Playing Love's Odds (A Classic Sexy Romantic Suspense) (12 page)

Who was he kidding? Childlike and friendly didn't stand a chance.

With one trembling hand, he tugged on the ribbon holding her hair and threaded his fingers into the silken strands that floated free. His other hand squeezed her bottom, lifting her hard against the all-too-thin cotton of his shorts.

Her crisp white blouse scraped against his paper-thin T-shirt, reminding him of the miles of civilized distance between them. He resented the barrier, didn't want to be reminded. He wanted to strip away the starch along with their differences.

Three short steps and he backed her into the wall.

It was a flash-fire of a kiss. An all out fire-breathing dragon of a kiss. A kiss so hot the cinders scorched a hole in his reason. Swept up in the firestorm, he devoured her mouth, slanting his head one way then the other, sweeping his tongue deep inside to curl intimately around hers. There was nothing childlike, nothing friendly about this embrace. It was purely carnal and exactly what he needed.

Holding her head, he nibbled down her neck. His hand roamed upward to her waist, then higher, until his palm swallowed the curve of one breast. She whimpered and ground her hips into his. He groaned and sank his teeth into her neck.

A booming knock rattled the door in its frame.

She jerked back, bumping her head on the wall. Like a startled doe she froze, her wide-eyed gaze telling him all he needed to know. She was as caught unawares as he.

He took a step back, sliding a glance over her mussed clothing and his crowded shorts. Her tongue whisked over her lips, bruised and swollen from his assault. He rubbed his thumb over the tender puffy flesh, looking for damage, finding only desire. More of his and an equal amount of hers.

Cursing himself for his lack of control, Hannah for getting to him, and his brother for his inevitable bad timing, he leaned his forehead on hers and took a deep breath. Then another. Not that either did a bit to settle his seething, frothing nerves.

"I guess we'd be used to this by now," he mumbled around a rueful smile. "And that better be Gideon. Neither of us is in any shape to receive visitors."

Rubbing the back of her head, Hannah ducked under his arm and snatched her hair ribbon from the floor. "I'll be right back," she muttered before scooting down the hall.

Logan took a minute to breathe. To put Hannah from his mind. Of the two, only breathing came easy. The knock sounded again. He jerked the door open, hoping Gideon's eyesight might've begun to fail at his advanced age of thirty-eight.

A vain hope. His brother's lengthy gaze took inventory of Logan's appearance. He arched one dark eyebrow in wicked question.

"Don't say a word," Logan growled. Needing a quick and viable distraction he reached for the stereo's volume control knob, checking the seductive music mid-beat. It reminded him too much of the incessant pounding in every pulse point of his body. And the matching meter he'd counted in Hannah's.

"As always my timing's off," Gideon teased, his upper lip curled in a depraved brotherly grin. Like they'd just furthered the cause of male bonding, he punched Logan in the arm and invited himself into the room. "You ready?"

"Gimme a minute," Logan grumbled, frowning at Gideon and rubbing his hand over his bruised biceps. "Wait here."

He brushed by his brother and headed for the back of the house. He needed to talk to Hannah.

They met at the door to the hallway and stopped, eyeing one another like strangers striving for recognition. Or lovers longing for more. Logan couldn't decide which. His eyes searched hers; hers followed on a quest of their own.

He wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts. Hannah sucked in a shaky breath and leaned toward him. The tense moment dragged on until, with the finesse of a foghorn, Gideon cleared his throat.

"As much as I'd like to stand around and watch you two eyeball each other, I need to get back to work."

Logan planted his hands on his hips, resigned to the obvious. Nothing would be settled until they were alone. It couldn't be soon enough for him. Reluctantly, he made introductions. "Hannah, my brother, Gideon. Gid, Hannah Evans."

Hannah extended her hand and Logan was a bit interested to find she had to clear her throat. Twice. "Brothers, huh? I can see the resemblance in your charm."

Gideon held onto her hand a fraction too long for Logan's liking then flashed his dimples. "We got all the personality. Christian got the looks."

Hannah's eyes widened. She pulled her hand away and turned to Logan. "Christian Burke is your brother?"

