Читать книгу The P.I. - Cara Summers - Страница 10

S TARTLED, SHE SAID , “How did you—” Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you’re some kind of psychic?”

Kit managed not to wince when she said the word as if it were some kind of disease. But the way she was looking at him now was a great deal safer than the way she’d looked at him a few moments ago. Safer for him. She’d been pale as a ghost and, for a moment, all he could think of was kissing her. She was a client, but reminding himself of that wasn’t doing a bit of good.

“Well, are you?” she asked.

“No. My aunt Cass would argue that my brothers and I have some latent psychic abilities that we’ve inherited from my mother’s side of the family, but my sister, Philly, is the only one who really has a true gift.”

Now she was staring at him as if he was a smear some lab tech was about to shove under a microscope. In pure self-defense, he summoned up the dimples. “Sugar, I don’t have to be a psychic to read what you’re thinking. You have the most expressive face and eyes I’ve ever seen.”

At her skeptical glance, he continued. “For example, a few minutes ago you wanted me to kiss you. Then you started to worry about that. You glanced more than once at that twenty-dollar bill.” He raised his hands, palms out. “My conclusion—you’re having second thoughts about hiring me. No psychic powers required.”

He saw the flash of temper in her eyes. “Well, if I’m so transparent, then you already know whether I’ve decided to fire you or not.”

“Touché.” As he threw back his head and laughed, Kit had the satisfaction of seeing the corners of her mouth twitch. He hadn’t seen her smile yet, and he wanted to. Very much. He wanted other things from her, too. If she hadn’t pulled back from him, he would have kissed her a few minutes ago. He’d very nearly kissed her even after she’d pulled away, but he wasn’t sure he could have stopped with just a taste of her.

Truth be told, the strength of his attraction to her made him nervous. And cautious. Women had made him cautious before. But nervous? Never. A smart man would keep their relationship strictly business for the time being. Kit had always thought of himself as a smart man.

“Since you haven’t taken your retainer back, I’ll give you my first report. Usually, I type them up, but under the circumstances, I’ll deliver it verbally—if that’s all right?”

“That will be fine.”

She was sitting there with her hands folded on her lap, as prim as a nun. But there were passions simmering beneath that cool exterior. Kit reined his thoughts in and focused on what he’d deduced so far.

“Counting the twenty you gave me for a retainer, there’s a cool twenty thousand here.” He gestured toward the stacks of bills.

Her already straight spine stiffened. “Not a bad payoff for a hit of some kind.”

“Based on the way you handled my gun, I still don’t think you’re a professional killer.”

“I did shoot someone.”

He met her eyes steadily. “You might have acted in self-defense. And there are other possible scenarios. Perhaps you interrupted a hit.”

She blinked. “I never thought about that.”

He watched her consider that possibility, and he knew the minute that the headache hit her. Opening a drawer, he grabbed aspirin and a bottle of water and pushed them across the desk.

She shot him an accusing look as she reached for both.

Kit raised both hands, palms out. “Hey, you winced and your knuckles turned white. I’m a P.I. I make my living observing the details. And for what it’s worth—I don’t think you can force the memories. They’ll come when you’re ready.”

“You know something about memory loss, then?” she asked.

“I had to do some research for the last book I wrote.” Enough to know that it probably wasn’t merely the bump on her head that had triggered her amnesia. “But I’m no expert.” His glance dropped to the stains on her suit. Something had happened, something of a traumatic nature and she’d shot someone. That was what her mind was blocking. At least, that was the way he would have written it.

“Could I see your research?”

“Sure.” Then he shot a rueful glance around the office. “It might take me a while to locate it. In the meantime, why don’t you let me do my job? What we know for sure is that you’ve got a gun, no purse, a wedding dress, my business card and twenty thousand in cash. The serial number on the gun is being traced. You remember shooting at someone, you think it was a man. As a theory, we’ll assume you hit him because of the bloodstains on your suit.” He spread his hands on the desk. “That’s what we know for sure. Agreed?”

