Hard To Handle

“I can handle Wadrell,” she said with more assurance than she felt. Her words clearly failed to convince Connally. He was regarding her with something like derision in his eyes.

“I guess it depends on your definition of the word. From where I sat tonight it looked like you were the one being handled.”

Meghan flushed. She looked good with temper flaring in her eyes and coloring her cheeks, Gabe decided. She wasn’t as emotionless as she would have him believe. Why that should matter to him he didn’t know, except that it would have been a shame if a woman who looked like her was really as cold and as closed off as she pretended to be.

He folded his arms over his chest. “Let’s look at your options here. As far as the department goes, your sister’s accident is a closed case. You said yourself Wadrell’s motives are suspect. Why would you trust him to follow through on his promise?”

“Are you worried about me, Detective?” Her voice was mocking. “Don’t be. I learned a long time ago that the only person I can trust is myself.”

Her statement hit him with the force of a punch. He could have echoed the words himself; certainly he believed the same. But he knew the kind of knocks it had taken to shape his cynical point of view. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he didn’t like to consider the kind of experiences that might have shaped hers.

He perched on her coffee table, retaining a position close to her. “There’s no use taking stupid chances if you don’t have to. Wadrell’s a slime. You know he’s more interested in your body than in your sister’s death.”

Her chin angled and she met him stare for stare. “Why do you care?”

Their gazes battled for long moments before Gabe finally answered. “Let’s just say that I don’t like to see people taken advantage of. And I’ve never been a fan of Wadrell’s.”

Meghan looked beyond his shoulder to the clock on the wall. It was after ten. Early, really. But all of a sudden she was weary, clear to the bone. The time she’d spent with Wadrell had put her on edge. She still didn’t doubt her ability to keep him at arm’s length, but she was beginning to question the wisdom of her plan. She would have only the detective’s word, after all, that he’d actually conducted another investigation into the accident. She’d have no reason to believe him. And no choice not to. When Danny was old enough to be given the details, the very least he deserved were the facts involved in his mother’s death. All of them.

She glanced at Connally again. Sitting atop her table, he was much too close. Much too…physical. He was big enough to project a subtle threat sheerly through his stature. The breadth of his heavy shoulders blocked her view of the room behind him, and the broad chest beneath his crossed arms depicted a certain power. In a studiedly casual move, she settled more deeply into the couch cushions. It was ridiculous to feel that the slight movement had put some much-needed distance between them. Ridiculous, because there was nothing about his actions or his expression to suggest she had anything to fear from him.

Except that he was a cop. He was in her apartment, and he was intent on dragging Danny into the middle of a police investigation.

“I have another option for you to consider.” His voice, coming after a minute of silence, seemed raspier than usual.

“Forget Wadrell. Let me help you instead.”

She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had. He’d never be considered one of those white knights charging to rescue ladies in distress. He found jackets and ties confining enough; armor would be murder.

He shook off the fanciful thought. “You want something. So do I. I’ll take another look into the accident for you. In return, you’ll cooperate by allowing Danny to assist us in any way we need him.” As if sensing the protest she was about to utter, he went on quickly, “You get what you want, I get what I want. It’ll be strictly business.” Her cooperation would make his job easier. He didn’t want to chance her sabotaging him at every turn, maybe even coaching the boy to tell them nothing. He needed every lead he could get on this case.

Everything inside Meghan recoiled from accepting his offer. For different reasons, she was even more loath to spend time in his presence than she was in Wadrell’s. And there was no way, absolutely none, that she would let Danny get embroiled with the police. She knew nothing about raising children. But the one thing she did know was that her psychic ability had ruined Sandra’s life. If she could spare Danny only one thing, it would be that.

Connally was speaking again. “Of course, maybe you have other reasons to want to stick with Wadrell. Maybe you really wouldn’t mind if you and he…” He made a gesture with his hand which, along with his tone, made his message clear.

Meghan’s indignation overcame her caution. “Believe me, I find cops eminently resistible. For that matter, how can I be sure that I wouldn’t have to fight off your advances?”

He didn’t appear to take offense. “’Cause I make it a point to steer wide of your type. So if we partner up for a while, you won’t have to worry about me coming on to you.”

He watched her intently, but when she failed to respond, he said, “If you need convincing…” Before she could guess his intention, he leaned forward in one smooth movement and covered her mouth with his own.

Shock held Meghan motionless. The man was completely outrageous! She managed to raise her hand to his chest before her bones began to take on the consistency of warm wax. It was like kissing a flash of lightning, she thought fuzzily—all sizzling heat and banked strength. There was an unexpected measure of wildness to his taste, layered beneath a hint of tightly harnessed control.

He wasn’t a man to ask permission, and there was no entreaty in his touch. Her hand lingered, forgotten, on his chest as he angled his head and pressed her lips open. His tongue boldly swept in, exchanging her flavor for his own.

Her heart spun once, then kicked a faster beat. He tasted foreign, and primally male. His hand cupped her jaw, his fingers caressing her throat, and the dual assault made her shiver and want, with a suddenness that was all the more frightening for its being completely unfamiliar.

His mouth lifted from hers a fraction, lingered a moment, then eased away.

She stared at him, stunned. “Just what was that supposed to convince me of?” Her voice was threadier than she would have wished, but at least it was steady.

Gabe reached for the glass he’d set down, and brought it to his lips for a long swallow. His eyes avoided hers. “Just proving my point. Neither of us is attracted to the other. That kiss left you cold, right? Me, too.”

Cold? Numb, maybe. Achy, certainly. But cold? A sheerly feminine ire fueled her next words. “The next time you try conducting a little experiment like that you’d better be wearing protection.” She left no doubt that she wasn’t referring to his gun. “The only point you convinced me of is that I’m no better off with you than with Wadrell.”

He looked impatient at her words. “Use your head.” Holding up his fingers, he enumerated, “One, I’m not the detective you hold indirectly responsible for your sister’s death. Two, I outrank Wadrell and I’m better liked. I’ve got guys who’ll be willing to do me favors when I poke into the accident investigation. I doubt Wadrell can get his own mother to invite him to Sunday dinner. And three, we’ve just shown that physically we don’t do a thing for each other.”

She crossed her arms over her chest to keep from strangling him.

“You won’t have to worry about me making moves on you, because I like women with more obvious…uh…charms.” He cocked his head, pretending not to see the simmer of latent temper in her eyes. “Unless…you can’t do that little tassel trick I’ve seen, can you? You know—” his index fingers circled in the air in front of his chest “—the one where you get them going in opposite directions?” When she didn’t respond, couldn’t, he shook his head. “I didn’t think so. So as near as I can tell, us matching up would be perfect. There’ll be no personal interest on my side, and if you can promise the same there won’t be any complications at all.”

The deep-breathing exercises learned at Miss Devain’s School of Deportment had never been more necessary. The actual physical effort of filling her lungs with oxygen almost took Meghan’s mind off the shockingly primal urge to knock that complacent expression off Connally’s face. The strength of the temptation was shocking. Civility was a quality not only valued by her family, but demanded. Tremaynes didn’t indulge in spectacles. There had been no public displays of temper or of affection. Every conversation, every cutting remark, was made in the same chillingly dispassionate tone. The genuine lack of emotion displayed by her mother and grandparents had confused and saddened Meghan by turns.

However, it wasn’t a lack of emotion that was bothering Meghan right now, but the imminent volcanic eruption that this man was close to eliciting. Her gaze narrowed at his bland expression. He was goading her; he had to be. Surely no one could be that irritating, unless by design. What he was suggesting was out of the question. There was no way she was going to shackle herself to Connally willingly, no matter what he promised to do for her.