Читать книгу The Dark Gate - Pamela Palmer - Страница 8

Larsen opened heavy eyelids. Where was she? Why wasn’t her boat rocking? Her sleepy gaze caught the slow spin of a fan on the ceiling above and she felt the breeze waft over her. The musical score from Les Miserables drifted in from another room, accompanied by a deep masculine voice.

Jack Hallihan’s.

Memory slammed into her, stealing her breath. She was in his house. In his bed. Thanks to the little bald girl.

She’d tried to kill her.

A surge of fear jolted her awake.

Why would the girl have attacked her? She’d seemed so sweet. So shy. It didn’t make sense. But then, not much in her life ever had. All she knew for certain was that death seemed to have his eyes on her this time.

Heaven help her.

She was suddenly glad for her cop bodyguard. Jack. If only he would stop asking questions.

Larsen levered herself to a sitting position, her shoulder throbbing beneath the heavy bandage. Her gaze drifted, taking in the Spartan masculinity of the room. The dresser was made from the same sturdy oak as the bed. In the corner, a single chair, barely visible beneath a mound of discarded clothes, appeared to serve as the hamper.

The light filtering through the blinds had a late-afternoon feel to it. A glance at the bedside clock told her it was almost seven. She’d slept the entire day. The entire Tuesday.

Damn. She’d had two meetings with clients and a court appearance on her calendar for today. First thing in the morning she’d have to make some phone calls to apologize.

Larsen pushed back the sheet and swung her legs over the side of the bed, then stilled at the waft of air across her privates. What in the…? Her startled gaze dropped to her lap. The oversize T-shirt was bunched at her hips, but there was no hiding the fact she no longer wore anything beneath.

Jack.

Her heart lurched in her chest. What had he done? Just how badly had she misjudged him?

As she grabbed the sheet and yanked it over her lower half, her gaze snagged on something familiar lying across the bunched-up bedspread at her feet. Two somethings. Her shorts and panties, looking freshly washed.

She stared at them, her heart rate slowing. He’d washed them. Jack Hallihan had washed her bloodstained clothes…after undressing her.

Her breath caught in her throat. The thought should have outraged her. Instead heat pooled deep in her abdomen and throbbed between her legs. A fine time for her hormones to decide to do the cha-cha. Not that they hadn’t been practicing that little step for months now, since the first time she’d seen the handsome cop.

She reached for the clothes and managed to get the panties on one-handed with maximum struggle. Exhausted, shoulder throbbing, she sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the shorts with their neat little zipper and button. No way.

“Need help?” Jack stood in the doorway looking impossibly handsome, one muscled shoulder propped against the doorframe. He was casually dressed in khaki shorts and a navy T-shirt with MPD emblazoned across the chest in bold white letters. His short dark hair was appealingly tousled.

He watched her with that blue intensity she was becoming used to, but this time it was warmed by sympathy…and something more. Something that made her increasingly aware she wore nothing beneath the oversize tee but a thin pair of panties.

She tried to give him her chilly look, to push him away, but she was so far from cold it wasn’t funny, so she glared at him instead and held up the shorts. “I suppose you know how to get these on since you took them off.” The thought of him peeling them off her had her hands shaking. She struggled to keep her voice even, struggled to meet his gaze.

He pushed away from the door and came to kneel in front of her, inches from her bare legs, his face nearly on a level with hers. He held out his hand for the shorts. She handed them to him as her gaze roamed the strong planes of his face—his pronounced cheekbones, his strong, faintly stubbled chin. The firm mouth that even now tilted into a sensual smile.

With effort, she tore her gaze away, but his warm scent wrapped around her, sending need rippling through her body.

Damn hormones.

“How you feeling?” he asked.

His words, the movement of those lips, pulled her gaze back to him and she couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have that mouth pressed against hers.

How was she feeling? Like a woman who hasn’t had sex in eight years.

She took a deep breath, struggling to find air, scrambling for an appropriate answer. “Hot. Sore. Definitely sore.”

She caught a glimpse of laughter in his eyes before his mouth compressed with sympathy. He set the shorts on the floor at her feet.

