Part 12 (1/2)
Harry went to get a piece of cake and returned. Night had settled around them and the sky filled with a million stars, far more than she'd ever seen in New Orleans. The plaintive Mexican music made her ache with loneliness. There was no one she could trust. There might never be again.
'NEW ORLEANS'.
Gage didn't give a d.a.m.n what Meredith Rawson wanted. He sat in his car in the parking lot until he saw her leave. Then he followed.
He was not going to let her go into her house alone, not after what had happened earlier.
He wondered whether he had been partly responsible. Could it have been Rick Fuller? Had his intervention turned Fuller's anger in another direction? If it had, Gage would see the man buried under the jail, regardless of any support he had in the department. Too often it had turned a deaf ear to spousal abuse.
After seeing that Meredith Rawson was safe, he planned an interview with Fuller.
He kept her car in sight as she drove home, and parked down the street when she turned into a driveway sheltered by giant oaks. He quickly got out of his car and reached her side as she opened the front door.
She gave him a hostile look. ”You weren't invited.”
”I invited myself.”
”That's arrogant.”
”I've been told that before.”
”I bet you have.”
”Do I detect petulance?”
”It's daylight, Detective. Detective Morris had an alarm system installed this morning.” She looked down at the paper in her hand and darted inside, punching numbers in a new alarm detection box.
He looked at it. ”Good choice.”
She turned and glared at him. ”Are you satisfied now?”
”Nope.” He went inside and looked around. It was as bad as he'd ever seen a home ransacked. ”Wow,” he said.
”An elegant observation,” she said.
He was going to retort but saw her slump against a wall. She looked vulnerable and tired.
”Hey, did you get any sleep?”
”Would you have?”
”No. I think you're gutsy as h.e.l.l for doing as well as you have.”
She looked at him then, and he saw tears in her eyes, saw the way she was trying to hold them back.
”I'm just so ... angry,” she said.
He didn't intend to do it, but his hand cupped her shoulder, and then somehow she was in his arms.
He held her for a moment, his arms tightening around her as he felt her body shake. ”It's okay,” he said. ”Just let it go.”
”I don't want to,” she said. Her tone had the sound of a small child protesting an adult's demand. Well, she was ent.i.tled.
Regardless of the circ.u.mstances, she felt d.a.m.ned good in his arms. She had the slightest scent of lilacs. Her short hair was silky and her body was rounded in just the right places. Yet despite the momentary weakness, he sensed her spine of steel. Sensed, h.e.l.l. He felt it.
Just as he felt the heat rise between them. The air in the small s.p.a.ce separating them crackled, threatening to ignite. His right hand moved to her left arm, his fingers running up and down in slow, caressing trails.
He'd always recognized the attraction between them, had thought it might be the attraction of opposites--he the product of a New Orleans slum and she the product of New Orleans society. There had been a wall between prosecutor and street cop as well. While they were not exactly enemies, the success of the prosecutor depended on the competence of the cop, and vice versa. Too many times, their respective translations of procedure were at odds.
None of that mattered at the moment. He had a need to comfort, but he had another need as well.
He bent down, his lips barely skimming hers, but that fleeting touch was enough to ignite the sparks. Warmth spread throughout his body, then centered in his groin.
He hadn't known what to expect. Maybe ice that would cool the d.a.m.ned heat burning him inside out.
But there was no ice. Instead she stood on tiptoes, offering her lips to him.
As he deepened the kiss, he tightened his arms around her. The storm gathering around them became explosive, filled with hot expectancy. Her lips yielded, yet it was not a surrender. More, he supposed, like astonishment and curiosity at the currents that raged between them.
Like his own feelings. How long had it been since he'd felt this alive?
Her mouth opened hesitantly under his, greeting him with an unexpected need that he felt straight through to his core. Trapped by the range of emotions, he looked in her eyes. The blue he always thought so cool was now more like the color in the heart of a flame.
The kiss took on a wild, fierce quality given and reciprocated, blocking out the world around them.
The blaze ignited deep within him and spread. He knew she felt it too as she pressed closer to him, clinging to him with a need that equaled his own.
He knew how unwise this was. Her life had been jeopardized, her mother was near death, and her private world had been tossed. Desperation born of fear was part of her response. But that was the logical, civilized part of him speaking.
He had no interest in being a gentleman at the moment.
His hand automatically reached for the top b.u.t.ton of her s.h.i.+rt as his mouth moved from her lips and up the side of her face. He tasted salt and felt moisture. Reluctantly, he raised his head. One tear, then another, wandered forlornly down her face.
He may not be a gentleman, but neither was he a cad.
She was too vulnerable now. Much too vulnerable. Too much had happened too fast, and he knew the drugging effect of one disaster after another.
He also knew she hated those tears.
He gently kissed them away, hesitated for the slightest fraction of a second, then stepped back, ignoring--or trying to--the urgent condition of his body.
The cool and controlled Ms. Rawson looked thoroughly bewildered.
Well, he was d.a.m.nably bewildered himself.
He reached out and touched her face, brus.h.i.+ng away the last of the visible tears. He thought about making a wisecrack about never having made a woman burst into tears before, but he knew it would fall flat.
”I'm sorry,” he said. ”I shouldn't have done that.”
”Why not?” she said, surprising him. ”I think I needed that. It reminded me how ... interesting it is to be alive.”