“Yes. So what do we do now?”

He pulled a notebook out of a drawer and opened it to a fresh page. “I want you to start at the beginning and tell me everything you remember, everything that’s happened since you regained consciousness in the taxi.”

She’d gone tense on him again, he noted. “Try closing your eyes and picturing what happened.”

“There isn’t much to tell.”

“Replay it in your mind like a video and don’t leave anything out.”

She did what he asked, and he jotted down notes in his own personal shorthand. For a while the sounds of traffic outside were muted by her voice and the movement of his pencil across the paper. When she finally finished, he set the pencil down and met her eyes.

“See?” she said. “There’s nothing.”

“On the contrary, I’ve learned a lot.”

“What?” She leaned forward a bit.

“Number one, you’re smart. In spite of everything that happened—the accident, the discovery that you couldn’t remember anything and that you had bloodstains on your suit—you acted in a calm and logical way. You searched for clues. You asked the taxi driver the right questions. Number two, you told me the story in a clear, straightforward way, revealing that your mind works logically. Three, you’re meticulous. If you recalled something, you went back and filled it in. And the way you described examining the dress bag and tote looking for clues tells me that you’d make a pretty good P.I.”

For the first time since she’d walked into the office, her lips curved in a full smile, and Kit felt his heart stutter. Swallowing hard, he continued, “Four, you have a very good eye for detail.” The way she described her short, belligerent taxi driver and the tall, skinny man who’d crashed into them had made the two men come vividly alive in his head—the gypsy and the scarecrow. “I’d say you’re some kind of an artist. A writer perhaps, or maybe a painter.”

She considered that, then said, “You’re being very kind. You’ve left out number five—I’m a coward. When I heard the siren, my first instinct was to run from the cops.”

“You’re not a coward. You’re cautious. You didn’t merely run away. You came here and hired me to find out what happened. I call that smart and brave.”

On impulse, he rose, circled the desk and held out his hand. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

“You said you trusted me, remember?”

She put her hand in his and he drew her to the door that opened into a small bathroom. Gripping her shoulders, he turned her toward the mirror over the sink.

“What do you see?”

She looked intently at the image of herself. He saw hope bloom and then fade in her eyes. “I see a stranger.”

“Look harder.”

Her chin lifted. “Okay. I see a woman—blond hair, green eyes. Short, about five…”

“I’d say five foot two.”

“She has pale skin, and she looks…scared and…fragile.”

“At first glance. But look at that chin.”

A tiny line appeared on her forehead as she studied her reflection. Then he saw a smile flicker at the corners of her mouth. “Okay. Maybe not so fragile.”

“Does the woman in the mirror look like a cold-blooded murderer to you?” Kit asked.

“No. But…”

“But there could be circumstances under which she might fire a gun. I promise you two things—we’ll find out those circumstances and we’ll find out who you are. Okay?”

“Okay.” Her eyes met his in the mirror then, and Kit felt as if he’d been punched right in the gut. Too late, the warning bells rang in his mind, telling him it was a mistake to have brought her in here—an even bigger mistake to have touched her again. But even as those thoughts appeared, they vanished from his mind in favor of more tempting ones.

He pictured the two of them, limbs tangled, in a dark room on a narrow bed. He pictured them right here in the bathroom, her skirt pushed up, her legs wrapped around him. Desire—that he could understand and accept. But in the past, it had always been simple, never this urgent. And the pressure, the tiny ache around his heart—he’d never experienced anything like it before.

Her eyes had darkened, her lips had parted. He could see the pulse beating frantically at her throat. If he turned her around and kissed her, she wouldn’t resist. Perhaps if he had a taste of her, maybe if he felt that slender body pressed against his, just once, it would quench the fierce hunger growing in him.

