carefully catalogued list of rules told her to move away, to put distance between herself and this man she knew nothing about. This man who lived for the moment and to the fullest. This man who would surely break her heart and demolish her hard-won independence.
A grain of impulsive abandon teased her to experience it all—the heat, the wanting, the raw, dangerous need. New found desire tempted her with a go-for-broke edge, promising a risk worth taking. And a risk it would be. A perilous risk of self. A risk she couldn't chance until she knew him better. She didn't know if she had it in her to step completely outside her walls.
She turned in his arms to push him away, her hands pressed flat on his chest. She intended to push, she really did, but her fingers flexed once and she remembered the sleek skin she'd touched on the beach. Her arms circled his neck. She had to feel his hair, that paradoxical blend of spike and silk. By then it was too late. She wet her lips and raised her gaze to his.
And knew he was going to kiss her.
Chapter Six
He knew he was going to kiss her.
It had been a foregone conclusion since he'd walked into his office and she'd blown him away. Then it had been purely physical. This time he knew her. This time he wanted more, to taste her sassy mouth, to slip his tongue inside and savor her goodness.
And this time nothing would get in his way. No police investigation, no pizza delivery boy. No for-her-own-good intentions.
He was going to kiss her.
The look in her eyes dared him not to.
It was that look, that give-it-to-me-baby look, that changed the tenor of the kiss before it ever began. He should have been thrilled. He should have been climbing the walls. He was scared spitless. And he was going to kiss her anyway.
Slowly, he touched his lips to hers. Lips were safe. Lips were innocent. Little children kissed with their lips. He brushed across her mouth. Once. Twice. Stopping the third time to pinch her lower one between his and tug.
That was a big mistake. He tasted pizza and warm woman. Zesty spice and sweet honey. Red-hot candied passion. Like an alcoholic staring down a shot glass, he shuddered and moved his mouth away.
He had to stop this insanity now while stopping it was still an option. Hell, he didn't know anything about her except that she was in trouble. And that she made him feel. Neither gave him a right to take her. Both gave him reason to stay away.
Nuzzling his face against her ear, he hugged her close, breathing deeply of her
coconut-scented hair. He tried to ignore the way her breasts felt pressed to his chest. It wasn't easy. Especially when she rubbed the hard tips against him.
Sweet torment. Sugared temptation. God, he was in trouble. Her body's reaction fired his own, and he prayed she wasn't easily shocked. She took another step, pressing closer, inches from full-body, head-to-toe contact.
Thinking to give her a quick hug before stepping away, he slipped his hands under her shirt only to find braless, satin skin. No, silk. Warm silk. What the hell? He was supposed to be in control yet was being seduced by a childlike kiss, a friendly hug.
He lifted his head, staring down at the non-existent space between their bodies, afraid this was about to get very adult, very fast. Then, as he watched, her eyes closed and standing on tiptoe, she framed his face in her palms. Before he could put up a token fight, she opened her mouth under his, nudging his lips open with her sweet little tongue.
Who was he kidding? Childlike and friendly didn't stand a chance.
With one trembling hand, he tugged on the ribbon holding her hair and threaded his fingers into the silken strands that floated free. His other hand squeezed her bottom, lifting her hard against the all-too-thin cotton of his shorts.
Her crisp white blouse scraped against his paper-thin T-shirt, reminding him of the miles of civilized distance between them. He resented the barrier, didn't want to be reminded. He wanted to strip away the starch along with their differences.
Three short steps and he backed her into the wall.
It was a flash-fire of a kiss. An all out fire-breathing dragon of a kiss. A kiss so hot the cinders scorched a hole in his reason. Swept up in the firestorm, he devoured her mouth, slanting his head one way then the other, sweeping his tongue deep inside to curl intimately around hers. There was nothing childlike, nothing friendly about this embrace. It was purely carnal and exactly what he needed.
Holding her head, he nibbled down her neck. His hand roamed upward to her waist, then higher, until his palm swallowed the curve of one breast. She whimpered and ground her hips into his. He groaned and sank his teeth into her neck.
A booming knock rattled the door in its frame.
She jerked back, bumping her head on the wall. Like a startled doe she froze, her wide-eyed gaze telling him all he needed to know. She was as caught unawares as he.
He took a step back, sliding a glance over her mussed clothing and his crowded shorts. Her tongue whisked over her lips, bruised and swollen from his assault. He rubbed his thumb over the tender puffy flesh, looking for damage, finding only desire. More of his and an equal amount of hers.
Cursing himself for his lack of control, Hannah for getting to him, and his brother for his inevitable bad timing, he leaned his forehead on hers and took a deep breath. Then another. Not that either did a bit to settle his seething, frothing nerves.
"I guess we'd be used to this by now," he mumbled around a rueful smile. "And that better be Gideon. Neither of us is in any shape to receive visitors."
Rubbing the back of her head, Hannah ducked under his arm and snatched her hair ribbon from the floor. "I'll be right back," she muttered before scooting down the hall.
Logan took a minute to breathe. To put Hannah from his mind. Of the two, only breathing came easy. The knock sounded again. He jerked the door open, hoping Gideon's eyesight might've begun to fail at his advanced age of thirty-eight.
A vain hope. His brother's lengthy gaze took inventory of Logan's appearance. He arched one dark eyebrow in wicked question.
"Don't say a word," Logan growled. Needing a quick and viable distraction he reached for the stereo's volume control knob, checking the seductive music mid-beat. It reminded him too much of the incessant pounding in every pulse point of his body. And the matching meter he'd counted in Hannah's.