“Step in.” He rose and held out his hand to her. “Can you stand?”

She wanted to say, “of course,” but she wasn’t sure. It annoyed her that she might need help, yet she took his hand. “Let’s find out.”

He gave her a small, approving smile and closed his warm hand around hers. Pure attraction hit her hard. She struggled to keep her face impassive.

“Okay?” he asked.

Her bare feet sank into the soft beige carpeting. “So far, so good.”

“The room’s not spinning?” A hint of a smile lifted the words.

Oh, yeah, it was spinning all right. Just not the way he meant. She had to get rid of that lethal smile of his before it caused her to do something she’d regret. Like smile back. He could not know what he was doing to her. He’d have power over her she desperately couldn’t afford to give him.

She met his probing gaze with a glare. “I’m fine,” she snapped, pleased with the bitchy sound even as it extinguished the teasing light in his eyes. She felt only a twinge of regret.

With swift, clinical movements, he pulled the shorts up and over her bottom. No lingering touches, no seductive fumbling.

But it didn’t matter. Her body was like dry brush ready to ignite. The rough slide of his thumbs over her thighs and hips as he pulled up the shorts, the warm touch of his fingers at her stomach as he fastened the button, set up a throbbing between her legs just below the place he reached for the zipper.

She held her breath against the wave of sensations pricked by his nearness and his touch. If he ever decided to seduce her, she’d be in deep trouble.

Who was she kidding? She was already in trouble. First thing in the morning she was making some calls to get herself a different bodyguard.

Jack met her gaze, his expression enigmatic. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Larsen nodded and followed him into the hall, but as he led her into the living room, his hand slipped around her upper arm, gripping her lightly just beneath the sleeve of her T-shirt. His thumb brushed over her bare skin in a soft caressing motion that was too intimate, too pleasant.

She jerked her arm away and winced as harsh discomfort radiated down her arm from her shoulder. “I’m not an invalid,” she said tightly. Silence, heavy and reproachful, followed her into the living room.

The room was as masculine as the bedroom, but more fully decorated. Leather upholstery and rustic wood sat against a backdrop of light olive walls and hardwood floors with area rugs reminiscent of the southwest. On the walls were framed prints of sailboats caught on rough seas. The room was simple, yet attractive. Inviting. The kitchen, on the other hand, was plain and functional.

She caught the scent of a mouthwatering aroma and made a small, involuntary sound of appreciation. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until that moment.

He watched her with an expression that appeared almost boyish. “I tried something new tonight. I hope you like it.”

Be the bitch, she told herself, but she couldn’t do it. Self-protective she might be, but she’d never intentionally crossed the line to cruel.

“It smells delicious.”

Though the words were without inflection or an ounce of enthusiasm, the smile that lit his eyes set butterflies to flight in her stomach. Larsen nearly groaned out loud. She might as well admit defeat right here and now. How was she ever going to steel herself against this man’s charm? And she must. She couldn’t let him get too close.

Jack seated her at the table, then went to fetch their dinner as Larsen’s gaze followed him. He moved with an athlete’s strength and coordination, every movement controlled and sure. As bodyguards went, she could have done worse. Much worse. Heaven knew, she enjoyed watching him.

If only his sharp eyes didn’t have to watch her quite so closely in return.

Jack watched with amusement as Larsen dropped her fork for the second time. She was clearly right-handed, but trying to eat with her left to avoid jarring her injured shoulder. With an exasperated sigh and a wry roll of her eyes, she picked up the uncooperative fork, then dug back into the chicken paprika he’d cut into bite-size pieces for her.

The woman was a puzzle. One moment she was snapping at him for touching her, then minutes later he caught her watching him over her dinner plate with raw feminine interest in those golden-brown eyes. Was the Ice Queen warming up to him at last? Or was she, as he was beginning to suspect, no ice queen at all?

He watched her devour the meal with obvious relish. “You’re hungry.”

She looked at him with those wide, naturally slumberous eyes as she swallowed. “I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday. And this is—” she made a sound of appreciation deep in her throat “—unbelievable.”