"Yeah," he growled. After all these years he should've been used to his brothers getting the glory. For some reason this time it was different. He wanted to be Hannah's only hero.

"I haven't heard the name Christian Burke in two or three years. I never missed a Jets' game he quarterbacked."

"You and thousands of other drooling women," Logan mumbled.

She sent him a withering glare, before turning back to Gideon. "What happened to him?"

"Only Christian can answer that," Gideon replied. "I wish you luck. He's never talked about it to any of us."

"Whatever the reason he quit, it's a shame. He had quite a career ahead of him."

"And you've got some major work ahead of you." Gideon cast a glance around the cluttered room. "What's the deal?"

"Just doing a little unplanned spring cleaning," Hannah answered. She grabbed a throw pillow from behind the door, tossed it into an overstuffed chair in the corner of the room, then righted an ivy that had crept under the glass coffee table.

Logan's glance roamed between them. He didn't like being the one to make three a crowd. He and Hannah needed to settle this fire between them. He interrupted before the two-sided conversation went any further. "Thought you were in a hurry, Big Brother."

Gideon's puzzled gaze shifted to Logan, as if suddenly remembering his brother's presence. He smoothed his forefinger and thumb over his top lip to hide his amusement. "Just waiting on you, Little Brother," he said, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops and leaning back against the door.

"Then wait in the car," Logan said pointedly.

Gideon's mouth twitched. He pushed off the door and offered Hannah his hand. "A pleasure, Miss Evans. Hope to see you again, like sometime when my brother's in his right mind."

Hannah shot Logan a sly glance and patted his shoulder. "It's nice to know he has you for an example. He seems to need some direction in life."

"Hannah," Logan growled in warning.

"I'm kidding." She nudged him in the ribs. "You're doing fine wandering on your own." She turned her attention to Gideon again. "It was nice to meet you, too."

Logan opened the front door. "Thank you and good-night."

"Don't take too long, Little Brother. I've got a business to run," Gideon said, eyes twinkling. Logan slammed the door.

"Your brother has his own business?" Hannah asked, staring at the closed door as Logan released a long irritable breath.

"Burke's Body. He rebuilds classic cars." Logan didn't want to talk about Gideon any more than he wanted to talk about Christian. He wanted to talk about the two of them. Period.

"Like your T-bird?"

Damn her persistence. Weary, he rubbed his hand over his face. "Yeah. Look, I don't want to talk about Gideon."

She laced her fingers behind her and leaned against the wall. "So I noticed. What do you want to talk about?"

"That kiss." He took a step closer.

"What about it?"

Logan glared down at her. "What do you mean what about it? You can't kiss me like that and drop it."

"Why not?" she asked, all wide-eyed naiveté.

Her innocent act grated on his shredded nerves. "It didn't mean anything to you?"

"Of course it meant something to me."

Some reassurance that was. "What?" he demanded, parking his left hand flat on the wall level with her chin.

She cocked her head to the opposite side. "I'm not sure. What about you?"

"What about me?" His right index finger caught a lock of hair that had escaped her ribbon and twisted it around his fist.

"What did it mean to you?" She tugged against his hold.

"More." Logan realized the honesty of his admission. "I want more."

"More kisses? Or more than a kiss?"

Her voice was breathless, her eyes candid and honest. So was his answer. "Both, I think."

"You think?"

"Not too clearly right now."

"Then we're even," she murmured, her voice a seductive whisper. "I'm awfully fuzzy myself."

"Good," he mumbled and pressed his upper body weight against her. Capturing her legs between his, he pinned her gently against the wall and, using her hair as a rein, reeled her close. "Maybe this will clear things up for you."

He touched his lips to hers, wanting a quick fix, a reminder of her fire, an assurance of his own existence. He got all three.

"I think you only confused the issue," she said long minutes later after he lifted his head.

"Me too." He ran his tongue over the seam of her lips.

"What do you want from me, Logan Burke?" she moaned.

He looked into her eyes, the greens and golds spinning in riotous color. He sensed her confusion in the tiny crease between her brow and her hesitance in the fingers digging into his waist. The set of her shoulders drew tight with tension. And the want in her heated breath mingled with his.