"As always my timing's off," Gideon teased, his upper lip curled in a depraved brotherly grin. Like they'd just furthered the cause of male bonding, he punched Logan in the arm and invited himself into the room. "You ready?"
"Gimme a minute," Logan grumbled, frowning at Gideon and rubbing his hand over his bruised biceps. "Wait here."
He brushed by his brother and headed for the back of the house. He needed to talk to Hannah.
They met at the door to the hallway and stopped, eyeing one another like strangers striving for recognition. Or lovers longing for more. Logan couldn't decide which. His eyes searched hers; hers followed on a quest of their own.
He wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts. Hannah sucked in a shaky breath and leaned toward him. The tense moment dragged on until, with the finesse of a foghorn, Gideon cleared his throat.
"As much as I'd like to stand around and watch you two eyeball each other, I need to get back to work."
Logan planted his hands on his hips, resigned to the obvious. Nothing would be settled until they were alone. It couldn't be soon enough for him. Reluctantly, he made introductions. "Hannah, my brother, Gideon. Gid, Hannah Evans."
Hannah extended her hand and Logan was a bit interested to find she had to clear her throat. Twice. "Brothers, huh? I can see the resemblance in your charm."
Gideon held onto her hand a fraction too long for Logan's liking then flashed his dimples. "We got all the personality. Christian got the looks."
Hannah's eyes widened. She pulled her hand away and turned to Logan. "Christian Burke is your brother?"
"Yeah," he growled. After all these years he should've been used to his brothers getting the glory. For some reason this time it was different. He wanted to be Hannah's only hero.
"I haven't heard the name Christian Burke in two or three years. I never missed a Jets' game he quarterbacked."
"You and thousands of other drooling women," Logan mumbled.
She sent him a withering glare, before turning back to Gideon. "What happened to him?"
"Only Christian can answer that," Gideon replied. "I wish you luck. He's never talked about it to any of us."
"Whatever the reason he quit, it's a shame. He had quite a career ahead of him."
"And you've got some major work ahead of you." Gideon cast a glance around the cluttered room. "What's the deal?"
"Just doing a little unplanned spring cleaning," Hannah answered. She grabbed a throw pillow from behind the door, tossed it into an overstuffed chair in the corner of the room, then righted an ivy that had crept under the glass coffee table.
Logan's glance roamed between them. He didn't like being the one to make three a crowd. He and Hannah needed to settle this fire between them. He interrupted before the two-sided conversation went any further. "Thought you were in a hurry, Big Brother."
Gideon's puzzled gaze shifted to Logan, as if suddenly remembering his brother's presence. He smoothed his forefinger and thumb over his top lip to hide his amusement. "Just waiting on you, Little Brother," he said, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops and leaning back against the door.
"Then wait in the car," Logan said pointedly.
Gideon's mouth twitched. He pushed off the door and offered Hannah his hand. "A pleasure, Miss Evans. Hope to see you again, like sometime when my brother's in his right mind."
Hannah shot Logan a sly glance and patted his shoulder. "It's nice to know he has you for an example. He seems to need some direction in life."
"Hannah," Logan growled in warning.
"I'm kidding." She nudged him in the ribs. "You're doing fine wandering on your own." She turned her attention to Gideon again. "It was nice to meet you, too."
Logan opened the front door. "Thank you and good-night."
"Don't take too long, Little Brother. I've got a business to run," Gideon said, eyes twinkling. Logan slammed the door.
"Your brother has his own business?" Hannah asked, staring at the closed door as Logan released a long irritable breath.
"Burke's Body. He rebuilds classic cars." Logan didn't want to talk about Gideon any more than he wanted to talk about Christian. He wanted to talk about the two of them. Period
.
"Like your T-bird?"
Damn her persistence. Weary, he rubbed his hand over his face. "Yeah. Look, I don't want to talk about Gideon."
She laced her fingers behind her and leaned against the wall. "So I noticed. What do you want to talk about?"
"That kiss." He took a step closer.
"What about it?"
Logan glared down at her. "What do you mean what about it? You can't kiss me like that and drop it."
"Why not?" she asked, all wide-eyed naiveté.
Her innocent act grated on his shredded nerves. "It didn't mean anything to you?"
"Of course it meant something to me."
Some reassurance that was. "What?" he demanded, parking his left hand flat on the wall level with her chin.
She cocked her head to the opposite side. "I'm not sure. What about you?"
"What about me?" His right index finger caught a lock of hair that had escaped her ribbon and twisted it around his fist.
"What did it mean to you?" She tugged against his hold.
"More." Logan realized the honesty of his admission. "I want more."
"More kisses? Or more than a kiss?"
Her voice was breathless, her eyes candid and honest. So was his answer. "Both, I think."
"You think?"
"Not too clearly right now."
"Then we're even," she murmured, her voice a seductive whisper. "I'm awfully fuzzy myself."
"Good," he mumbled and pressed his upper body weight against her. Capturing her legs between his, he pinned her gently against the wall and, using her hair as a rein, reeled her close. "Maybe this will clear things up for you."
He touched his lips to hers, wanting a quick fix, a reminder of her fire, an assurance of his own existence. He got all three.
"I think you only confused the issue," she said long minutes later after he lifted his head.
"Me too." He ran his tongue over the seam of her lips.
"What do you want from me, Logan Burke?" she moaned.
He looked into her eyes, the greens and golds spinning in riotous color. He sensed her confusion in the tiny crease between her brow and her hesitance in the fingers digging into his waist. The set of her shoulders drew tight with tension. And the want in her heated breath mingled with his.
