“Don’t even think of it,” Radcliff growled.
“I already have two men on your place,” the detective said, ignoring him, “but I don’t want you going home, at least not until we have a real plan.” He glanced at Radcliff, and a glint entered his tired eyes when he said, “I’ve got a spare room. You’re welcome to bunk with me for tonight.”
“No.” Radcliff stood. “She’s coming home with me. End of discussion.”
OF COURSE it wasn’t the end of the discussion, because Mandy had to protest that she didn’t need a babysitter, while Stank kept offering his spare room. Parker figured the detective’s insistence was partly designed to annoy him, and partly because, as he’d suspected, Mandy’s California blond good looks were right up Stank’s alley.
Not liking the gleam in the detective’s eyes any more than he liked the idea of Mandy spending the night in her own place, Parker finally snapped, “Either we do it my way or we spend the next hour arguing. Personally I’d rather grab some dinner and hit the sack.”
That pretty much ended the conversation, which should have been a relief. The only problem was that once he’d won the argument, Parker was left with a prize he didn’t want.
Or rather, one he shouldn’t want, but did.
He tried to work it out in his head as they caught a cab and rode to his place in a tense silence broken only by the strains of Mozart coming from the driver’s radio.
It made logical sense for Mandy to come home with him. He had a spare bedroom that was far nicer than the closet-size guest room in Stank’s place, and he’d be nearby if she had any questions on the medical charts or the tests that’d been run on the victims so far.
He didn’t want her involved in the case, but he had to admit that her knowledge of herbal medicine was far greater than his, and he was certain they weren’t dealing with a garden-variety toxin of the sort typically used for murder, such as warfarin, cyanide or arsenic.
Besides, even if Mandy was safely stashed at Stank’s place, he’d still be worried about her…and that was the problem.
He didn’t want to worry about her, didn’t want to care one way or the other about her, but blind rage had hit him the moment he’d realized what was going down in that alley. Hell, he’d felt the jolt earlier in the day, when he’d gone toe-to-toe with her in the hallway at work. Then again, he’d never been able to control his responses around Mandy. They weren’t good for each other, but they’d been damn good together. Now, with the prospect of spending the night in close quarters, he knew one thing if he knew anything: he was going to have to keep his hands to himself.
With that vow firmly in mind as the taxi driver pulled up to the curb in front of his Beacon Hill town house, he got out and paid the driver.
“Come on.” He scanned their night-quiet surroundings as he gestured for Mandy to precede him up the brick walkway, but there was nothing suspicious about the well-lit area or the passing cars. Still, he didn’t relax until he got the front door unlocked and checked the security system, which was green across the board.
He reset the system and locked the door, expecting to feel a sense of relief that they were home safe. Instead his disquiet only increased as he turned toward Mandy, who stood just inside the door, swaying on her feet as though she was about ready to drop from exhaustion and the stress of the day.
She caught his eye and deliberately looked away, scanning his town house.
He’d had the whole place done over when he bought it a few months after his divorce was finalized, and the result was three levels of late eighteenth century period-correct hardwood floors, exposed beams and horsehair plaster, offset with modern touches of marble, chrome and glass. The decorator he’d hired had gone with greens and blues, and from the entryway the splashes of color were visible both on the second floor, which was level with the front door, and the upper level, which had been partly cut away to form a balcony of sorts surrounding the cathedral ceiling of the sitting room on the second floor.
He’d left the bottom floor untouched and used it as his gym, but the main floors practically screamed “understated opulence,” which was what he’d been going for.
Now, though, he wondered what Mandy saw when she looked around. And, realizing that her response mattered far more than it should, he realized something else.
She was the first woman, other than the decorator and the cleaning lady, that he’d invited into his home.
“Nice.” Mandy hummed a note under her breath. “Very nice.” But there was something guarded in her voice when she said, “Did you bring the files on the other victims?”
He nodded. “Yeah. You can have a look at them, let me know if you see anything we missed.”
But he didn’t hand them over, didn’t move except to draw in a deep breath, one that brought her scent to him, a mix of shampoo and woman he’d told himself he’d forgotten long ago. Now, though, it was inescapable, and it triggered memories he could’ve sworn were gone forever, memories of heat and chaos, and a blond-haired girl who’d—both then and now—stirred him up more than had been comfortable, or wise.
“I don’t think this is going to work,” he said. “You and me working together on this…it’s just not a good idea.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
“Because of this.” Before she knew what he intended, hell before he was conscious of making the move, Parker crossed the distance separating them.
And kissed her.
Chapter Four
Mandy froze in shock the moment Radcliff’s lips touched hers.
The first thought that flitted through her mind was a panicked sort of relief that the attraction she’d been feeling with increasing sharpness throughout the day wasn’t one-sided.
Her second thought never materialized; it was lost beneath a wash of heat when his mouth slanted across hers.
