The Heat Is On (8 page)

And while she was being so honest, she might as
well admit that no man in recent history had come close.

Maybe no man ever.

And wasn't that a terrifying thought all on its own?

“Thanks again, Bella,” Tyler said, and stepped outside the door. She followed, wanting to see if the early evening had cooled down any.

A loud shot sounded, echoing in the still air, and the glass window just behind them shattered. Before Bella could even begin to process any of it, Tyler grabbed her and knocked her to the ground.

It seemed like forever, but it was probably only seconds before the glass finished raining down over them. Finally, Tyler lifted his head. “Bella?” When he sat up, his glasses were crooked on his nose. “You okay?”

Her knees and palms were skinned, but that was nothing compared to being dead. “Yes. What the hell was that?”

“Something exploded your window.”

“Something?”

“I think someone shot at us.” Tyler stood, then pulled her to her feet, as well, running his gaze down her, then down himself. “No injuries. No injuries is good. It means we can freak out now.”

Bella stared up at the blown-out window of the shop. “A gunshot?” Oh, God. Not again. “Are you sure?”

There were a few people gathering on the sidewalk,
murmuring amongst themselves. “I phoned 911,” one of them called out. It was Cindy, who worked at the art gallery across the street and bought a croissant from Bella every morning without fail. She was still holding her cell phone. “I don't think I've ever heard a real gunshot before.”

Bella was still staring at the hollow window, a matching hollowness sinking in her gut.

Looking shell-shocked, Tyler sank to the curb. Just as shell-shocked, she sat next to him. “Can I borrow your phone?” she asked, and when he handed it over, she punched in Jacob's cell number. It went straight to voice mail. “Hi,” she said. “Nobody looked at me cross-eyed, but I did get shot at. That probably counts as something you'd like to know, right?” She drew in air. “I'm okay,” she said, and disconnected.

He would come. And that brought a now-familiar tingling that yesterday had started and ended in all her erogenous zones, but today…today nicked at a certain vital organ that clenched hard at the mere thought of him.

She remembered how he'd looked this morning sprawled on his back across her bed, the sheets and blankets on the floor, revealing him in full glory.

And then there'd been how he'd looked coming into the shop all rumpled and sleep deprived, a two-day-old shadow darkening his strong jaw, his eyes narrowed and probably already filled with thoughts of his cases, his shirt wrinkled, that raspberry stain over one pec.

Armed and dangerous.

And badass gorgeous.

She might have dwelled on that, but there was the whole just-been-shot-at thing, and the police arrived.

Then she heard the motorcycle. Jacob came off it at a dead run, slowing only when he saw her standing in the midst of the organized mayhem, clearly fine.

Or as fine as she could be.

Normally in a stressful situation—and she considered this pretty damn stressful—she'd already be out the door. Gone. Moved on. After all, she'd grown up in chaos, and it'd never suited.

But she didn't have the urge to run right now. It was the place, she thought. Santa Rey seemed to be making a home for itself in her heart. And so were its people.

One in particular.

Jacob came toe to toe with her. He removed his sunglasses and ran his gaze over her carefully, thoroughly, noting the scrapes on her hands and knees.

“We're okay,” she said. “Tyler pushed me down. Thank you for that, by the way,” she told him.

Jacob flicked a glance in Tyler's direction and nodded, then surveyed the damage around them with one sweep of his focused, sharp eyes before returning his attention to her. He pulled her to her feet, picked a piece of glass from her hair and shook his head, then slipped an arm around her, tugging her close enough
to press his mouth to her jaw. “Calls like the one I just got suck.”

“I'm sorry.”

He murmured something too soft to catch and wrapped both arms around her, holding tightly now, as if he needed it as much as she. Snuggling in, she absorbed his warmth and strength. After a long moment, she said, “I'm really okay. You can let me go now.”

