The Case of the Mesmerizing Boss (8 page)

Dane buzzed the apartment at seven sharp, and she opened the door.

“Ready?” he asked.

“I’ve just got to get my coat,” she said, looking around. She had a single suitcase. “Is that all you’re bringing?” he asked with a frown. “Well, it’s enough for a few days,” she began.

“Tess, this could take weeks,” he said shortly. “I don’t want to alarm you, but you may be with me for some time.” “I-I can come back and get what I need, can’t I?” “I suppose. Did you pack a gown and a robe?” “Yes.” She flushed. “Well, pajamas and a robe.”

He smiled gently. “You’ll have your own room. It’s a big apartment.”

“I remember,” she said absently, and then regretted dragging the memory up when he glowered. “Let’s go,” he said tersely.

She locked up. He carried her case down to the garage, his eyes watchful and alert to any sign of danger. She noticed with quiet resignation the faint bulge under his jacket. He carried a .45 automatic pistol on the job. He had a permit for it, and it was registered. A tool of the trade, he called it. But to Tess, it was a painful reminder of the ever-present danger of his profession and the realization that he could be killed pursuing it. He helped her into the car before he put the case in the trunk,

Diana Palmer

and he examined the engine and every inch of the frame before he started the vehicle. “Is that necessary?” she asked.

He nodded as he backed out of the parking space. “Part of the routine, honey. Don’t worry about it. You’re in good hands.”

“I know that.” She leaned back against the seat. “Why did I have to leave the office late?” she groaned. “If I’d gone home when I should have that night, I wouldn’t have seen anything.”

“I was busy calling you on the carpet,” he reminded her with a glance. “I get to share the blame.” “I deserved it, blowing the stakeout that way.”

“In fact, you saved it,” he murmured reluctantly. “The store-keeper had grown suspicious of our people outside. When you waved to Helen and asked about Harold’s nephew, he grew careless. They collared his son five minutes after you left.” Her jaw dropped. “You didn’t say!”

He glanced at her sternly. “You could have done a lot of damage by being careless. So could Helen. You both deserved a scare, and you got it.” “Slave driver.”

He chuckled, a rare sound that was pleasant in the dark interior of the car. “Next time you’ll be more careful, won’t you?”

“My job isn’t dangerous.” She glared at him. “You won’t let me do what I really want to,” she accused.

“Which is what?” he asked as they stopped at a red traffic light. He laid his arm over the back of the seat and looked into her eyes. “Sleep with me?” “Of all the conceit,” she gasped. He smiled at her. “You want me.” She averted her eyes. “The light’s green.”

“Change the subject,” he invited as he pulled ahead. “But you’d better stay out of my bed at night,” he said matter-of-factly. “It won’t do any good to plead with me,” he added when she opened her mouth. “My bedroom door will be locked, in case you feel like trying it for yourself.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. He didn’t sound like the all-business detective she knew.

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He arched an eyebrow. “Sorry to disappoint you,” he said. “I’m just not modern enough for casual affairs.” “Dane, do you feel all right?”

“Yes, and don’t come an inch closer to see for yourself how I feel,” he cautioned sternly. “You can keep your hands off my leg. I’m not that kind of man.”

She burst out laughing as his words finally got through to her. She hadn’t realized he even had a sense of humor. Presumably, he’d kept it hidden over the years. “I feel absolutely dangerous,” she mused.

“Most women are,” he agreed. “I’d put sex-starved virgins at the top of the list, too.” “I’m not that!” she protested.

“How do you know?” He pulled into the parking lot of his own apartment complex. Since most of his business was in Houston, it took too long to commute back and forth from the ranch, so he maintained an apartment in town. He glanced at her as he parked the car. “These urges tend to creep up on women like you. One minute you’re blushing and nervous. The next, you’re panting and ripping a helpless man’s clothes off.”

Her eyes twinkled with laughter. “I promise to control my… urges,” she assured him.

“God, I hope so. And no peeking when I’m in the shower,” he added darkly.

The repartee took all the fear out of the new experience. She followed him up to his second-floor apartment without a qualm.

The room he gave her was decorated in blues, from wallpaper to carpet to curtains. She felt right at home, as she had at the ranch. All it needed was Beryl fussing over them. “I’ll cook, if you like,” she volunteered. “I love it.” “No argument from me,” he nodded. “I can cook, but I hate it.”

