The Heat Is On (9 page)

“Hey, it's none of my business if you want to date a guy who drives a twenty-year-old Rabbit.”

“It saves gas, a lot of gas. And what is it with you and a guy's ride?”

He didn't answer.

“I think this brings us up to date number eight,” she said.

“Yeah. Him I've met.” By this time they were done eating. He stood and dropped some cash on the table.

“What, you don't want my impression?”

He flashed her an unreadable look, then grabbing her hand, pulled her up and toward the door in one smooth movement.

“What are we doing now?”

“Going home to discuss your impressions of date number eight. In detail…”

J
ACOB'S CELL BUZZED
as he led Bella into his house. It was Ethan. “Make yourself at home,” he said to Bella. “I have to take this.” He moved to the laundry room off the kitchen and flipped open his phone. “Madden.”

“She with you?”

“Yes.”

“I'm glad she's safe.”

There was something in Ethan's voice that tipped him off. “What do you have?”

“The print from the first shooting. The crime lab found marina sand in the tread.”

“We need to have the marina checked out.”

“Already there. Checking the hotels, motels and all the boats. There's something else. The second gunshot vic. Banning Jefferson. Apparently he goes solely by a nickname. B.J.”

Oh, Christ. “Bella's sixth date.”

“Yeah. We didn't catch it earlier because B.J. wasn't on any of his IDs.”

Jacob stared sightlessly out the laundry room window. “Bella wasn't the target today.”

“No,” Ethan agreed. “That would be Tyler Scott, date number three. And if he'd been hit, it'd have made three from her list of eight.”

“Which puts me on the short list.”

“Yeah,” Ethan said grimly. “It does.”

“I'll watch my back.”

“See that you do. We're sending a squad car to your house, as well as to the other guys on the list. It leaves us strapped, but we have to stop this perp.”

Jacob shut his phone and went into the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of wine, two glasses and his laptop.

Bella had wandered into the living room, and was standing with her back to him in front of the huge picture window, looking out to the gentle rolling hills that lined his property. “It's so pretty out here.” She turned and looked at him. “The land is beautiful. Are those your horses?”

“One's mine, one's my brother Wyatt's.”

“The one in Afghanistan, flying for the air force.”

“Yeah.” Jacob set the laptop on the coffee table and poured the wine. “As for the land, I bought it a long time ago, before Santa Rey spread out this far. Back then, this place was a POS.” He held out a glass of the wine.

She looked at it, then into his face. “Am I going to need that?”

His gaze didn't waver from hers. “Yes.”

She sighed, then took it and sipped. “So. POS. Piece of shit?”

“Got it in one. I redid a room at a time, assisted by a brother or two. Took almost four years, but it's getting there.”

She sipped some more wine, looking around her at the oversize, comfortably worn furniture. The only other adornments were a huge plasma TV on the wall and a variety of sports equipment.

“I keep meaning to put all that away,” he said.

“Your house is big and warm and feels lived in, like a real home.” She said this almost wistfully as she met his gaze. “Tell me what you've got, Jacob. I'm strong enough.”

“I know.”

“Then just put it out there, like ripping off a Band-Aid.”

“All right.” He took the wineglass from her fingers and set it aside, then pulled her closer, nudging her down to the couch. “Two things. The guy hit on the other side of town. His name is Banning Jefferson. But he goes by B.J.”

She looked at him for a beat before it struck her. “Oh my God.”

He took her hand. “He survived, Bella. Remember that. He's going to be okay.”

“I need to see him.”

“Tomorrow.”

She stared at him, and he braced for a fight, but in the end, she simply nodded. “Thing two.”

“Thing two.” He looked into her eyes. “Today's shooting. You were with Tyler Scott. One of the eight.”

“Yes, he came for dessert. He—” She gasped and covered her mouth. “The bullet was meant for him.”

“It's likely.”

She surged to her feet. “The others. We have to warn the others—”

He straightened and grabbed her before she could run for the door. “They're all being protected.”