“I'll let you go when I'm good and ready.” But he sighed and pulled back, cupping the nape of her neck to look into her eyes. Whatever he saw must have reassured him because he nodded. “You good to talk to Ethan?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Because he's right behind you, giving me the evil eye, waiting for me to let go of you so he can ask you some questions. Also, just so you can brace yourself, we're going to put a man on the shop.”

“A man?”

“A squad car. We're talking murder, and now attempted murder.”

“This is getting old.”

Jacob looked deep into her eyes, his own dark and troubled. “There's always Siberia.”

“You want me to leave?”

“I want you safe.”

So did she. But she'd never felt as safe anywhere as she did right there, in his arms.

T
WO HOURS LATER IT
was finally just Bella again.

Well, just Bella and the policeman assigned to watch over the building. She couldn't see him, but she knew he was around somewhere, and that was just fine with her.

Feeling as calm as she possibly could, she stood in the shop kitchen and let out a deep breath, nearly screaming when she turned in a circle and came face-to-face with Jacob.

Yeah, apparently her nerves were shot.

He'd watched as the EMTs had bandaged up her knees, then helped board up the front window before leaving for a task-force meeting with Ethan, but apparently he was back, looking his usual big and bad and edgy.

She did the first thing that came to mind. She walked right into his arms.

They closed around her, warm and taut with
muscle, tightening on her, surrounding her with his virility, the scent of him. The police had questioned her, Tyler and then Willow, who'd shown up when she'd heard. Trevor, too. The shooting might have been random and unconnected to the other shootings, but until the ballistics came through, no one would know for sure.

Tyler had left, completely unnerved. Probably he wouldn't be a returning customer, Bella thought with a sigh.

“You okay?” Jacob asked.

She'd had to ask herself that several times now, and she wasn't used to not being sure. She was always okay, it was her M.O. And if she wasn't, well, then, there was always someplace new. “Aren't you getting tired of having to ask me that?”

Silent, he stroked a big hand up and down her back.

“For two people who aren't involved,” she murmured, “we sure are seeing a lot of each other.”

She felt him smile against her hair, and pulled back to look into his eyes. “I've always felt so safe here,” she said. “It's why I stayed. I never thought of it before, but I
like
feeling safe. But now someone's shooting at me. I know we joke about Siberia, but holy shit, am I really going to have to go?”

“Would you?”

When she thought about leaving, she felt a clutch in her gut. “No.”

He nodded, clearly already guessing as much. “We're going to figure it out.”

“We? You mean, the police?”

He made a vague response deep in his throat and pulled her out of the kitchen's back door, carefully locking up.

Then he led her upstairs toward her apartment.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” she said to his broad back. “But fair warning, it's going to take an act of Congress and possibly hypnosis to get me in the right frame of mind for sex.”

He glanced back at her, his mouth slightly curved. “I'll keep that in mind, but that's not what we're doing. I want you to pack an overnight bag.”

“Excuse me?”

His hand tightened on hers when she tried to pull free. “You're not staying here tonight, Bella. Maybe not tomorrow night, either. Not until we know what the hell is going on and why you nearly took a hit today.”

“Jacob—”

“This is nonnegotiable, Bella. We have a man here but for tonight at least, you're gone.”

She looked into his eyes, fierce and protective and utterly stubborn.

“I'm not saying you have to stay with me,” he said, bringing their joined hands to his mouth so that when he spoke, his lips brushed against her fingers. “I'm not trying to exert power or authority over you, just common sense. You can stay in a hotel, you can stay
with a friend or you can stay with me. I don't care, but you're not staying here alone. Please,” he said very softly when she opened her mouth.

She had a feeling he wasn't a man to say please very often. Touched, she nodded her head, and turned to go into her place.

He stopped her and moved inside first, once again thoroughly checking it out, giving her the go-ahead when he deemed it safe.

Normally she liked watching him do his cop thing. It was macho and alpha and on any other day it would have made her knees weak and other parts quiver.

But not now. Now she wanted the nightmare to go far, far away.

He was helping with that just by being here for her instead of running off soon as he was done being questioned, like Tyler. Willow and Trevor had both left rather quickly, too, soon as they were able.

