New York's Finest Rebel

Her gaze lifted, lingering for a moment on his chest when she remembered what it had looked like naked: taut tanned skin over muscle and a six-pack to make a girl drool. Frowning at the memory, she moved further up until she was looking into too-blue eyes and asked, ‘Why are you buying me coffee?’

‘You looked like you could do with it,’ he replied.

‘You don’t even know how I take it.’

‘Since you’re a regular, I surmised the guy behind the counter would. Turns out I was right.’

Jo’s gaze lowered to the temptation as she weighed up the risk involved with accepting it. Not that he would wait for an invitation to join her, but apart from the fact she wasn’t in the mood to get into a verbal sparring match with him—

‘Your loss.’ He shrugged. Setting it down on the opposite side of the table, he pulled out the empty chair and sat down.

‘There are other tables in here, you know.’

Daniel didn’t say anything, his steady gaze fixed on hers as he took the lid off his cup.

‘We’re not picking up where we left off last night, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ she said.

‘Technically it was this morning.’

‘I’ve stayed out of your business.’

‘Glad to hear it.’

‘How about you return the favour and stay out of mine?’ She smiled sweetly, determined not to look at the abandoned coffee on the table in front of him.

Daniel brought his cup to his face and took a deep breath. ‘Nothing quite like a cup of Joe to kick-start the morning …’

While her eyes narrowed at the innuendo, he lifted his other arm and tapped the lid of the abandoned coffee cup with a long forefinger. ‘Sure you don’t want this? Seems a shame for it to go to waste …’

‘What do you want?’

‘Suspicious, aren’t we?’

‘I’ve met you.’

‘And still not a morning person.’ He inclined his head towards the cup. ‘Another shot of caffeine might help.’

Jo fought the need to growl. She wanted that coffee so badly she could taste it on her tongue. Despite her strong-willed determination to stop it happening, her gaze lowered to watch the tip of his forefinger trace an almost absent-minded circle around the edge of the plastic lid. It was one of the most sensual things she had ever seen, adding a new dimension to the temptation, which had nothing to do with caffeine. For a moment her imagination even wondered what the movement would feel like against her skin …

Reaching out, she waggled her fingers. ‘Give.’

His hand moved, fingers curling around the cup to draw it back towards him. ‘How much trouble are you in?’

Her gaze snapped up again. ‘What?’

‘Answer the question.’

‘Why would you even care if I was in trouble?’ She arched a brow. ‘I’d have thought the idea of my body lying in an alley somewhere would have made your day.’

‘Is there a chance that might happen?’

‘Not like it would be the first time.’

‘That’s not funny.’

‘No, but I have dozens of jokes from that period of my life if you need them.’ Angling her chin, she pulled one at random from the air. ‘You know the best part about dating a homeless chick? You can drop her off wherever you want.’

Daniel didn’t laugh. ‘Do you owe him money?’

‘Owe who money?’

‘Jack.’

‘No.’

‘Then what’s going on?’

A short burst of laughter left her lips. ‘I’m supposed to confide in you because you bought me a cup of coffee?’

‘If you’re in some kind of trouble, tell me now and—’

‘You’ll help?’ The words came out more sharply than she intended and, when they did, she felt a need to soften them by adding, ‘You can’t, and even if you could you’d be the last person I’d go to for help.’

Great, now he was never going to leave it alone.

She might as well have dangled a scented cloth under the nose of a bloodhound.

‘I’m aware of that,’ he said flatly.

‘Then why are you doing this?’

When she thought about it, she realized it was simply what he did. All she was to him was another citizen of the city of New York. One he probably felt pressured to help because of her connection to his family. She shook her head. She didn’t need this, least of all from him.

‘Tell me what’s going on.’

The tone of his deep voice inflicted more damage than anything he’d said or done in five and a half years to get to her and she hated him for it. Mostly because the rough rumble was accompanied by a softening of the blue in his eyes, which made it feel as if he understood. As always when there was the slightest danger someone might see through one of her masks, Jo fought fire with fire. ‘I’ll tell you what’s going on when you tell me why it is you can’t sleep.’

To his credit he disguised his reaction better than he had before. But the second the softer hue of his eyes became an ice-cold blue, Jo regretted what she’d said. She shouldn’t have thrown it in his face. Not to get at him. It was low.

‘What makes you think I’m not sleeping?’

Jo wavered on an indecisive tightrope between familiar ground and freefalling into the unknown. ‘You were awake in the middle of the night. And you still look tired.’

‘I work shifts. And it’s not always easy to adjust,’ he replied without missing a beat. Stretching a long arm across the table, he set the coffee beside her computer. ‘Your turn.’

It would have been if he’d told her the truth.

‘You’ve been a cop for, what, eight years now?’