And pigs fly, said a little voice at the back of his mind. But his body paid no attention to that voice. His hand was already sliding over her shoulder to her throat, where he’d imagined touching her earlier. Her skin was warmer than porcelain, soft as sin and so delicate that he could feel her pulse against his fingers. Desire sharpened into an ache. One taste. He had to have one.

Her eyes were still on his in the mirror when he said, “One kiss.”

“Yes.”

Kit turned her around and, before another thought could intrude, he pulled her up on her tiptoes and covered her mouth with his. The moment he did, he felt as if he’d ignited an explosive fuse. Sensations poured through him. He’d known she’d taste sweet—but her flavor reminded him of melting ice cream on a hot summer day. The kind you have to lick fast and hard. He’d thought he knew what that slender body would feel like pressed against his. But she was stronger and even more responsive than he’d imagined. He’d sensed the simmering passion beneath that cool, rather prim exterior. But actually experiencing it was undermining his already thin grip on his self-control.

He’d never been so aware of a woman before—the press of her nails through the thin cotton of his T-shirt, the quick catch of her breath when he nipped on her bottom lip, the soft press of her breasts against his chest. He wanted more.

It would be so easy to drop his hands down to her waist—to lift her onto the narrow counter and shove her skirt up. Whatever she was wearing beneath the suit, it wouldn’t prove much of a barrier. Before either of them could think, he could be inside of her. And that’s where he wanted to be. Inside of her. That’s where he needed to be.

As need clawed through him, Kit dragged himself free and took a quick step back. They were both breathing hard, and it wouldn’t have surprised him a bit if the expression on his face was as dazed as the one on hers. No one had ever made him feel like this. So desperate, so unsure of his control. So absolutely wonderful.

“What are we going to do about this?” she asked.

If grinning hadn’t been beyond his present capabilities, he was sure he would have. “I think we both know the answer to that. But unless you want it to happen right now, right here, we’re getting out of the bathroom.” Since he didn’t trust himself to touch her anywhere else, he placed his hand on the small of her back and urged her toward the client chairs. Then he circled behind his desk, putting it between them.

“We can’t—” she glanced back at the bathroom, then at him “—we can’t do that again.”

Now he did grin. “The one thing I can be certain of is that we’re going to kiss again. And more.”

“But it’s…crazy.”

“I agree.”

“We don’t even know each other. We don’t know who I am.”

“I’m with you there, too.”

She began to pace. “I don’t know if I feel this way about every man I meet. Or if it’s just you.”

He didn’t like the idea of her kissing other men any more than he’d liked the idea of her being a bride. “No one else has ever made me feel quite this way.”

“Oh.”

Yes—oh, thought Kit as he watched her return to the chair and sink into it.

“Then, surely, you’ll agree we can’t kiss again. At least, until you know that I’m not a killer or a thief.”

Because he wanted very much to go to her, he leaned back in his chair. “Sugar, I can’t give you any guarantees on that one. Number one, I don’t believe you’re either a killer or a thief. And I’m not sure it would make any difference if you were Lizzie Borden. I wanted to kiss you from the moment you walked in the office. And I still want to kiss you. I want to make love to you very slowly in a cool, dark room on a big soft bed.”

She didn’t say anything, but what he saw in her eyes made it almost impossible for him to stay seated behind his desk. This is not helping. Stick to business, Kit. “However, you are a client. And you’re paying me to help you. You have a right to complain if I don’t do that. So, for now, we’ll stick to that. How does that sound?”

She met his eyes and nodded.

“Good.” Picking up his pencil, he tapped it on his notepad and forced himself to focus. “In any case, it always comes back to the evidence. You walked in here with the wedding dress, a gun, the money and my card.” He reached for it and studied it. “I wonder where and how you came by it.”

“I don’t know.”

“Since I don’t leave these lying around town, someone had to give it to you. Perhaps a satisfied client. I do have a few of those. I could go through my files, toss out some names and see if anything clicks for you. But first let’s try this.” Reaching into his bottom drawer, he pulled out a phone book and began to leaf through it.