She opened the freezer. It was well stocked. So was the refrigerator. “How about a steak and salad for supper?”

“Suits me.” He kicked off his shoes and collapsed on the sofa with his jacket half-off. She went into the guest room and changed into jeans and a sweat-

Diana Palmer

shirt, walking around in socks but no shoes. He was apparently as shoes-prejudiced as she was, because he left his off, too.

When she got back to the kitchen, he was out of his jacket and tie, his shirt half-unbuttoned down the front. She studied him cov-ertly, curious about his body in a way she never had been about any other man’s. His chest, what she could see of it, was covered in thick black hair. He was deeply tanned from his face down to what she could see of the taut muscular flesh above his belt buckle, and it didn’t look like the type of coloring gotten from the sun.

“It’s natural,” he murmured, surprising her by reading the question in her eyes. “I tan in the summer, but this stays with me year-round. One of my grandfathers was Spanish.” “I didn’t mean to stare.”

He took the package of steaks out of her hands and tossed it to one side. His lean hands tugged until she fell against him. In his reclining posture against the counter, the contact was total, all the way up and down, and she stiffened unconsciously.

“No surprises,” he promised. “Just this. Watch.” His voice was deep and sensuous. He held her waist loosely with one hand while the other slowly worked buttons out of buttonholes and finally tugged his shirt free of his slacks, disclosing a broad, muscular chest that was almost completely camouflaged by thick, curling black hair. “Now, look at me,” he said quietly.

She did, helplessly. She’d never seen anyone quite as masculine or as sensuous. He even smelled male, a scent that worked on her senses fiercely as she stood against his long, powerful legs and stared at the expanse of bare flesh he’d uncovered for her.

“Your eyes are very expressive,” he said, his eyes darkening, glittering. “Giving away secrets.”

“What kind of secrets?” she asked huskily, lifting her face to meet that hungry gaze.

“You’d be surprised.” He bent and bit at her mouth roughly. The contact was swift, and then she was free. “Keep those sultry eyes to yourself. They’re more dangerous than you realize.”

He moved lazily toward the bedroom. Tess had barely recovered her balance and her good sense by the time he’d changed into tight jeans and a white T-shirt. The clothing fit him like a second skin,

The Case of the Mesmerizing Boss 63 outlining a body that most men would have killed for. He was tall, but not thin. His broad shoulders tapered down in a wedge, over a muscular chest to lean hips and impossibly long legs. He was built like a rodeo rider. Tess had to drag her gaze back to the steaks.

“Like coffee?” he asked, smiling with pure delight at the way she was watching him. “Yes.” “I’ll make it.”

The kitchen was too small for two people. That was probably why, she thought breathlessly, he was constantly brushing against her in the most arousing way as he brewed the coffee.

He finished, but he didn’t go away. In his sock feet, he was still taller than she was, and his relaxed manner of dress made her much too aware of him as a man. “I disturb you,” he mused.

She started to deny it, then thought better of that. He might be compelled to prove it if she did. “Yes,” she said instead.

He leaned back on his hands against the counter, smiling with his eyes in a way that made her knees weak.

“Why don’t you come over here and do something about it,” he challenged softly.

She wanted to groan. She shouldn’t have been vulnerable. The last time she’d been in this apartment, he’d hurt her, scarred her, almost savaged her. How could she feel so wanton now? “Dane,” she protested, her eyes lifting to his.

“I can feel you tremble,” he whispered deeply, his eyes narrowing with desire. “I can hear you breathing, Tess.” His eyes fell to her breasts, which were shuddering under the thick sweatshirt. “Think how it would be, if I eased up the hem of that sweatshirt and slid my lips over your breasts, took the nipple in my mouth and made it tight and hard….” “Dane!”

She was shaking. She barely saw him move the frying pan off the burner and turn off the stove. His lean hand snaked out and caught her wrist, pulling her within reach. Both hands went to the sweatshirt and bunched it, clutched it, while his dark eyes probed hers.