The compliment pleased him. He saw an opening to draw her out and took it. “Do you like to cook?”

Her mouth twisted into a rueful frown. “As little as possible. I never really learned. My dad didn’t know how and my mom…died when I was eight.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “It was a long time ago. I’m over it.” But something moved in her eyes, sharp and fresh, belying her words. He could almost see her pulling back and away, her expression turning into that of the aloof attorney. Conversation over.

Not if he could help it. “My aunt taught me to cook when I was ten. Aunt Myrtle. She was an odd bird, nice in a zany sort of way. Her weirdness drove my mom crazy. She finally went too far when I was sick one time. Myrtle took me to her house, tried to cure me. I don’t know what happened—just that she used some heavy woo-woo stuff. My mom took me home and never let her visit again.”

Larsen’s eyes had lost that defensiveness and had taken on a gleam of interest. “Did she hurt you?”

“No. That’s the funny part. When she finished, I was fine.”

“You mean, she really healed you?”

“I don’t know. My parents wouldn’t tell me what happened and I never saw Aunt Myrtle again. Last I heard she was still living in the Virginia mountains, only about an hour away from here. I should go see her one of these days.”

When they’d finished eating, Larsen dabbed her mouth with the napkin, then stood. “Thank you. Dinner was excellent.”

As she reached for her plate, he grabbed her wrist, blanketing his brain in a calming silence. “Nope. You’re company. No touching the dirty dishes.”

She stared at him, but to his delight, a twinkle appeared in her eye. “You’re just afraid I’ll drop your plate like I kept dropping my fork.”

Self-deprecating humor. Who would have thought? He grinned at her, coaxing the twinkle in her eye into a glimmer of a smile. “Let’s just say, I’m being cautiously hospitable.”

A full-fledged smile illuminated her face, transforming the Ice Queen into a true angel, making him ache to pull her close and kiss her.

For a heart-stopping moment her eyes warmed until her expression seemed to be the visual equivalent of his thoughts.

She wanted the kiss as much as he did.

Then golden lashes swept down to hide her emotions. “Do you mind if I watch some television?”

Jack took a deep breath and released her wrist, uncorking the noise in his head. “Help yourself. The remote’s on the coffee table.” What just happened? She wanted him. She wanted him. Hot damn. He seriously doubted the formidable Larsen Vale ever gave in to such base desires, but a guy could dream.

He carried the dishes to the sink. The soundtrack from a Friends rerun and the sweet sound of Larsen’s laughter kept him company as he did the dishes. He could do this. Every night for the rest of his life. A woman’s company over dinner. Soft, feminine laughter filling his house. Larsen’s laughter. Hell, yeah.

The sudden jolt of longing startled him. Longing for an honest-to-god life and future with the beautiful woman whose touch could keep the madness at bay.

If he didn’t blow it with her first. And he would, if he pressed her too hard about this case. Yet if he didn’t…how many more would die?

Larsen rose as the final scene of the James Bond movie slid into the fifteenth car commercial of the evening. She’d paid little attention to the flick, too aware of the cop watching her from the sofa.

“I need a bath,” she told him.

He visibly started. “Can’t you wait until…tomorrow?”

“No, I feel gross. I’ll sleep better after a hot soak.” She still had flakes of dried blood on her shoulder and arm. “Can I borrow something to sleep in?”

Jack’s eyelids sank over those blue eyes, sending tendrils of warmth snaking down her limbs. “Lady, you can have anything of mine you want. You sure you want clothes?”

“Yes.”

“Are you certain you’re up for this?”

“I feel fine.” And, amazingly, she did. Her brows pulled together. “My shoulder doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

Jack set his Coke on the coffee table, his gaze skimming leisurely down her bare legs. “Don’t get dressed afterward.”

She jerked her head to face him. “Jack…”

His smile dawned sexy and playful. “Relax, Larsen. I just need to change your bandage. Wrap your top half in a towel so you don’t have to take your shirt off.”

