In Close Quarters. Candace Irvin
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“Are you telling me you got this during a drug bust?”
Several strands of dark hair slipped past his shoulders as he nodded, shadowing the side of his face. She ignored the urge to brush them back, squelching the spurt of disappointment when he did it himself. “I tried to tell you at the door. The agent I filled in for had a major heroin buy lined up for tonight. Joaquín was our point of contact. Unfortunately he fell ill. My friend tried a new seafood restaurant on the Embarcadero last night and received food poisoning for his patronage. We were fortunate, though, for while Joaquín came by referral through one of his informers, he had not yet met the dealer face-to-face. And since we resemble each other well enough…” He shrugged.
The silence that followed told her that was all the explanation she was going to get. She wasn’t even annoyed. Because he hadn’t stood her up. But he could have called.
His thumb scorched the curve of her jaw as he tipped her face down slightly and captured her gaze. “My message telling you this, you did not receive it?”
“No.”
“From your reception, I thought not.” His frown deepened. “But surely you did not believe I forgot?”
She glanced past that probing gaze—and the hurt lurking within. Unfortunately she had a feeling the heat searing the tips of her ears had given her away, anyway.
“You did.” A sigh. One honed so deeply by disappointment it cut straight through her. “Cariño.”
She ignored the gentle rebuke, focusing on the wad of gauze until she was mesmerized by the heady contrast of her own light skin pressing into his dark.
Don’t let him get to you. Stay cool.
But her body betrayed her. First her fingers trembled, then her entire hand. She stared at it in shock. That hadn’t happened since med school, and then only out of nerves. To make matters worse, she was suddenly, acutely, aware of his musk. Subtle and seductive. Her panic must have masked it when he’d arrived, but it was definitely there now. His scent drifted dangerously close and then it was swirling into her lungs, up to her head, edging out every other thought in her brain.
Good Lord, why TJ?
Eight hundred men on her last ship, and not one of them had ever affected her like this man could.
Focus. Check the bleeding. See if it’s slowed.
Then stitch this damned dusky chest back together and kick its owner out of your apartment. Out of your life.
She started to.
She did manage to lift the gauze, was relieved to see the bleeding had slowed to a trickle, was even about to round the bed again and grab her bag, when he stopped her. Before she realized what had happened, TJ had trapped both her hands in his, her bare thighs between his denim-clad ones, and he held her. Just held her. Well, he couldn’t make her look.
She wouldn’t let him. If she did, she’d be lost.
Since the day Reese and Jade had married, she’d known that standing this close to this man’s dark eyes and sensual lips would be her downfall—and that was before she’d had his naked chest to contend with. She was so close she could feel the heat radiating off him, the desire.
She was not going to look.
“Karin?”
Dammit, she looked—and she was lost.
Somehow she’d known Tomás would kiss like this. He wasn’t even touching her. Not with his mouth, anyway. But he was kissing her. With his eyes. He stared at her lips, searing them with that smoldering gaze, sliding the fire slowly across, then over the curve of her jaw and down her throat. She could feel his eyes igniting the pulse at the base of her neck until it throbbed. Until she throbbed.
But still, he didn’t move.
He refused to douse the inferno he’d just lit. Six bloody inches of air between them, and he just stared.
Burning. Searing.
“Tomás?” Her voice was hoarse, clipped, and to her utter humiliation, there was no mistaking her own desire.
“Shhh.”
He released her hands and brought his fingers to her face, gently cupping her cheeks. He drew her face down slowly, so smoothly she hadn’t even realized she was holding her breath. Until his mouth grazed hers—and she exhaled softly. He caught the puff between his lips and she swore she felt him smile as he gave it right back, wrapped in his slow deep sigh.
The tip of his tongue followed closely behind.
Just barely enough to drive her insane as he traced first her bottom lip, then the top. Then again…and again. Slowly, lightly, steadily, until her lips were damp and hungry. Until she was hungry. And not just for this light caress of flesh, this whisper of heat. She wanted more.
She wanted him.
The realization slammed into her like an ambulance screaming down the freeway at full code. She jerked her head back and stared into his smoldering gaze.
What the hell was she doing?
How could she stand here and kiss this man? This was the same man who’d admitted to his own blasted reputation. Hell, even his best friend had confirmed it before he’d clammed up and told her to discuss it with TJ himself.
Why should she?
In addition to his reputation, TJ had proven himself a liar as well—and that, she’d seen on her own.
The reception.
She tore her mind from the memory and fused it to the gaping laceration on his chest. At least the bleeding hadn’t worsened.
“Cariño?”
She took a deep breath and dragged her gaze up, only to stare into the one emotion she never thought she’d see in this man’s eyes. Uncertainty.
Stick with what works.
She took another breath. “Karin. Sorry, Agent Vásquez, this time, you’ve been busted. I just heard you say it right.” She pinned a brisk professional smile to her lips and nudged him down until he was lying on the bed. “Now, unless you plan on waking up the thoracic surgeon in apartment 506, you’d better get comfortable—and find something to hold on to, because this is going to hurt.”
Hurt?
TJ stared at the cool smile that did not quite reach Karin’s eyes. He clenched his fists and locked them to his sides to keep from reaching out and dragging her back as she rounded the bed to retrieve her supplies. Hurt? This lady did not know the meaning of the word. If she thought a couple of needle pricks could hurt him, she was wrong. This puny scratch did not hurt.
Not like that distant smile.
But that smile would be cutting much deeper if he had not just discovered what was behind it. He had thought his past had finally rendered her immune to him. But he now knew differently. Her facade was just that—una ilusión. Smoke. Somewhere over the past two days he had begun to suspect it. But that kiss had just convinced him.
That kiss.
No. Now was not the time to dwell on that.
Nor was now the time to touch those glorious sleep-tousled curls. It had taken nearly every restraint he possessed to resist digging his fingers into that mass of spun gold. And then it had taken every one of the rest not to tug the straps of that slip of blue silk right off her soft shoulders and down her hips.
He ripped his gaze from that same silk as the fabric skirted the upper reaches of her thighs and fused his stare to her busy hands. If she caught him looking, she would no doubt realize precisely what she was wearing—or rather, what she was not—and then, stitches or no, he could guarantee she would stop her ministrations long enough to find a robe to cover those enchanting curves.
Though how she would find a robe, he knew