Too Hot to Handle (18 page)

Jack blinked in surprise, taking a moment to digest the information Honey had given him. She was right. It was confusing, and it didn’t explain why Logan had lied to him. Jack had managed to convince the captain not to suspend him, but it had been a near thing. He’d spent the last week stuck on the night shift in the worst part of town, answering 911 calls and riding herd on a bunch of fresh-faced police academy grads while he searched for Honey in his spare time.

He kept looking not because he wanted her, but because he wanted answers. He wanted to know who had stolen the Volvo Sport. He wanted to know what was going on with Logan. Most important, he wanted to know why Honey had run off with his damn car.

Her hand extended to rest on his arm, fingers grasping his bicep.

Honey Moore stood in front of him, talking to him for the first time in a week, and he was trying to pick a fight. Not exactly the smartest move in the world. Experience told him that if he wanted to escape their encounter with his original hair color intact, it would be better to keep quiet.

But that wasn’t possible. There was no treading lightly. Not after the week she’d put him through. Late-night shifts and worrying.

“Would you care to dance?” he asked.

This was something he could do, something he’d been training to do since he was eleven years old and attending his first ballroom dancing class.

“Logan, hold my purse.” She pushed the small bag into the other man’s hands.

“Come on.” He put a hand on her waist and pulled her out onto the dance floor.

“Can you keep a secret?” she asked.

“Are you about to confess to a crime?”

“I have no idea how to dance.”

Jack turned to face Honey straight on. He tightened his grip on her waist.

“I know.” Her secret was old news. She’d told him the week before in his bedroom. She’d told him she couldn’t dance right before they’d done the rumba, in every possible sense of the word.

An experience he’d remember until the day he died.

She simply needed a little reminder. “The man pushes forward and the woman takes, remember?” He picked up her hand, allowing his arm to fall naturally into the perfect frame it had taken him so long to learn. “Only, you like to be the one who pushes. Always pushing.”

“Maybe you’re just stubborn.” She stepped forward, closer than was proper for the dance. When he took a breath, the scent of oranges filled his lungs, the same way it had back in high school.

“You smell like oranges,” he said, his voice rough and dark.

“Tangerines,” she corrected. “The shampoo at Logan’s hotel is supposed to smell like tangerines.”

Tangerines. Small, sweet fruit with a tangy bite. That made more sense. Still, Jack didn’t like to think about Honey showering in some other man’s hotel room. Not that he’d have any say in what she did after tonight. A swift turn around the dance floor, and they’d go their separate ways. She’d go back to her cars and her cousins, never more than one step ahead of serious trouble, and he’d get back to what was really important. His career. The career he’d almost tanked by withholding information from his captain.

He gathered his thoughts, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t end in violence. “Logan was really married to your grandmother?”

“Yeah, I think he’s lonely. They didn’t have any kids, and I’m the closest thing he has to family.”

Right—there was no one else except Clay Parsons. Jack couldn’t imagine the senator being happy about Honey’s new status in Logan’s life. But he couldn’t imagine the senator starting house fires, either.

For the moment, he didn’t care if the arsonist was a one-armed man straight out of summer movie madness. Honey had leaned her head against his chest. She felt so damn good there, almost like she belonged.

“You’ll have to stop making fun of Black Palm Park if you’re friends with Logan. He built this neighborhood.”

“I can like the man without liking what he did.” She sniffed. “Anyway, I don’t ‘make fun’.”

“That’s right. You don’t ‘make fun.’ You attack. I—”

He sucked in a breath. He’d been so caught up in Honey’s closeness—the feel of her silky hair on his hand and her head against his chest—he’d almost forgotten all the barriers that still stood between them. Honey might fit in his bed, but she didn’t fit in his life. She couldn’t put up with the late nights and the long hours. And he couldn’t put up with her devil-may-care attitude about the things that were important to him. His work. His community. They weren’t just affectations to be dismissed. They were his life. His entire identity. Who he was.