She parted her lips and kissed him back, her body responding before her mind had a chance to catch up. Warning buzzers sounded dimly in the back of her brain, but she couldn’t bring herself to care just then. She was awash in sensation, suddenly drowning beneath a wave of need.
The stubble of his faint beard rasped beneath her fingertips when she lifted a hand to touch his jaw, urging him closer. She closed her eyes and tried not to go boneless when his tongue touched hers and every neuron she possessed flared to life simultaneously on a shouted thought: Finally!
Finally he held her close, his touch arrogant and possessive, like the man himself. Finally his body pressed against hers and his scent filled her nostrils—a poignantly familiar blend of hospital soap and the spiciness that was his alone.
She melted against him, curled herself around him and hung on for a kiss that began at the point where their mouths fused, but then spiraled outward, becoming far more than itself.
What started as taste and touch quickly became heat and need. Desire had her sliding her hands down his neck to his upper arms, where she dug her fingers into the heavy leather of his jacket until she felt the tight muscles beneath. Lust coiled, hard and demanding, warning her that she’d been lying to herself for the past month, and maybe for the four years before that.
She’d told herself she’d gotten over him, but she’d been wrong. Otherwise, it would’ve taken more than a kiss before she was right back in the same place she’d been before, half-blind with desire, and ready to give up anything to be with him.
This time when the warning buzzers shrilled, she heard them loud and clear.
She froze in his arms, then pulled her lips from his. They were twined together in an intimate embrace, with her back against the entryway wall, one of his thighs wedged between hers, and her fingers digging into his arms as though he was the only thing keeping her on her feet. “Wait,” she said, her voice coming out thin and breathy.
In the hallway light he’d flicked on when they’d come in, she could see his pulse pounding at the side of his neck. A dark, indefinable emotion gleamed in his eyes momentarily, one that looked very
much like anger and had nerves fisting in her stomach. Then his expression blanked and he stepped away from her, leaving her to lean against the wall for support.
“Like I said, this is a bad idea.” His voice was thick, rasping with desire. “I can’t work with you.”
His words cut deep, but still the memories crowded her, brought by the taste and feel of him, and by the lure of the illicit, the sense that they shouldn’t be doing what they were doing. Unfortunately she was enough of a grown-up now to admit that the forbidden aspects had always been part of the lure.
You’re better than that, she told herself, and meant it. You’re stronger and smarter than you were before. Believe it.
Because she believed it, she lifted her chin and met his dark-eyed stare. “Why won’t it work, because we’re attracted to each other? Please. That didn’t stop you from kicking me to the curb four years ago. I’d like to think I can return the favor now by not letting it get personal if we’re forced to work in close quarters for the next few days.”
“I hardly call what we just did ‘not getting personal,’” Radcliff said without an ounce of humor. “Personally I call it a hell of a distraction, and I’m not in a position to be distracted right now.”
Mandy was far from feeling casual, but managed to interject a hint of boredom into her tone. “So control yourself. You kissed me, not the other way around. It’s not like I took two steps inside your door and started stripping.”
She had once before, though, in a different time and place. They’d slept together one time, and he’d tried to end it, saying he wasn’t in a good place, that she deserved better. Thinking him overly noble, she’d invited herself over and seduced him. The memory of it crept into her brain, bringing a warm flush to the skin of her face and arms.
From the glint in his eyes, she wasn’t the only one taking a little trip down memory lane. That guess was confirmed when he said, “No, but you weren’t exactly complaining just now.”
“I can enjoy locking lips without letting it mess with my head these days.” She raised an eyebrow. “I should probably thank you for that.”
“Don’t.” He turned away from her suddenly, and yanked off his jacket in a surge of motion that was at odds with his usual rigid control. He looped the jacket onto a rack of hooks near the door and held out a hand for her parka. “Let’s go sit down. I think we need to talk this through.”
She handed over the coat, but stood her ground. “Let’s not. We kissed and we enjoyed it—that’s no surprise. Sex was never the problem between us, was it?” She shook her head, answering her own question. “No, our problems were partly the gap in our ages and experiences, and partly a difference in expectations, so let’s deal with both of those things right upfront. One—” she ticked off the point on a finger “—there’s no more experience gap. I’ve learned what I needed to know—and then some—over the past four years. And because of that experience, I don’t expect anything from you except a fair shake when it comes time for you to write my recommendation letter.”
He hung up her parka, movements deliberate, as though he was buying himself a moment. When he turned back to her, she read nothing more than faint impatience on his face, making her wonder if she’d imagined the darker, stronger emotions there before, whether she’d once again been projecting her own feelings onto him.
Not again, she told herself. Four years earlier she’d vowed to never again get herself caught in that sort of trap. Since then, she’d spelled out the terms of each relationship ahead of time, so there would be no surprises, no disappointments.
The system had worked before. It would work this time, as well.
“I know you don’t want me involved with you and Detective Stankowski on this case,” she said. “And I can’t say I blame you…but I’m also not willing to step aside. You said it yourself—this guy has my ID and my keys, and the likelihood is that he’s not just going to walk away and forget about me. That makes it my best interest to help you catch him.”
