On Thin Ice (17 page)

“This—” he waved the report “—means we can get Sabatino off. Request a hearing with the judge and the DA, ask the judge to allow the case to be dropped. The evidence in question is the prosecution’s primary case against him. They don’t have jack to support the charges without that evidence. We may not even go to trial.”

Not go to trial, she thought. Get Franco off and not have to go to court over it. Surely Franco would leave her alone then, once he was free of the charges against him. He’d slink back to New York, if she was lucky, and she’d never have to see him again. And she could forget about her past as if it had never happened.

Devlin would never have to know a thing.

If she told herself that enough times, maybe she could even begin to believe it.

Later that night
Devlin tracked Gabrielle to her office, reminding him of another night he’d found her working after hours. But tonight he wouldn’t go home alone and frustrated. Not sexually frustrated anyway, though the nagging certainty that she was lying to him was wearing him down.

He knocked and shoved open her office door, expecting to find her buried in papers, but she was sitting with her chair turned toward the darkened window and apparently hadn’t heard him come in. Brooding over missing that police error?

In her place, he’d be mad as hell at himself, but maybe Gabrielle had managed to blow it off as simply the effect of illness. Still, it had to rankle that an attorney with her reputation had missed something a second-year law student could have picked up.

And Devlin had found the weak link within ten minutes of looking at those reports. Being lovers didn’t mean they weren’t still rivals at CG&S. How was that going to affect their future relationship? He knew they would have to deal with the issue, but since he didn’t have any answers he wasn’t particularly eager to pursue the topic right now.

“The hearing is set for day after tomorrow,” he said, and closed the door behind him.

At his words, she spun the chair around and looked at him. “Day after tomorrow? That’s quick.”

He shrugged and walked over to her, propping a hip on her desk. “Judge Gray had an opening. I’ve told Sabatino.”

“You saw him?”

“No,” he said, and laughed shortly. “Called him. I was afraid I’d punch his face in if I saw him in person.”

“Don’t do it,” she said, fear flashing in her eyes. “Promise me you won’t.”

Curious, he leaned over and traced his forefinger down her cheek. “Why does he frighten you so much, Gabrielle?”

She grabbed hold of his hand. “Devlin, he’s Mafia. That’s enough to frighten anyone. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“As long as he leaves you alone, there’s nothing to worry about,” he said, squeezing her hand and releasing it.

“I can deal with him.” She angled her chin up.

“Yeah. So can I.” His hand curled into a fist as he thought about the satisfaction he’d get wiping some of those pretty Italian words off Sabatino’s mouth.

“Devlin,” Gabrielle said sharply. “Promise me you won’t fight with him.”

Rather than lie, he ignored that. “You know—” he pushed himself away from the desk and paced across the floor with a restless energy “—this is the first time in a long time that I wouldn’t have minded losing a case. If it meant Sabatino would have gotten what’s coming to him . . .” Regretfully, he shook his head. “Now the feds have no way of getting him to talk. Not that he would have, anyway. Only a fool would face Donati after ratting on him. Whatever else he is, Sabatino is no fool.”

“There are lots of other known criminals that Sabatino’s had dealings with. Donati isn’t the only one the feds want him to talk about.”

“No, but he’s one of the big ones, even if he has toned his operation down in recent years. And from what I’ve heard, Sabatino’s the closest thing Donati has to a son.” Snatching at a memory, he frowned, but he couldn’t quite grab it. “There was some story—”

“You’d never throw a case,” she said, interrupting him.

Surprised by the abrupt statement, he stopped pacing to stare at her. “No, I wouldn’t. But that’s not to say there haven’t been cases I wished I hadn’t won.” He thought of Celine, his mouth twisting in a bitter smile. “And cases I should never have taken in the first place.”

Gabrielle gazed at him for a moment, then leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. “Who was she?”

“How do you know it was a woman?”

“An educated guess,” she said, smiling wryly. “Want to talk about it?”

Did he? He wasn’t sure. He stalked to the window, leaning an arm against the frame as he gazed out at the night. “Her name was Celine. Charged with murder one in the death of her husband. It happened during my public defender days.” Silent for a moment, he let the memories seep back. “God, I still can’t believe how dumb I was,” he muttered. “I got her off scot-free. Not even a manslaughter charge. The DA screwed up his case against her or he’d have had her cold. It was quite a coup for me, even considering the prosecution’s screwup.”

“Was she guilty?”

