On Thin Ice (10 page)

“Sorry. I don’t have the anatomy for it.”

Devlin gave a shout of laughter. “Damn, you’ve heard it before.”

Grinning, she arched an eyebrow. “Actually, no. But I’m quick.” Just then the bartender set their drinks in front of them. “Put them on my tab,” she told him.

Devlin toasted her with his Scotch and water. “To fast comebacks.”

“And bad lines.” She rested her chin in her hand and looked at him earnestly. “I think you need serious help with your definition of dynamite.”

“I won the bet, didn’t I?”

“Winning isn’t everything,” she stated in a pious tone.

“Beats the hell out of losing.” He slid his arm across the back of her bar stool. “If I wanted to get a beautiful woman’s attention—” he caught her gaze and smiled, the smile guaranteed to make a woman weak-kneed and willing “—that’s not what I’d ask her.”

“What would you say, then?”

Did she know her voice had softened? His hand trailed up to the back of her neck, sneaking under her hair. He lowered his voice to midnight quiet and held her gaze. “Aren’t you the woman I dreamed about last night?”

Her eyes widened; he heard her breath catch. “That might work,” she admitted huskily, after a moment.

“Did it?” His hand continued its caress, tracing slow, sensual circles on her neck.

“It’s a . . . definite possibility.”

“I’ve never used it before.”

“Never?” Her voice was almost a whisper. He had to strain to hear it.

“No.” He leaned in close, so close, their mouths were nearly touching. So close, he felt her breath feather across his lips. The chatter, the music, the people surrounding them faded to black “The thing is—” he picked up her hand and brushed the lightest of kisses over the backs of her fingers “—it’s not a line. It happens to be true.”

Their gazes still locked, Gabrielle drew in a deep, unsteady breath. Her eyes turned a bottomless, misty green. For a long moment neither spoke. “You’re very good,” she breathed. “I almost believe you.”

“Believe it,” he said, and moved in for the kill.

His mouth was a sigh away from hers when she jerked her head back and yanked her hand from his. The moment shattered like thin ice.

“You win,” she said, and reached for her wine.

Watching her gulp some down, Devlin smiled. The spell had broken, but the aftereffects remained. “What’s this? Gabrielle Rousseau, CG and S’s finest, conceding so easily?”

“I’m having an off night.”

“Drowning your sorrows?”

“No, no, no.” She toasted him with her glass. “Celebrating. It’s much more fun.”

He had to give it to her, she made a quick recovery. “What are you celebrating? The Sabatino case isn’t exactly going ninety to nothing. For our side, anyway.”

“Oh, that.” Waving one hand dismissively, she finished off half the wine. “We’ll find something. So what if he’s got lousy character witnesses?”

“It makes defen—”

Before he could finish the sentence she interrupted. “You surprised me today, you know?” Leaning forward with the glass in her hand tilting precariously to one side, she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Ms. . . . whatever, can’t remember her name. The woman who came to see you this morning. Why’d you take her case?”

Hello? Where did that come from? Devlin wondered. Drinking some of his Scotch, he considered her. Apparently Gabrielle didn’t want to talk about Sabatino. And he didn’t care to talk about Marcie Field. Not answering would only make her more curious, so to appease her he gave her something. “She needed a lawyer. What’s to understand?”

“That lady is pro bono all the way, Shinclair.”

His lips quirked at the slurred word. She stared at him intently, obviously unaware of her lapse. “Everybody does a little pro bono work,” he said. “You do, don’t you?”

“Certainly.” She gave an emphatic nod and took another sip of wine. “But you—” she poked him in the chest with her forefinger “—aren’t the type. Not a pro bono bone in your body. You don’t have to counsel for free, not at this stage of your career. So why?”

Not the type, he repeated silently. Devlin gave in to the irresistible urge to shock her out of her smug reading of his character. “I was a PD for three years.” Her finger fell, and her mouth dropped open. Though he smiled, her disbelief annoyed him more than it amused him. “Just out of law school,” he added.

“You? A public defender?” She stared in amazement, then threw her head back and laughed.

Her throaty, abandoned laughter brought on a curious range of feelings. Lust at the sight of her slim neck, exposed as it was, and at the rich sound of her enjoyment. Intense, and irritating, disappointment that she’d reacted as she had. Why should he be surprised that she only saw what everyone else saw? And why the hell should he care? Sipping his drink, he waited for her paroxysm to subside.

Abruptly, she sobered and put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.” A hiccup lessened the effect of her apology. She continued doggedly. “You were so good with your client today. It shouldn’t have shocked me, I guess. But I can’t—couldn’t imag—”

“Yeah, I know.” He gave her a cynical smile. “It doesn’t fit the image.

Tilting her head, she gazed at him, as though trying to piece together a puzzle. “If the image bothers you, why don’t you change it?”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me. I’m not a PD anymore. “

“Maybe part of you still is,” she said shrewdly.

Devlin didn’t like the direction this conversation had taken. He’d outgrown that particular save-the-world mind-set long ago. Three years as a PD would polish off anyone’s idealism, and finding out the truth about Celine had sounded the death knell on his. Remembering Celine sure as hell held no interest for him. “Nope,” he answered. “What you see is what you get.”