She stared at him, scrambling to gather the wits he’d scattered to the wind with his suggestive comments. “Right,” she said at last, and spun on her heel toward the bathroom, wondering if she should forego the hot bath and opt for a cold shower instead.

Steamy moisture hung in the air, clinging to the mirror in a wet fog. Standing on the terry bath mat, Larsen slipped into the borrowed pajama pants she’d brought in with her, then wrapped a dry bath towel tight around her breasts, tucking the end under her arm. Clutching it tight to her chest with one hand, she fluffed her wet hair with the other and called to her host.

“Jack, I’m ready for you!”

Larsen groaned as the raw double entendre echoed in her ears, making her cheeks flood with heat, which just flustered her more. She was twenty-eight years old. The Ice Bitch, for heaven’s sake. Ice bitches did not get flustered over hot cops. They weren’t supposed to blush over anything.

She heard the doorknob twist. As the door opened, she tried to fake a calm disinterest, but the sexy smile Jack leveled on her sent heat of a different kind flooding her system.

He leaned against the doorframe, teasing lights dancing in his blue eyes. “You’re ready for me, are you?”

She tried to look haughty, but failed miserably as she met his grin. “You’re impossible.”

The worst part was that she was ready for him. Never in her life had she been so aware of a man. But he couldn’t know. She couldn’t go there with him.

“The bandage, Detective,” she said crisply, struggling to hide her reaction to his nearness.

He made a mock face of disappointment that did nothing to dim the smile in his eyes, but his hands busied themselves with the first-aid supplies.

His gaze dipped to take in her outfit, lingering a moment too long on her hands…or what they covered…making her feel hot and damp.

“How was your bath?” he asked, his smile turning friendly.

An answering smile escaped her mouth. She didn’t want to like him, but he made it so hard not to.

Larsen tucked the towel in tighter. “The bath felt great. I’m finally clean again.”

“No trouble with that shoulder?”

“No. Like I told you, it’s stopped hurting.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Let’s see how it looks, shall we?” He motioned to the closed toilet lid. “Have a seat.”

He stood close, his knee brushing her thigh as he carefully pulled at the tape holding the bandage to her shoulder.

“This might hurt.” He eased the bandage off her skin. His brows pulled together as he stared at the wound.

“Damn, woman, you heal fast.” His expression registered both surprise and approval. Beneath dark lashes, his blue eyes slid to her face.

Larsen shrugged. “It must have been a small arrow.”

Jack stared at her shoulder, frowning. “I don’t care what size it was. This wound looks like it’s been healing for days.” He shook his head. “Amazing. Anyway, I think we can probably switch you to a couple of Band-Aids.”

“Great. Let me get back in the bath and wash the tape marks off.”

But he was already reaching for her. His thumb ran along one of the tape lines, the look that entered his eyes warming her to her toes. “I’ll help.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

He grinned at her. “As much as I’d enjoy seeing you in that tub, we’ll do it here.” He picked up the washcloth and began to ease the glue from her damp skin.

She stared at the speckles in the tiled floor while he worked. The subtle scent of his aftershave gave an exotic touch to the steamy, soapy smell of the bathroom, stirring her senses, as if his nearness and the rough pads of his fingers skimming her bare shoulder weren’t doing enough.

His breathing no longer sounded calm. She glanced up to find him watching her, his eyes hot with wanting. The room turned stifling. Airless.

“Larsen…” Her name was little more than a whisper on his lips. He slid his palm along the side of her neck, sending shivers rippling through her. His gaze held hers captive. Tension built and coiled within her as she waited, breathless. Wanting.

Slowly he slid his thumb beneath her jaw and lifted her face, bending toward her. Even as part of her begged to push him away, she reached for him, lifting her hand in turn to slide along his stubbled jaw.

A low growl escaped Jack’s throat a second before he covered her mouth with his own. The kiss started out gentle, then turned harder, more insistent, stirring feelings in her that quickly turned raw. Hungry.

How long had it been since she let a man get this close? She’d forgotten how good it felt to be touched, to be filled with passion and life. And need.

Larsen wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, opening her mouth on his. A growl rumbled deep in Jack’s chest as his tongue swept inside to claim hers. He tasted like heaven, like warm, sinful fantasies.