“I was born here, Honey. I grew up here. My parents still live here. It’s not something I chose—”

“Who would?” A throwaway response.

“Honey, I still belong to the country club. I still do things in the community. I don’t live in Black Palm Park, but I don’t hate it either. I—”

“The truth is,” she interrupted, “I don’t know how I feel about Black Palm Park anymore. I’m not saying I want to go to any high school reunions anytime soon, but it’s only a neighborhood. It’s not a bad place.”

“I think hell just froze over.”

“I’m not saying it’s perfect. There’s definitely some room for improvement. For instance, you can’t get a decent beer in this place.”

“That’s why they call it a champagne fund-raiser.”

“Yeah.” Honey sniffed again. “Well, I’m definitely not a champagne kind of girl.”

“You’ve got that right.”

“Excuse me.” A tuxedoed man inserted himself between the two of them before Jack could say anything. Rough and determined, like he had something to prove. “Mind if I cut in?”

Carlos. His sister’s ex-boyfriend.

The smug bastard had a smile on his face and a laugh on his lips. “I should have known this lovely lady was with you, Ogden. You always did have an eye for a figure.”

The look he gave Honey was bold and lascivious. “My name’s Carlos Green. Why don’t I show you what it’s like to be with a real man?”

There was a cool retort waiting to be made. A brilliant joke about how Carlos wouldn’t know a real man if one hit him in the face.

Jack couldn’t think of it.

Rage warmed his body like aged whiskey. His hands balled up into fists reflexively. “You might want to think about what you’re doing, Carlos. Your friends aren’t here to back you up today.”

“Please.” He snorted. “Look around you. I’ve got friends everywhere.” Carlos grinned, bright and cheerful. Anyone looking would think they were having a pleasant chat.

“You really think they’re going to take your side in a fight?” Jack snorted. “Let’s be honest, you need the help. You couldn’t take me by yourself.”

“You think so?” A second later, Carlos struck, his fist careening into the same spot on Jack’s chest that his buddy’s beer bottle had met a little more than a week earlier. The force of the punch sent Jack staggering back against Honey.

That was all the encouragement Jack needed.

He gave no warning. He just hauled off and hit Carlos on the jaw, hard.

His first day learning how to box, his trainer had told him never to hit someone with a closed hand, but the crack of Carlos’s head slamming backward was damn satisfying.

It also hurt like hell. He’d used his right, the same wrist he’d sprained. The same wrist he’d shattered when he was trying to fight his way to the top. The steel pins seemed to be holding, but it was going to be a while before he could feel his fingertips again.

Carlos swung wildly, a sloppy roundhouse to the jaw.

Rage flooded Jack’s veins. This wasn’t the hot anger and confusion he’d felt when Logan lied to him. This was the cool fury he needed to get the job done. He moved forward, grabbing Carlos’s arm and twisting it hard to the side, forcing the other man to the ground.

“Okay,” Jack said. “It’s time for you to leave.”

“Jerk,” Honey snarled. “I hope he gets tossed in a cell with a seven-foot biker with ‘Crazy’ as his first name.”

A laugh. The man standing next to her must have heard. “Carlos isn’t going to jail. They’re just boys letting off a little steam.”

“Oh, he’s going to jail.”

And Jack would be going with him. Honey had been arrested enough times to know that there were hours of paperwork involved. Jack would be tied up for the rest of the night, which meant her big night was effectively over. Any chance at reconciliation had disappeared the instant Carlos walked into the room.

Twenty minutes ago, she’d been full of hope and all the vibrant possibilities that came with wearing a good dress and better shoes. Turning around and seeing the look on Jack’s face, the way he was staring at her with lust in his eyes, she’d felt so damn powerful.

This was why women wore sexy dresses.

Walking over, she’d had every intention of telling Jack the truth. She loved him more than words could truly express, and if he’d agree to love her back, then everything would be all right. But the words had caught in her throat. Those few short syllables had been enough to choke her.