She hadn’t taken her hand off his arm. He’d left his jacket in the car, and her fingers pressed gently into his skin, warming it through the cloth of his shirtsleeve. There was no reason for that innocent contact to send a surge of desire pumping through his blood. No reason at all.

“I wonder,” she said.

“And I wonder,” he said, taking the offensive, “what it is about Sabatino that gets to you. You’ve defended others like him. But there’s a difference this time, isn’t there, Gabrielle?”

Her hand dropped away. A gleam of alarm came and went in her eyes, so quickly, he might have imagined it. Except he hadn’t.

“I’ve got a lot more at stake this time,” she said.

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me. Care to let me in on the stakes?”

Her lashes lowered, then rose, her expression changing to sultry. Even knowing her game, it still sent his hormone level rocketing.

“Winner take all. Partner.”

Devlin let out a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding. Damn, she was good.

“But tonight—” she stroked her hand up his arm “—I don’t want to talk about Sabatino.” Her hand glided slowly down to his. “Or partnerships. Or law. I’m taking the night off. What do you say, Counselor?”

An invitation. In her eyes, in her touch, in her words. So, she wanted to distract him, did she? Just how far would she go?

“That depends.” He took her hand, running his thumb along the inside of her wrist. Her pulse scrambled, and he smiled. “What did you have in mind?”

She touched her tongue to her lips in a nervous, unconsciously sensual gesture. “Oh God, I think I’m in trouble.”

Her voice sounded like the night, a husky whisper of pure temptation. Devlin smiled and said nothing. He unbuttoned her sleeve and trailed his fingers up her arm as he pushed the material higher. Her lips parted on a moan that she caught just before completion. Strangely, his own pulse was none too steady. Just from touching her arm? Listening to her voice? Get a grip, he told himself.

She stared at him and licked her lips again. “Now I know I’m in trouble. I can’t . . . I can’t . . .”

When he touched his lips to the pulse throbbing at the crook of her arm, her breath hissed in with a gasp. “Can’t what?” he murmured, lingering over the magnolia petal skin of her arm.

“I can’t think when you do that.” Dazed dark-green eyes stared at him.

“Don’t think, then.” He threw some money on the bar to cover the check and rose, pulling her to her feet. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Grasping her hand, he didn’t wait for her answer, but dragged her along with him.

Outside, the night air was hot, humid. Clear and sultry as only a Southern summer night can be. Late as it was, the street in front of the bar was devoid of traffic. They crossed it quickly, almost silently, their shoes scraping on the rough pavement. An ambulance siren wailed in the distance. Reaching his car, Devlin pushed her back against the door and stared at her good and long. She hadn’t spoken a word since he’d hauled her out of the bar. He couldn’t say what prompted him to ask the next question, because he didn’t want to hear it if her answer was no.

“Are you sure about this?”

She didn’t answer with words. Instead she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, a woman who knew what she wanted and meant to get it. He drew her closer, until he felt her breasts crushed to his chest, the welcome pressure as he cupped her bottom and settled her tightly against him. Sweet and wicked at once, she tasted of temptation and midnight sin.

And she kissed like a fantasy lover. Her tongue darted inside his mouth, teasing, arousing, flirting with him and begging for more. He caressed her bottom, drawing her even closer, and met her tongue’s parries with some lingering thrusts of his own. The blood pounded in his veins, and he shot straight into sensual overload. If he didn’t stop kissing her now, they’d be courting a public indecency charge in a matter of minutes.

“The next time I kiss you,” he said, indulging in a last caress at the corner of her mouth, “you’ll be wearing a lot fewer clothes.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

Smiling, he unlocked the car door and let her in. “A promise.”

He didn’t ask, but drove to her place since it was a good five minutes closer. Right now five minutes seemed like a long time. Devlin couldn’t remember wanting to make love with a woman this badly. Ever. Even half-crazed from lust, it worried him. But not enough to make him forget the idea.

Not eager to wreck his car on the way, he kept his hands off her. Gabrielle had no such worries. She scooted over as close as the bucket seats would allow and snuggled her head against his shoulder. It surprised him, because it bespoke affection rather than passion, but her hand on his thigh wasn’t innocent by a long shot.

“Are you trying to make me have a wreck?” he asked, barely maintaining control.

“Drive faster.” She kissed his neck and trailed wicked fingers over his thigh.

“My insurance—” he began, and sucked in his breath as her hand caressed him, edging so close to his erection, he thought he’d die. To hell with insurance rates, he thought, and put his foot down.

They made it inside her house before he started ripping off her clothes. Barely. He pushed her up against the door and kissed her, possessing her mouth as he wanted to possess her entire body. Fumbling at the buttons of her blouse, he felt as if it were the first time he’d ever undressed a woman. Slow down, he told himself, but he wasn’t sure he could. Where were all his practiced moves?

The flesh-colored wisp of a Midnight and Lace specialty demi-bra cupped her breasts like a lover’s hands. Devlin popped the clasp open and spread the bra wide, watching her nipples tighten under his scrutiny. Beautiful breasts, lush, full, with dusky rose areolas begging for him to taste them. He bent his head and took a taut peak in his mouth, sucking, swirling his tongue over the tip while she moaned his name. Her hands were in his hair, clutching his head tightly to her breasts.