“And you?” She pulled back, gripping his arms in her hands, her fingers digging into his biceps. “You're in danger, too, just by being with me. You have to go.
Now.
”

“Bella—”

“Oh, God. You can't go, we're at your house. Okay,
I'll
go. I'll call a cab and—”

He pulled her back against his chest, wrapping his arms around her from behind. “I'm not sending you away.”

“But—”

“We've got men on the shop, on all the dates, and now here, as well.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And don't forget, the perp doesn't know where I live, my home address wasn't on my profile.
The guys were punking me, not trying to get me stalked and shot at.”

“That's right,” she murmured. “I keep forgetting you weren't on that date by your own choice.”

“Maybe not at first.” Turning her in his arms, he stroked a finger down her temple, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “But that changed pretty quickly.”

She stared up at him. “When?”

“When a pretty, wild-haired brunette showed up, willing to have a first date that involved adventure seeking and getting her hair wet and her hands dirty.”

She smiled at him, some of the panic leaving her eyes. “So what now, Jacob?”

“I want you to show me the profile you filled out, the one that the singles club used to line up your eight dates.”

She moved back to the couch and opened his laptop. She waited until he leaned over her and typed in his password, then using his browser program, she accessed her e-mail and then opened a Word document. “Bella?”

“It's pretty detailed.”

He knew because he'd seen the one the guys had filled out for him. There'd been some innocuous questions, like favorite foods and colors. And some not-so-innocuous questions, like sexual likes and dislikes. And fantasies. The profile wasn't to be
shared between any of the daters, only used to line up potential matches and, the club promised, would be destroyed afterward.

The guys at the P.D. had bullshitted their way through Jacob's. Since Bella hadn't had her so-called friends “help,” most likely she'd answered truthfully, which meant that by allowing him to read her profile, he'd be reading her innermost thoughts and desires. It would be like peeling back the layers of the real Bella.

She made a sound that said “screw it” and thrust the laptop at him.

He looked at her, but had no idea what to say, so he began to read. Her favorite color was the color of the sun because it made her happy. Her favorite food was, surprise surprise, dessert of any kind. Her favorite clothes were anything that felt good and moved with her, she didn't care about labels or designers. Her favorite amusement ride was anything with speed. Her favorite thing she'd
not
yet done—fall in love.

He looked at her.

She lifted a shoulder. “I think I should try everything at least once, including love. You know, someday.”

She was embarrassed, but for him he was struck by her honesty and bravado. Since she'd hate for him to point that out, he nodded, and ignoring his suddenly tight throat, quietly read on. The next section was a list of sexual preferences. She preferred one lover at
a time, didn't mind toys when they were appropriate and didn't need a bed in order to get in the mood.

She'd left sexual fantasies blank.

“They should be individual to whoever you're with,” she said.

He lifted his gaze to hers.

“Yes,” she said. “What?”

“You were going to ask if I have one for us. I do.”

His body processed this faster than his brain. “Are you going to share?” he finally asked.

“You first,” she said.

He felt a little thrown. A feeling he was starting to get used to around her. He knew now wasn't the time to be playful, but it felt like exactly the right time. They needed this. “Is this a show-and-tell sort of thing?”

“I think it just might be,” she said, and for the first time since they'd gotten to his house, he smiled. “How bad do you want to know, Bella?”

She took the computer from his lap and set it aside. “Bad. Besides, you owe me.”

“How do you figure?”

“I trusted you with my profile.”

True. And, he realized, he trusted her. He, who because of his job and all he'd seen and done on that job, rarely trusted at all, trusted her to the bone after only a few days. He wasn't sure how he felt about that, but he wasn't quite jaded enough to let it go
unappreciated. Pulling her onto his lap, he shifted her so that she was straddling him.

“Wait,” she said, standing up and removing the jean shorts from beneath her dress. “More comfortable.”

He was all for comfort.

She settled back on his lap, once again straddling him. “I like this sundress,” he said. “It's the same one you wore after we went Jet Skiing.” He ran his hands slowly up her smooth thighs, pushing up the hem as he went. “In my fantasy, you're not wearing anything beneath.”

“That's it? That's your fantasy? That's…surprisingly tame.”

