Part 12 (2/2)
He raised an eyebrow. ”Interesting? I think that might be an insult.”
She had the grace to look embarra.s.sed. She had obviously sought a noncommittal word. ”No insult intended,” she finally said. ”It was ... very nice.”
”Nice? We're going from insult to injury.”
She had to smile. ”What about mind-boggling?”
”Better,” he conceded.
She studied him for a moment. ”You're trying to distract me. You're a kind man, Detective.”
He chuckled at that. ”That's a rare observation, and I'm no such thing. I didn't want to stop.”
”But you did.”
”To my regret.”
”Why don't I believe that?”
”Believe it, lady.”
She stared at him for a long time with those blue eyes, and he wondered how he had ever thought them cold. ”Thank you.”
He decided right then he had to keep away from her. There was something about this woman. An honesty he liked. A pa.s.sion he liked even more.
He dropped his hand from her face, which he'd continued to caress. To comfort, he realized. He couldn't remember when last he had done that with a woman. When last he'd wanted to.
An agonizing loneliness coursed through him.
He turned and purposely looked at the disaster that had once been the very nice interior of a very nice home. The type of home that was beyond his means.
He tried to think of that rather than of the ache deep inside him.
Meredith Rawson was as far beyond him and his world as a star in the sky. He would hurt both of them if he allowed himself any involvement.
”Let me help you clean up,” he said, hoping that physical exertion would quiet the need raging in him and satisfy his sudden need to protect her.
”You've done enough,” she said in a voice just a little ragged. ”Thank you.”
”You can't get rid of me that fast.”
”I think it's a good idea.”
”Do you now?”
Their voices were low, almost like those of lovers exchanging secrets. It was all he could do to keep from moving closer to her. From her eyes and body language, he suspected it was all she could do not to take a step forward.
He didn't want to leave her alone. Not here. Not after all she'd been through in the past few days. He'd seldom seen such wanton destruction and he wondered whether the rest of the house was like this. There was a twisted maliciousness in it.
But someone had obviously tried to kill her last night. There was nothing more malicious than that.
”Did Morris offer you protection?”
”I doubt whether New Orleans's finest has time to protect everyone whose home has been burglarized.”
”This is more than that. You know that. Not to mention the fact that someone tried to run you down last night. You're a former prosecutor. That could be the reason.”
Their gazes clung. He wondered whether his voice was as sensuous as hers sounded to him. They were courting in every word, every inflection.
Courting? Such an old-fas.h.i.+oned word. Yet it fit in some strange way.
'Stop! End it now.'
He didn't know if he could. He didn't know whether he ever could in her presence. They were like dynamite and fire together. He'd suspected as much before, which was why he'd been defensive with her.
She pulled away this time, stepping back and looking at the room again.
”Let's clean it up,” he said.
”You don't have--”
”Do you have a weapon?” he interrupted.
”No, but I have a permit. It's on my agenda after finding a cleaning service.”
”Know how to use one?”
”Cleaning service?” she asked with a weak grin.
He frowned at her feeble attempt at humor.
”I trained at the police academy after receiving some threats as a prosecutor,” she added after a moment's silence.
”When is the last time you practiced?”
”Three years ago.”
”Time for a refresher course.”
”I realize that. I'll do it soon.”
”Very soon,” he emphasized, then changed direction. ”You're not planning to stay here alone tonight, are you? Or am I taking something for granted?”
”That I live alone?”
”Yes.” He wanted to bite back the word, eradicate the sudden jealousy that rose up.
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