Then they’d been dancing, talking, and his anger had been palpable. A physical force that scared her more than any death threat could. What if he pushed her away? What if they never saw each other again?

She should have told him how she felt while she had the chance, but she’d thought they would have more time. They should have had more time. At least until the end of the song.

“Ogden looks pretty angry,” the man standing next to her said. “Remind me not to get on his bad side.”

“My advice? Don’t hit his sister.”

“I could have told Carlos that was a bad idea, although I really would have expected Amelia to take care of it. Some poison, a knife to the gut, maybe a little pleasant conversation.”

Honey bit back a laugh.

Maybe the man next to her was more than a fitted tuxedo. She glanced sideways, taking in a lethal combination of golden skin, tawny hair, and white teeth. He was older than she’d expected, the silver streaks at his temples and wrinkles by his eyes belying his youthful voice. Something about him seemed familiar. Like she’d seen him before, but she couldn’t quite figure out where.

“Honey Moore.” She stuck out a hand.

“No need for an introduction.” His smile didn’t make it to his eyes. “You’re the woman with her hands on Logan Burrows’s family jewels.”

“Excuse me?”

“Those emeralds have been in the family for almost two hundred years. They’re passed from father to son and worn by strong, capable women who commit themselves to the Burrows name. They are not trinkets for floozies and whores.”

Two digs in less than a minute. Any more and Honey would think the guy didn’t like her.

The stranger’s friendly mask slipped. “You might think you hit the mother lode, taking him to bed, but I know what you are. Trash, pure and simple.” His hand latched onto her arm. “We’re leaving.”

“Not a chance in hell.” A sharp bolt of fear drove its way through her body. “You’re him, aren’t you? Clay Parsons.”

“I’ve come too far to let you get in my way.” His breath came out cloying and sweet, thick with the alcohol he’d used to marshal his courage. “We’re going to walk to my car, and you’re going to look happy about it. If you don’t, I’ll kill Logan. A man that old is vulnerable. If he skips one pill, he could have a heart attack. You’re his mistress. You’d know that. You’ll be a suspect even if they don’t arrest you. They’ll never let you inherit.”

It took every ounce of self-control Honey had not to break the man’s nose. It would be so damn easy. Throw a punch, cry out, fall down. If she did anything to attract attention, this horrible event would be over. Jack would arrest Clay Parsons, and everything could go back to normal.

Her head turned slightly, following the path that Jack had taken across the room. He was already gone, vanished through wide double doors.

Besides, what if Parsons was right? He was a state senator, and everyone knew she was a bad apple. She’d tell her version of the story, and they’d laugh.

Then Parsons would go after Logan.

It had been less than eight hours since Honey had knocked on Logan’s door, unsure of what kind of man she’d find on the other side, but in that short time she’d grown attached to him. He wasn’t her grandfather, and he never would be, but that wasn’t going to stop her from adding him to the chaos that was her family. In her mind, she’d already planned Thanksgiving dinners and Christmas surprises. There was no way in hell she would let some two-bit state senator in a tuxedo mess with his medication. Not if she had anything to say about it.

“You’re a jackass.”

“And you’re a fool fighting something unavoidable.” He adjusted his grip so that anyone watching would think they were friends, maybe even lovers. His free hand ran up her arm, making her skin crawl, and for the briefest moment, he cupped her face in his palm.

“You’ll come quietly. Won’t you, Honey?”

…

Arresting Carlos was supposed to make Jack feel better. It was supposed to provide him some much-needed satisfaction and closure, the same catharsis he’d felt years earlier when he’d been fighting in the boxing ring.

It just made him feel old and tired.

He didn’t want to be taking the other man down to the station. Spending his night filling out paperwork and explaining things to his boss. He wanted to be with Honey, exchanging rough barbs and verbal blows. Explaining to her the difference between “borrowing a car” and “grand theft auto.”