This time, she let the silence draw out between them.
Radcliff broke first, shaking his head and turning away. “We both know that’s circular logic, but I’m not going to waste energy trying to talk you out of it. Come on into the kitchen. I’ll fix us something while you go over the files. That way I’m in shouting distance if you have any questions.”
Without another word, he grabbed his soft-sided briefcase off the table where he’d dumped it when they’d first come in, and strode into the main living space of the town house.
Mandy stood in the entryway, rattled by his change in tactics. And that, she realized quickly, had been the point. He wanted her off balance and guessing, because if she wasn’t in control of the conversation, then that meant he was, and if there was one thing that hadn’t changed about Radcliff over the years, it was that he liked to be in control of the things—and the people—around him.
Muttering under her breath, she followed him to the kitchen.
The town house was a narrow structure that was three levels tall and only one room wide, with the rooms on each floor arranged in a line, shotgun-style. She passed through the first room of the middle floor, where tall ceilings, cream-colored walls and polished wooden beams gave the impression of lightness even though it was dark outside and few lamps were lit. To her left, one staircase descended below street level and another climbed to a third story, the spaces overlapping so the treads of the upper staircase soared above the lower stairs, all in warm, burnished wood that spoke of age and permanence. The load-bearing walls had been turned into arches and pillars, so two of the three rooms that had originally made up the main floor had become one large sitting area.
There, reproduction couches and chairs gave the look of antiques with modern lounge-about comfort, and were nearly buried beneath cushions and boldly colored blankets. A fireplace flanked one side of the room, a wide plasma TV hung on the opposite wall. Startling color and vibrance came from a profusion of green plants that hung in pots, sat on shelves and grew from wide clay buckets on the floor, all looking green and healthy, some even with blossoms—delicate pink and fire-engine red—though it was January.
Mandy automatically cataloged the plants, noting that many were varieties that needed daily care.
The thought of Parker Radcliff puttering around checking soil pH and moisture was so jarring she immediately knew he had to have a plant service, and probably rode them as hard as he did his staff. There was no way he took care of the greenery himself. Frankly she was surprised he’d bothered to install them in the first place. No doubt the plants were the decorator’s doing, Mandy thought, feeling a hint of amusement at the contrast between his place and her inexpensive apartment.
Most of her possessions were still in boxes, and her decorating efforts had been limited to hanging a few framed art posters. His place, on the other hand, was practically a showpiece.
When she reached the kitchen, she saw that the hardwood floors gave way to blue-green tilework, which added a splash of color to the cream paint and warm wood cabinets. The expensive fittings and appliances were brushed steel and the counters black marble, but additional touches of blue and green made the room feel warm rather than cold.
The man inside the kitchen, though, looked anything but warm. Frustration had deepened the hard lines beside his mouth and tightened the skin between his brows, making his expression thunderous and forbidding.
Any sane woman with an ounce of self-preservation in her soul would’ve backed away.
Mandy stepped forward, crossing the wide kitchen until she stood just opposite him near the sink. She lifted her chin and forced her eyes to match him chill for chill. “You left before I was finished with the ground rules.”
“I know.” He turned and crossed to a granite-topped island, and busied himself with the cold cuts he’d laid out, assembling sandwiches with precisely controlled motions. “We don’t need rules here because there’s nothing to legislate. I’m keeping an eye on you for the next
day or so, that’s all. If you can give us something new from those—” he nodded to the medical files he’d laid out on a small table in the corner “—all the better. If not, we’ll figure out something longer term for your protection.”
Irritation flared, even though she knew his rundown wasn’t all that far off the reality of the situation. “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it. Or have you conveniently forgotten laying one on me a few minutes ago?”
He glanced at her, his eyes darkening with a flash of heat that was there and gone so quickly she might’ve missed it if she hadn’t been feeling it herself.
“It’ll be a long time before I forget kissing you again,” he said. “But that just proves my point. There’s no way we can work closely together without remembering what we had together, and being tempted to go there all over again.”
Mandy gritted her teeth. “I’m not a green intern anymore, Dr. Radcliff. I’m an experienced E.R. physician who can hold her own, regardless of the situation.”
“We’re not exactly in a typical E.R. scenario right now, are we?” Emphasizing the point, he slid one of the sandwiches he’d made onto a plate, and handed it to her, then jerked his chin toward a pair of stools set into the intimate corner breakfast nook. “Have a seat.”
Their knees bumped as they settled into the niche, sitting too close together. Mandy was just about to suggest they move out into the main room when he caught her eye and lifted one eyebrow in challenge, as if to say, you think this won’t be an issue? Prove it.
So she settled into the breakfast nook and told herself not to notice how nice it felt to have her legs pressed up against his beneath the table, or how much warmer and safer she felt now than she had an hour ago, back at the police station.
That comfort was an illusion, she knew. He could—and would—yank it away at any second.
Doctor's Orders Page 4