“You’re not going to just read off names from that, are you?”

Kit shot her a grin. “Have some faith. The taxi driver said he picked you up on Bellevue. You’re carrying a wedding dress in that bag, so I’m going to check for churches on that street.”

Her eyes brightened as she rose and came around the desk to peer over his shoulder. “I hadn’t thought of doing that.”

“That’s why you’re paying me the big bucks, sugar.” He flipped to the Yellow Pages and they began to scan the church listings together. They might have found it sooner if she hadn’t laid a hand on his shoulder and leaned just a little closer. Though her palm rested only lightly on him, heat radiated from that contact point.

He caught her scent just as he eliminated St. Alban’s Church. She smelled fresh like soap and water, and a man would have to get close to learn that. He was just past the Church of Latter Day Saints and moving on to St. Patrick’s when she reached around him and began to trace one finger down the column. Her arm brushed against his, and his gaze shifted to her hand. It was delicate-looking, the fingers long and slender. Perfect French manicure aside, her nails were short. She worked with her hands. He’d lay odds on it. And he wondered—no, he had to know what they would feel like moving over his skin.

Focus, he reminded himself. And he might have if he could have stopped breathing—or if she hadn’t chosen that moment to lean just a little bit closer. So close that if they both turned at the same time, his mouth would brush hers. The image filled his mind and he could no longer see the words on the page.

“Move your hand,” she said.

“Hmm?”

They turned at the same time, and their lips did indeed brush before each of them drew back a little. He didn’t have to wonder if she’d felt the same flash of heat that he had. He could see it in the darkening of her eyes, her parted lips and her quickened breathing.

“You need to…move your hand.”

He knew exactly where he wanted to move it, but he was a professional, Kit reminded himself. He reined his thoughts in from the little detour they were once more taking and glanced down to where her hand was nudging his.

“It’s blocking half the page.”

“Right.” That was when he saw the bracelet, and it instantly cleared the sensual fog out of his brain. He hadn’t noticed before, probably because it had been hidden beneath the sleeve of her suit. The bracelet was made of small, flat gold squares, four of which were engraved with letters. “What have we here?” Lifting her wrist, he spelled out the letters. “D-R-E-W. Drew.” He met her eyes. “Odds are it’s your name. Does it ring a bell?”

She stared down at the letters and repeated the word, testing it on her tongue. “Drew.” Something flickered in her mind. The sound of someone calling her that? “Drew, run! This way!” She tried to capture the memory, but it faded.

“You’ve remembered something else,” Kit said.

“I think someone was calling me that, telling me to run. The name seems…familiar. I just don’t—I can’t be positive.” She glanced down at the bracelet. If she remembered someone calling her that, and she was wearing a bracelet with that name engraved on it…logic told her that the name was hers. “Drew,” she said again. For a moment, as the word lingered in the air, she allowed herself to hope. Shouldn’t the simple sound bring more memories flooding back?

Seconds ticked by. Her hope dwindled.

“Nothing,” she finally said. “Nothing.”

“You’re wrong.” He was still holding her wrist, and with his free hand, he tipped her chin so that she had to meet his eyes. “It’s definitely something. I’m betting it’s your name. So that’s a start. From now on, that’s what I’ll call you, and you start to think of yourself as Drew. Soon you’ll have more. It’s all going to come back to you, Drew.”

There was something in the intent way he looked at her, in the sound of the name, her name, when he said it that made her want to believe him—to believe that he could make it all happen.

But it wasn’t merely his kindness that she wanted. She wanted more than anything else to kiss him again. When his lips had brushed against hers a moment ago, she’d felt the explosion of warmth right down to her toes. And it hadn’t been fair of him to plant that image of the dark room with the big soft bed in her mind. Hadn’t she decided that she would have to be the strong one? How could she kiss him again? How could she even let herself think of what it might be like to make love with him when she didn’t know anything about herself?

