Heidi Rice - Too Close for Comfort

‘News about Brad?’

He frowned, his happy buttons not feeling all that happy any more. ‘We picked him up at ten this morning. He’s in a cell facing more charges than he can count.’

‘I see.’ Her voice sounded casual, but then she fixed him with that cautious gaze and he knew it wasn’t. ‘Did he have any of my dad’s money on him?’

He shook his head and her face fell.

‘Right.’ She looked down, but not before he saw the shadow of distress.

He shoved his hand into his pocket, resisting the urge to run his finger down her cheek, and stroke the distress away.

For one tense moment he thought she might cry. But then she seemed to pull herself back from the brink.

‘Well, I guess this is where we part company, then, Montoya,’ she murmured.

Something tugged hard under his breastbone. And that surprised him.

The threat of female tears didn’t usually faze him, but there was something about Iona McCabe’s stoicism—and those sultry eyes, so large and wary in her small face—that had fazed him.

She let out a weighty sigh. ‘Do you think it would be okay for me to stay here another night? I could pay any rent that’s due.’

His sympathy dissolved. She looked scared but defiant, like a puppy who expected to be kicked but was determined not to yelp.

He didn’t deserve that.

He trusted her. In fact, she sort of fascinated him. She was feisty and unpredictable And refreshingly transparent and he hadn’t been able to get his mind off her, even though he’d tried. But it was real clear that however attracted she might be to him, she didn’t trust him. And while he’d understood her animosity last night, he was finding it hard not to take it personally now.

‘Damn it, Iona, you can stay here as long as you need.’ In fact, he planned to insist on it. She might think she was safe, but he knew different. A woman alone was always vulnerable, but especially a woman as impulsive as her. ‘And there’s no charge—the place was empty anyway.’

‘Why would you do that? I’m not your responsibility.’ She sounded genuinely confused, making his annoyance increase.

‘Because, weirdly enough, I’m not the kind of guy who kicks women when they’re down.’ Unlike your pal Brad .

‘Okay, well, thank you, I appreciate not having to leave tonight,’ she said. But then her chin stuck out in a stubborn show of strength. ‘But I’ll make sure I’m gone by tomorrow.’

I don’t think so. Not until I’m sure you’ll be safe .

He bit back the retort, seeing the mutinous expression on her face. In his experience, pushing her only made her push back. And anyhow, he didn’t want to argue with her. Not tonight.

‘How about we talk about it over dinner in Santa Cruz? I know a place that does the best enchiladas on the West Coast.’

Her face went completely blank for a second and she blinked, her eyes going round with astonishment.

That had sure shut her up .

‘You’re n-not serious?’ she stammered, her accent thickening.

Damn, she’s even cuter when she’s flustered .

Had Detective Sexy just asked her on a date? Or was she hallucinating?

‘I’m always serious about Manuel’s enchiladas,’ he replied, while the tempting glint in his eye implied the opposite. ‘My treat,’ he continued, apparently not the least bit bothered by her shock.

But then she suspected he was probably used to that reaction from women.

What with that devastating face—not to mention that subtle I-can-have-you-any-time-I-want-you smile—she already knew he was an expert at charming women out of their panties. She’d only got a glimpse of his charm the night before—but she was standing in the full glare of it now, and getting a little light-headed.

Then she made the mistake of drawing a breath into her lungs. The fresh scent of laundry soap, a zesty hint of aftershave and something musky and entirely masculine drifted up her nostrils.

Good Lord, he’s got so many let’s-get-naked hormones pumping off him, I can actually smell them .

She pressed her arms into her breasts as her traitorous nipples began to ache.

‘But why…?’ she began, struggling to come up with a coherent response.

He leaned forward and whispered, ‘Because I’m starving, querida . Aren’t you?’

His breath feathered her earlobe and sent the pinpricks careering down her neck and straight into her nether regions. She drew her head back, and got fixated on those penetrating blue eyes. She didn’t answer the question, because she was fairly certain they weren’t talking about enchiladas any more.

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