Devlin shot her a grim smile over his shoulder. “As sin. And I was the sucker who believed she was innocent.” Gabrielle winced, and he turned back to the window. “Yeah. It’s not much fun to be made a complete fool of. She took off with her lover the day after the verdict came down.”

He heard her chair squeak as she pushed it back, then her hand fell on his shoulder and squeezed. Warm sympathy flowed from her as she pressed herself against his back and slid her arms around his waist. It felt strange, telling her something he’d never told anyone. Now, if only she would come clean with him . . .

“You weren’t a fool,” she said quietly. “We all get sucked in sometimes.”

“Celine was good, I’ll admit that. A great actress, in bed, in court. Hell, she was great wherever she needed to be.” And she’d reeled him in like the dumbest bass in the lake.

“Don’t,” Gabrielle whispered, tightening her arms, pressing her cheek against the back of his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“Doesn’t it?” He turned and gripped her upper arms, staring into her eyes. “I swore after Celine I’d never let another woman get to me.”

Gabrielle said nothing, but her lips trembled as though in invitation. Her mouth looked rose-petal soft, enough to tempt a saint to sin. He knew what fantastically wicked things she could do with that mouth, and it fueled his anger that he could want her so much and trust her so little.

Releasing her arms, he slid his hands to the small of her back and pulled her tightly against him. Her eyes widened, the pupils dilating as her breath started coming faster, her pulse fluttering in her throat like a wild thing. He wanted to kiss her there. Put his mouth against her throat and drink in her heartbeat, steep himself in the dizzying, sensual taste of her skin. To take her, there in her office where she looked so proper and in control. Wanted to watch the transformation, see her shatter when he pushed her to the edge and over it. Wanted her not to matter so much, and damned both of them because she did.

“And I never have let a woman get to me again. Until you,” he said, and crushed her mouth beneath his. Her lips opened, and he invaded, tasting the hot, sweet temptation she offered. She moaned and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him as tightly as he held her. He left her mouth, bending her back over his arm to kiss her neck, to savor the pulse beating at its hollow.

Shoving papers aside, he laid her back on the bare strip of dark wood and opened her blouse with two quick jerks of his hands. Through her lacy bra, he caressed her breasts, smiling as he brought her nipples to stiff peaks against his palms, then rolled them with his fingers. “You’ve never said—” he leaned down and covered one of her nipples with his mouth, drew it in and sucked on it slowly, flicked his tongue against it before releasing it “—what this means to you.”

Her answer was an incoherent moan and her chest lifting to offer him more.

He took more, sliding his hands up under her skirt, past the sheer stockings to the garter belt he knew she wore. One of those creations men dreamed about but few women wore. “Is this just great sex . . . ?” One by one, he popped her garters, then tugged her panties down and glided them off her legs. “Or is there something more? Tell me, Gabrielle.”

“More,” she said.

He smiled down at her. “I think that’s a double entendre.”

“Don’t . . . tease.” Her back arched as his fingers slipped inside her, withdrew, slid in again. “The door . . .” she said, gasping for breath. “Lock the . . . lock the door.”

He kissed her mouth. Long, deep, hot. “You haven’t answered my question.”

She pushed up to sit on the edge of the desk, with his hands still beneath her skirt, taunting her. Her hair had loosened, tumbled over her shoulders; her eyes were heavy-lidded, dark green and beautiful. Her mouth was full, lush, inviting him to partake of the pleasure, and he wanted to immerse himself in her and never come out. She reached for his slacks, unbuttoned and unzipped them.

“I think you’re an incredibly sexy jerk—” her hand curled around his aching flesh, and she stroked slowly up and down the length of him “—who I’m in love with. Now will you lock the damn door and finish making love to me?”

Devlin decided he might have outsmarted himself, because at that moment he didn’t think he could leave her long enough to get to the door. She took her hands out of his pants and gave him a seductive smile. “Hurry up,” she whispered, her voice husky with promise, and blew him a kiss.

He made it to the door and back within seconds. An instant after that, he buried himself to the hilt inside her. She was soft and wet, and she tightened around him like an erotic dream. No matter how much he wanted to, he was too far gone to make it last. He stroked into her once, then twice before exploding deep inside her. A step behind him, she cried out as she peaked.

The last tremors faded, and he heard her whisper, “I love you, Devlin.”

Even as he smiled, he wondered why he’d never heard a sadder sound than the sigh she gave afterward.