Not Jacob.

He wanted her safe. He was willing to do whatever it took to keep her that way.

She racked her brain to try to remember the last time someone outside of her family had truly cared and worried about her, and she couldn't come up with anything. This was easy enough to explain. Until recently, she hadn't stuck around long enough for such ties.

She would have to decide if she liked it.

She filled a small backpack, and then realizing
Jacob probably had his motorcycle, she slid on a pair of denim shorts beneath her halter sundress.

They left her apartment, locked up, and in the lot, Jacob nodded to a guy walking the alley between the shop and the building next door.

He nodded back.

“My bodyguard?” she asked.

Jacob actually smiled. “Tonight, I'm your bodyguard.” And he handed her a helmet.

“What about Willow?”

“Didn't she tell you? She went to her mom's.”

No, she hadn't mentioned that…

“Where are we going?” she asked, getting on his bike behind him, hiking her dress up until it looked like a loose summer top over her shorts. She slipped her arms around him, her hands sliding across his washboard abs.

“For food. You smell like sugar and vanilla and you're making me hungry.”

“I have—”

“Your desserts are heaven, Bella, but I need real sustenance. And so do you. You're pale.”

And that was new, too. He was a guy who said what he meant, no sneaky charm to try to get her into bed, no pretty lies just to make her feel better. He told her what was on his mind and expected her to be mature enough to deal with it.

Her first grown-up relationship, she realized, “casual” as it was—

She broke off the thought with a startled squeak
when he revved the bike and hit the throttle. The engine roared between her legs and suddenly, blessedly, just like that, her mind was off murder and bullets and she couldn't decide which was better, hugging up to Jacob's hard body, or the way he maneuvered them through the streets as if he were a part of the bike.

She was still trying to decide when he pulled up to a small diner, where they were greeted by yet another smiley-faced waitress ready to serve his every need.

After they'd ordered, Bella looked at him. “Must be tough, being so hated everywhere you go. Have you dated them all?”
Slept with them all…?

He looked at her for a long moment. “Who?”

She rolled her eyes. “The women who fall all over themselves to make you smile.”

“People in Santa Rey like cops.”

And he was all cop. He was also all man.

He pulled out a pad and pencil from his pocket and looked at her. “I want to hear about your eight dates,” he said, clearly done discussing women, his or otherwise.

“Nice subject change.”

He looked at her, torn between amusement and irritation. “Do you want to discuss the waitress—who, by the way, used to babysit me—or whoever's screwing with your life?”

Well, damn, when he put it that way… “I've al
ready gone over all of this with Ethan. Twenty-five million times.”

“So let's do it twenty-five million and one. Maybe we've all missed something. Names and impressions.”

“You think one of my dates is a crazy stalker.” She shivered at the thought. “Which doesn't explain the second guy who got shot, the one across town.”

“True, but there are a lot of possibilities here. Let's work at narrowing them down.”

He was all focused and fiercely intense, and when he was really concentrating—like now—he got that deep furrow in his brow.

She wanted to forget the hell that was her current life and kiss that furrow away. What could she say. Yes, her sexual thoughts were inappropriate considering the moment, but it was a defense mechanism. And an easy one to cling to. For God's sake, just look at him. Still watching him, she reached for her soda and sucked her straw.

Immediately his eyes homed in on her mouth. Huh. Maybe she'd been wrong about needing an act of Congress to want sex. She smiled.

And he raised a brow.

She sucked some more soda down. “About that hypnosis I mentioned, to get in the right mind for sex…”

His eyes dilated. “Distracting me isn't going to end this conversation,” he said, voice husky. “You sure?”

His gaze never left her mouth. “Positive. I can't be distracted. It's one of my gifts.”

She was in a position to know that he had other gifts… Lightly, she ran her fingers down the straw, then sucked some more.

Jacob let out a shaky breath. “Okay, new plan.”

“Which is?”

“You talk fast, and then we're going back to my place.”

