She drew back. “Whoa. You think I’m making this up?”
“Your bullshit is so hard to follow, I have no idea.”
Well. That made things a whole lot easier. “Fine. Then don’t bother trying. Whoever asked you to anyway? Not me.” She turned, but as usual, she’d gotten no more than a foot away before he swung her back around.
Gaby shot to her toes to shove her face toward his. “I’m getting real sick and tired of your manhandling.”
He kissed her.
Right there, in front of everyone.
She jerked her mouth free. “What are you—!”
Hauling her right back to him, he kissed her hard enough to bend her back, melt her resistance and her good intentions. His arms clamped around her, keeping her arms pinned to her sides. With her back bowed and her feet off the ground, she had no leverage.
But what the hell?
She loved it. She needed it.
After suffering the agonizing possibilities of a bomb, Luther’s heated attention obliterated her agitation. She reciprocated with fervor, biting his mouth, arching her hips into his.
In the next instant, her feet touched the ground and he released her.
Leaving her cold, he said, “Let’s go,” and with his fingers wrapped around her wrist, began dragging her across the street.
Befuddled, Gaby sucked in air and tried to shake the butterflies from her brain. In her present state, opposition was futile. Hoping he’d take her somewhere private, she asked, “Where to?”
“I have some men guarding the alley where you found the body. I want to go back there and check it out. Then I need to call in to see if anyone’s found out anything about the addicts.”
He wanted her along on police business? Well, hell.
“Then,” he said, stressing the word, “you and I are going to calmly have a meal, talk, and go over the rules. One— more—time.”
“I repeat,” Gaby said, “I called. What more do you want from me?”
At his car, he stopped. Hands on his hips, brows fused, Luther gave her his profile. After a heavy pause, he looked at her again. “What I want is still up in the air at this point. You’re uncooperative, cantankerous, angry and . . .” His voice lowered, full of uncertainty. “Crazy as it is, insane as it makes me, I’m starting to think that everything with you still won’t be enough.”
Chapter 11
From across the linen-covered tabletop, Luther regarded Gaby. No matter the provocation, he had to keep his cool—because he knew she wanted him to lose it.
In the muted restaurant light, the artificial purple highlights competed with the more natural bluish hues of her inky dark hair. It grew fast, already looking shaggy again, unkempt . . . sexy as hell.
He loved the feel of her silky hair, such a stark contrast to her caustic manner and cutting wit.
Other patrons wore jackets, and he felt the chill of the air-conditioning. In her sleeveless shirt and short skirt, she should have goose bumps.
But she didn’t.
“Are you cold?”
Distracted, she shook her head. “No.”
Of course not. Gaby often seemed immune to the trivial discomforts that afflicted most people. She did without sleep, food, friendship, security . . . It drove him insane.
Constantly shifting, her light blue eyes kept a vigilant watch over the rest of the customers. Long dark lashes softened the intensity of her surveillance. Even pinched together, her lips looked soft, pliant, and very kissable.
He was obsessed, without knowing why.
She fed him an explanation, and even when the more rational part of his mind told him to hold back, he bought it hook, line, and sinker. More so than any other person he’d known, Gaby radiated sincerity, credibility—when her actions and words were so preposterous.
“Mort and Ann seem pretty serious.”
Without looking at him, she said, “Tell me about it.”
He thought of Morty Vance, and how Ann had given in to her fondness for the unlikely hero. They were a mismatched pair with Ann vibrant, professional, masterful, and beautiful, and Morty backward, insecure, and . . . dumpy.
But Ann was happier than he’d ever seen her.
“You’re not surprised?”
“Not really, not after seeing them together. It’s destiny.”
So much surety in that simple statement. Gaby seldom had doubts on anything.
Was it Morty’s connection to Gaby that led Ann to a fallacious appeal?
Whatever ethereal power Gaby possessed, she had ensnared him. Morty, after aligning himself with her, seemed to have the same power.
Watching Gaby climax once wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot. He wanted to be inside her the next time she came. He wanted to ride her hard, to conquer her, and destroy all her barriers.
And he wanted to protect her, to take that abstruse sadness from her eyes.
If he didn’t have her soon, he’d go nuts. But before committing that possible physical faux pas, he needed to understand her better.
He needed to know what made her tick.
It wasn’t the want of money, companionship, security, or comfort. Gaby made her own way, on her own terms. She needed no one and nothing and that made her unique, not only from every other woman he’d known, but every other human being he knew.
She accepted sexual interaction with him—under duress. But even there, her acceptance was deviant, being more about curiosity than corporeal pleasure.
So . . . why did she ever give in to him?
What made her take such staggering chances with her life, just to help others?
Sagacious, mature, emotionally battered beyond the years of a twenty-one-year-old woman, she intrigued him in boundless ways.
Remembering Gaby’s unfaltering and careless dash into a blazing building, her stoic stance over a live bomb, left Luther’s heart palpitating and his skin clammy with dread.
“You’re not still shook up over your ordeal, are you?”
She snorted. “No. Why would I be?”
Her unparalleled will would be the death of him. Either from her tragic youth, or from some other influence, Gaby lacked a self-protection mechanism. She’d protect others, but not herself.
Holding her fork in her fist like a weapon, she again scanned the restaurant. She was tense, nervous, and barely eating the burger and fries he’d gotten her.
Luther took one quick visual trip over her lithe and lean body. “Want to tell me what’s wrong now?”
Her gaze darted to his. “Nothing. Why?”
He nodded to the fork held in her tight grasp. “You’re not eating.”
Expression pinched, she slapped down the utensil, picked up the burger, bit off a chunk, and chewed. “Happy?” she asked around a mouthful.
“Not really, no.” Again, her slender throat, her smooth, unmarred skin drew his fascinated attention. For a woman who took every opportunity to leap into the most menacing of battles, she had no discernible scars. “I won’t be happy until I get you figured out.”
That statement choked her.
Bits of burger, bun, and condiment shot Luther’s way. He picked up his napkin and, without comment, dabbed the mess from his shirt.
Eyes bugging, Gaby grabbed up her cola, took a big swig, and washed down the rest of the food. Still a little strangled, she glared at him. “Damn it, look what you did.”
“What?”
She glanced around, and Luther could have sworn her face filled with heat.
Self-conscious? Unbelievable. Whenever he got near Gaby, he found new depths to her personality. “Everyone chokes, honey. It’s not a big deal.”
She didn’t agree. Pushing aside her food, she announced, “I’m done. Let’s get out of here.”
Enthralled, Luther studied her. “I never thought to see you embarrassed.”
Anger deepened her blush. “Kiss my ass.”
Humor sparkled above his irritation. “Eventually, I’d love to.” He watched her, saw her incredulity. “I’d like to kiss you everywhere.” He put his elbows on the table, and repeated softly, “Everywhere.”