His hands gripped her waist and he rose, lifting her to her feet and into his arms. She forgot the towel, forgot everything but her need for this man. She lifted both hands to his face, holding him just where she wanted him, that wonderful mouth fused with hers. He pushed her gently backward, against the sink cabinet, pressing against her. He was hard. Aroused.

Reason wormed its way into her passion-fogged mind. Sex. Too much. Too close.

She pulled back from the kiss. “Jack…”

He dragged in short ragged breaths as he watched her, his passion-drugged eyes brimming with impatience, an impatience that slowly turned to resignation. Jack sighed and let her go. But as he stepped back, the towel that had covered her dropped to the floor between them. With a gasp, Larsen grabbed it and yanked it over her breasts, but the damage was done. The moment shattered.

“I…need to get dressed.” She tried to push past him but he put out an arm to bar her way.

“You still need a Band-Aid.”

Embarrassment heated her cheeks. “Okay, but no sexy, lingering touches this time.” She couldn’t quite meet his gaze.

It was one thing to kiss him. Something entirely different to flash him, accident or not.

To his credit, he didn’t say anything that would compound her self-consciousness. Instead he applied the Band-Aids to her shoulder with quick, clinical movements.

“All done.”

She hazarded a glance at his face and found him watching her with amused sympathy.

He lifted one wry, teasing brow. “You do know how to get a guy’s attention.”

“Yeah. Well…” Her embarrassment melted beneath his gentle humor. “On that note, I’m going to bed. Alone,” she added as she walked with forced calm down the hallway to Jack’s bedroom.

Larsen closed the door, then sank back against it, her legs refusing to hold her upright a second longer. She struggled to suck air into her lungs, struggled to remember how to breathe after that kiss.

Every nerve in her body hummed with electricity. She could probably light the entire room if she shoved her finger in the light socket. Her fingers went to her lips, trailing over flesh that still tingled.

The man could kiss.

With a groan, she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the door. Why had she let him do that? Now he was going to want more. She was going to want more.

When what she needed to do was put distance between them.

She banged her head silently against the door at her stupidity. It was time to find that rock-solid control she’d always prided herself on, and find it fast.

The sound of Jack’s cell phone ringing in the living room permeated the room, followed by the low murmur of his voice.

With a determined sigh, Larsen pushed away from the door and grabbed the borrowed sleep tee off the bed. She was just pulling it on when she heard the rap on her door.

“Larsen, that was my partner on the phone. Come watch the news. There may be a break in the case.”

Her pulse leaped with a bone-deep if fragile hope. “Thank God.” She wrenched the door open and followed him into the living room as the newscasters appeared on the television screen.

“In our top story, two congressional interns are missing tonight. The young women were last seen leaving a pharmacy on Dupont Circle this morning with an unidentified male. The event was caught on the store’s security camera.”

Larsen watched the screen change to the grainy black-and-white videotape, then gasped as she saw him. The albino. His back was to her as he stood in the middle of the tape, but she was certain it was him. The same stark white hair, the same odd clothing.

Her heart began to pound. She hadn’t imagined him.

In the background, the two young women chatted as they walked into the store. Neither seemed to pay any attention to the white man standing feet away.

The albino lifted his arm and the pair stopped abruptly, going suddenly, unnaturally, still. The purse one carried dropped, unnoticed, to the floor.

Chills raced over Larsen’s skin as she watched the evil man step around them and leave the store, the two women turning to follow. As the three exited onto the sidewalk outside, two small figures emerged from the right and followed them out the door.

The station cut back to the newscasters, but not before Larsen got a look at the last two. Though she wore a baseball cap and a different T-shirt, one of them was the cancer girl—the girl who had shot her.

She heard the click of the remote and the television screen went dark. Larsen turned toward Jack, suddenly afraid she hadn’t hidden her reactions. Her heart sank when she met his gaze. Gone was her friendly companion of a minute ago. In his place stood an angry, hard-eyed cop.

“I want the truth, lady…and I want it now.”