But she couldn’t think of anything else. Right now, all that seemed to matter was how fast the pulse at her wrist was racing against his thumb. Her heart was racing, too. And his mouth was so close.

She should move, pull away, but she’d lost the will to do so. He moved a finger over her bottom lip and she trembled.

“You’re so responsive. Watching you, I can’t stop thinking of what it will be like to be inside of you.”

“I…” Her mouth had suddenly gone so dry that words were sticking. Just as well, because what she wanted to tell him was that their thoughts were identical.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth and, for a moment, neither one spoke or moved. She wasn’t sure she could do either. She realized that he was leaving it up to her. There was a sweetness to him—an irresistible contrast to the danger she’d sensed in him from the beginning. A smart woman would draw back. And hadn’t he said she was a smart woman? Plus, she was logical. But there was nothing logical about what she was feeling—it was purely sensual. But he’d also said she was an artist. And they took risks, didn’t they?

She wasn’t sure quite how it had happened, but suddenly he was closer, his mouth just a breath away from hers. She wondered if she’d ever wanted anyone quite as much as she wanted Kit Angelis right now. Throwing caution to the wind, she pressed her mouth to his.

The moment she did, he took over the kiss, moving his mouth expertly over hers, parting her lips with his tongue. Yes, she thought. More. Whatever her reservations, there was absolutely nothing not to like about kissing Kit Angelis. Pleasure moved through her from each and every contact point—the press of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth, the arousing slide of his tongue. And there was such heat—glorious waves of it crashing through her until she was sure her bones were disintegrating. Tension, fear, all of her worries evaporated until she was aware of only this moment, this man.

Had anyone ever made her feel with such intensity before? If they had, surely, she wouldn’t have forgotten. One of his hands cupped the back of her neck, the other gripped her waist, but she felt as if he were touching her everywhere. She couldn’t wait until he actually did.

When he drew back, they were both breathing hard.

“Don’t stop,” she said.

“I won’t.” He moved a thumb over her bottom lip. “I can’t.”

“Neither can I.”

This time it was Kit who closed the distance between them and pressed his mouth once more to hers.

Here she is. Here she is. The words thrummed in his blood as her taste once more poured through him. The sweetness was still there, but beneath it was the darker nuance of a desire as desperate as his own. Dragging his mouth from hers, he sampled the skin at her throat. It was damp, salty and vibrating with the sound of his name.

His name. The sound of it on her lips sent an avalanche of feelings ripping through Kit. Needs sharpened to an ache in his center. He couldn’t get enough of her. He might never get enough. Hadn’t he known this would happen? Hadn’t he foreseen that she could strip him of control?

Even as the questions formed in his mind, her fingers dug into his shoulder and she wiggled on his lap trying to straddle him. Minds in tune, he lifted her off him and their fingers tangled, fumbled, as they sent her skirt sliding to the floor. The breath backed up in his lungs as he stared at the tiny scrap of white lace she wore beneath.

“Wait.” She would have climbed back onto his lap if he hadn’t pressed the palm of one hand flat against her stomach, trapping her between the chair he sat in and the desk. The soft dampness of her skin nearly distracted him, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the thong. “I wondered what you were wearing under that skirt.”

He drew one finger of his other hand along the satin ribbon hugging her hip and then slowly down the triangle of lace to where it disappeared between her legs.

He fastened his gaze on her and watched those sea-green eyes darken and then glaze as he pushed aside the lace and eased two fingers into her. Wet heat enfolded him.

“Kit!”

She was so hot, so ready, but he kept his eyes on hers. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No. Please.”

He shifted the hand that he held pressed against her stomach, easing his thumb beneath the lace triangle until he found the little nub of her desire. He rubbed it hard as he pushed the two fingers of his other hand into her again.

She cried out his name again as her hips arched forward, and his control nearly snapped. But he wanted…no, he needed to give them both more. Gripping her hips, he settled her on the edge of the desk, then pushed her legs apart, knelt down on the floor and began to use his mouth on her.