“You didn't let me finish.” His fingers glided higher on her thighs, and anticipation drummed between them. She was still covered by the hem of the sundress, but barely. “In my fantasy,” he went on, his voice thick and hoarse to his own ears, “we go out on my bike, and the whole time we're riding, I can feel the heat of you, bare against me when you hug up close. You're covered from view to everyone else by the wide skirt of your sundress, only I know you don't have on panties.”

Her breathing had definitely changed. Actually, he wasn't quite sure she was breathing at all, but the pulse at the base of her throat leaped wildly. “Then what?” she whispered.

“I take you out to dinner. While we're waiting for our food, I slip a hand beneath the table, under your
dress. You're hot for me. You press yourself against my fingers, wanting more.”

She opened her mouth a little, but nothing came out. Her eyes went glossy with arousal. He knew if he slid a hand beneath her dress right now, he'd find her hot and wet like in his fantasy. “We dance afterward. And every time I touch you, I'm reminded that you're bare-ass naked beneath the dress. Then you lean in and whisper in my ear that I'm making you wet, and I can't get you off the dance floor fast enough.”

She drew in a shuddery gulp of air. “And then we make a run for the closest coat closet?”

“Mmm, good plan. We'll add that in. You'll scream my name, but no one but me will hear over the music.”

“I want to make you lose control, too,” she told him breathlessly. “You scream out my name, too.”

He shook his head. “Guys don't scream. It's not manly.”

She paused with a small smile. “Manly?”

“
My
fantasy.”

“You're right,” she said, pacifying him with a pat on the shoulder. “You can groan my name loudly. But hate to break it to you, it's still pretty tame.”

“
Still
not finished.” He ran a finger over her shoulder. “Someone keeps interrupting me.”

“Sorry. Do go on.”

“We get back on the bike and ride along the bluffs overlooking the ocean. There's no one around, so when your skirt blows up, you leave it.”

He could tell by the way she nibbled on her lower lip that she liked that idea. A lot.

“I reach back and feel you,” he murmured, sliding both hands up to her hips, bringing the hem of her dress up, as well.

She was wearing a light blue silk thong. “You're completely exposed,” he murmured. “And completely turned on by it. We pull over to the side of the road and—”

“Have some fairly acrobatic beneath-the-moon sex?” she asked hopefully, eyes dilated, voice husky.

“You have no patience.” Giving in to temptation, he nudged her forward, lightly sinking his teeth into the spot where her neck met her shoulder, loving the shiver that racked her. “First I get off the bike and just look at you.”

“Is my dress still hiked up to my waist?”

“Yeah. And you've unbuttoned the top part, too.”

“No bra?”

“No bra, and when I pull the dress all the way off, you look up at me with a sexy little smile and slowly spread your legs.”

“Like this?” And eyes on his, she did just that, opening her legs even farther over his.

Christ. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely, watching the silk stretch tight over her mound. “And then you touch yourself. We both know anyone could walk by and
see us at any time, but it doesn't stop you from opening my jeans and—”

“Wait a minute.” She cocked her head. “I'm nearly buck-ass naked in the great outdoors, and you get to pull out just the essentials?”

“Yes, but the essentials are the important part.” He wanted to laugh at the indignation on her face. “My fantasy,” he reminded her.

“Men suck.”

“Actually, you suck. It's what comes next in this scenario. Male Fantasy 101,” he admitted. “But don't worry. Afterward, I lean you up against the bike, spread your legs, drop to my knees and return the favor until you're screaming my name again.”

“You like that, the screaming thing.”

“I do.”

“Then what?” she asked.

“I turn you around, bend you over the bike and—”

“Let me guess. Make me scream.” She shook her head. “You are such a guy.” The mock annoyance wasn't fooling him. Her eyes were bright, she was having trouble breathing and her hands kept sweeping restlessly over his body, his shoulders, his abs…“How about the water?” she asked. “Do we get in the water and go skinny-dipping?”

“Most definitely. And there's no male shrinkage at all.”

She burst out laughing, and he grinned, loving the
sound. “In fact, you're so impressed with me, we do it again.”