Diana Palmer

“Inch by inch,” he whispered, moving it up to her rib cage. “Inch by aching inch, with my hands on your bare skin…”

Her face burned. Her body burned. She gave in quite suddenly, closing her eyes with a shaky breath, arching her back to ease his way. She felt his hands spread over her rib cage, warm and faintly rough, as he pushed the fabric up farther. He bent and she felt the hot moistness of his lips touch her. She shivered and moaned harshly, her voice unrecognizable.

“Lean on me so that you don’t fall,” he whispered. His tongue eased out against her bare flesh, teasing it, spreading over it until she shuddered, the hem of the sweatshirt rising with his hands to the very edge of her breast in its soft lacy casing. His nose rubbed against the lower band of the bra and she clutched at his shoulders to keep her balance, so overwhelmed that tears of tense pleasure were stinging her eyes.

She hung, waiting, yielding, totally submissive to anything he wanted to do to her. Waited…waited…

“Tess!” His voice exploded into the silence. His hands contracted suddenly and his head jerked up while he fought for breath. “My God, I’m sorry…!”

He pulled the sweatshirt down and left the kitchen without looking at her. She couldn’t move for several long seconds. She was dimly aware of water running somewhere, but even that didn’t immediately register. She finally managed to stand up and turn her attention back to the steaks. They were done, but not burned, thank God. She put them on a platter with shaking hands.

She’d set the table, served the food, and poured the coffee by the time he rejoined her. He was wearing a shirt over his T-shirt now, and it was buttoned. His hair was damp, as if he’d just come from a shower. Probably he had. She wouldn’t have minded some cold water, either. She was still on fire for him. Incredible, that kind of hunger, when only days before she’d been afraid of him.

“It’s all right,” he said quietly, noticing the way she avoided looking directly at him while they ate. “Nothing happened.”

Nothing? She almost said the word aloud. She couldn’t manage to look at him. Not that he was paying her any attention. His eyes, like his mind, were forcibly concentrated on his steak.

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“This is good,” he said. “I can’t ever get it medium rare. Either it’s raw or leather.”

“It’s the heat,” she faltered. “You have to be sure the pan’s hot enough.” “You can teach me, while you’re here.” “Yes, all right.”

He looked at her then, finally, his eyes dark and oddly wary. “Why so embarrassed, Tess?” he asked quietly. “I didn’t even touch you intimately.” “You did,” she protested. “With words…”

His expression was unreadable. Intense and faintly threatening. ‘Things went too far, too fast. I was playing with you,” he said cruelly. “Until you melted into me like that…”

Her heart felt as if he’d kicked it. Perhaps that was how he meant it to sound. “I get the message,” she said, forcing her voice to sound light and unconcerned. She looked up, surprising an odd expression on his face as he stared at her. “I’m as guilty as you are.”

He leaned back in his chair, his coffee cup in his hand as he looked at her openly. “Fair enough. But before you get any ideas about why it happened, it’s mostly abstinence, Tess,” he said tautly. “I haven’t been intimate with a woman since the shooting. Maybe I’m more desperate than I realized.”

So that was it. Hope died hard, but he was forcing her to realize that it wasn’t undying love that had motivated him. All the same, he puzzled her. She couldn’t stop the question slipping out. “Why hasn’t there been a woman?” she asked.

He stared at her, shocked. “Because of my leg,” he said involuntarily. “Because it’s still painful?”

“Because of the way it looks. The way
look, with my leg shot to pieces.” He frowned. “And maybe because of you,” he added reluctantly, searching her eyes. “Sex…hasn’t appealed to me much since you ran from me that day.” He averted his eyes. “Call it a lack of self-confidence.”p>

“You were different then,” she began slowly. “Tonight… Well, you didn’t frighten me at all.” “So I noticed,” he said tersely. He stared at her until she blushed.

Diana Palmer

“Don’t trust me, Tess. If I’d gotten my mouth as far as your breasts, I honestly don’t know what would have happened. Do you understand, little one?” he asked, his eyes narrow with concern. “I want you. God, Tess, I want you so damned much!” he whispered huskily.

It was true. She’d gotten under his skin in the past few days. He’d never been as tender, or as aroused, in his entire life as he’d been with her lately. Her responsiveness went to his head, made him careless and vulnerable.

“But you don’t want to, do you?” she asked softly. She searched his dark eyes. “You’re a virgin,” he said stiffly. “You tell me if I want to.”