But twenty-four hours of conversation barely defined friendship much less covered the do's and don'ts of taking a professional acquaintance into a personal relationship. Her question was justified. What did he want from her?

"I'm not sure," he answered, silently amending it to everything, though he had no right to ask her to share his pain.

Ever so slowly, she slid her hands from his waist to his chest and, with the barest tip of one nail, drew a circle around his nipple. Around and around until she got the response she wanted. More response than he should give. He ached. Fiercely.

"Then until you do, let's keep this business, Burke. Besides," she added, her voice husky with want, "Gideon's waiting."

She moved to the other nipple and he sucked in his breath. "Don't remind me," he groaned as much from her touch as from knowing he had to go.

"I'll call you Monday morning and set up that appointment." She slid both hands around his neck, her fingers tangling in the length of his hair.

"You do that." He tried to keep the whole of his desire from his voice. Not that it mattered. Enough of it was pressed against her belly to carve a permanent niche there. "The sooner I settle this case the sooner I can start work on the next one."

Her eyes flashed a sensual challenge. "What might that be?"

"This." He swept her up against him and settled his mouth over hers. She left him breathless, speechless, suspended in time. Something he could get used to, something he could come to need. Something he didn't have the right to think about.

Anchoring her with an arm around her waist, he molded her hips to his and made love to her mouth. What started as a lark, a way to get her goat, royally flopped. His need was real.

He needed her reason to give him direction, her logic to set him on the straight and narrow. He'd been wandering too long, listless, aimless and coldly detached. Life had seemed safer that way, easier to exist instead of live. Until Hannah.

She melted against him in sensual surrender, then drew away and whispered, "You'd better go," her lips glistening with his kiss, her voice soft, seductive, reluctant.

She was right. He had to go. Or he'd want to stay forever. Frowning with frustration and genuine concern, he asked, "You feel safe staying alone the rest of the weekend? You can come back to the beach."

"I'll be fine."

He didn't want to hear that. He wanted to hear that she couldn't live without him. "Sure?"

She nodded. "Thanks for everything."

"Everything?" He had to know.

She seemed to need a minute to think. Logan glared down at her. Finally, she smiled, an honest-to-goodness, cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die smile. "Yeah. Everything."

"What the hell was that all about?"

Logan dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, rubbing away the burning sting that reminded him he needed some sleep. Refusing to meet his brother's probing gaze, he answered vaguely, "Define 'that'."

"You. Hannah. That 'that'."

"Oh, that." He didn't want to talk about that. He didn't really want to think about that. His mind gave him little choice in the matter. Hannah was etched onto the back of his eyeballs. Everywhere he looked, every time he opened his eyes, every time he closed his eyes, she was there.

Gideon blew a long whistling breath through his teeth. "You two involved?"

"She's a client." That was honest enough, if not a bit ambiguous.

"That's what worries me." Gideon shot him a sideways glare.

"Don't worry." Logan watched the freeway exit ramp slide by in a blur of gray concrete. He scrunched down in his seat and gritted his teeth against the reply he knew was coming. The same one every member of his family gave.

"It's my job, Little Brother."

"Well, consider yourself fired," he shot back, unbelievably irritated. When would they let go? When would they let him work through his own mistakes? When would they quit reminding him, even unintentionally, of his failures?

Gideon whipped the car into the far right lane. "C'mon Logan. I'm only thinking of you."

"What you're thinking about happened years ago." With his elbow propped on the padded door, Logan leaned his chin into his fist and stared out the window, waiting.

The ensuing silence was long and tense and spoke of nothing but truth. "Can you blame me?"

Logan had to hand it to him. At least Gideon had the guts to be frank. Another silence. More honesty. "No. I've been making a few comparisons of my own."

"And?" Gideon pulled to a stop sign and faced his brother, his aviator sunglasses hiding his eyes but not the worry lines crinkling the corners.

Logan sighed and twisted in his seat, his knee jamming up against the gear shift. "Hannah is Hannah. Period. For now she's a case. We'll see about later later."