“To…watch a movie?”

“Guess again.”

A little frisson of heat raced up her spine, something she'd have thought impossible tonight. “Play a game?”

He smiled, and it was filled with so much fire, she nearly had an orgasm on the spot. “Sure, we can play a game. How about Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

“I might need more than seven minutes.”

“You can have as many minutes as you want.” He pulled the soda away from her, and the straw popped out of her mouth with an audible sound that made his eyes darken even more. “But this first.”

“Damn. You're so strict.”

“You know,” he said, “I was hoping I could get you out of that quiet, protective shell you had going, but I didn't think it would happen at my expense.”

She sipped more of her soda.

Now he out and out grinned, looking so freaking sexy she could hardly stand it. She had no idea what was wrong with her. She didn't go back for seconds,
much less thirds, and yet she had a feeling she could have this man every night until she left for her next destination, and it still wouldn't be enough.

Jacob gently tapped her forehead with the end of his pencil. “Anyone home?”

“Sorry.”

“The dates,” he said.

Right. “Number one was Bo. Cute, nice, sweet. And too young for me.”

“How young?”

“Like five years.”

“Huh.”

“Huh what?” she asked.

He lifted a broad shoulder. “I doubt he feels too young for you. Next?”

“Seth was number two.” She let out a low, pained breath and fell quiet for a minute, remembering him with an ache in her chest. “Date three was Tyler, the bookseller. You saw him today.”

“Yeah. What did you think of him?”

“Sweet. Nice. And so smart as to be a little intimidating.”

He was making notes. “A dweeb.”

“That's not nice.”

“Good. Remember that when you're describing date eight, cuz I don't want to hear I'm sweet or nice. Date four.”

She shook her head. “A guy named Brady. He seemed…” She nearly said nice but bit it back. “Harm less.”

Jacob lifted his head. “Brady, the guy who owns the coffee shop on Third?”

“I think so, yes.”

“You think Brady is harmless.”

“I do.”

He shook his head and kept writing.

Cocking her head to the side, she tried to read what he was writing. “What's wrong with him?”

“What's wrong with him? He dates a different woman every night of the week. He drives a scooter, which for some reason, women think is…
nice.
And he looks like a poet.”

“He
is
a poet.”

Jacob did a palms up, like
see?

She held back a grin. “I liked him.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

“Is that for your notes?”

Frowning, he wrote something on his pad, pressing hard enough on the paper that his knuckles turned positively white. “Date five.”

Okay, so they were moving on. Worked for her. Their food arrived and she dug in. “Juan Martine,” she said around her BLT. “I know his last name because I recognized him.”

Again he lifted his head and looked at her, that furrow firmly in place. “The model.”

“Do you know everyone in town?” She shook her head. “Never mind. Why don't you tell me what's wrong with him, too.”

“He wears hair product.”

She burst out laughing.

Jacob's furrow deepened. “He does.”

“Are you going to find something wrong with each of them? Because it's cute. And yeah, that's going in your description.”

This did not help his mood. “I am
not
cute.”

She grinned. “You think the word insults your manhood.”

“Jesus.” He tossed down his pencil and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Forget it.”

“Fine. Forget that I think you're cute. I'll never say cute again. Let's go with…” She paused, considering him carefully. “Edgy, grumpy and…”

“We're supposed to be talking about
you.
About your dates. Not me.”

“Sexy.”

He stared at her. “You drive me crazy.”

“Ditto. Can we get back to the rest of the dates, or are you too jealous?”

“I'm not jealous.”

“Whatever.”

“I am not jealous, Bella.”

“Date six. B.J. Sorry, I don't have a full name, but he works in sales, and is a really nice guy.”

“What is it with you and nice?”

She ignored that. “Date seven was Lorenzo Ramos, and though I shouldn't know his last name, I do because he's a chef, and works at the Hilltop Lodge.”

Jacob wrote the name down and remained silent.

“What, no comment on Lorenzo?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on,” she said with a laugh. “You know you want to.”