He very tentatively reached out and touched her chin, turning her face slowly back to his.
She stiffened, eyed him warily.
“I really don’t bite.”
“I’d really rather you didn’t—”
“It’s the twinkle,” he said, quietly interrupting her.
“I beg your pardon?” She shifted her chin away from his touch.
He very purposely brushed his finger along the curve of her chin again. The finest of shivers rewarded the risk. “Actually, I think I’ll be the one doing the begging.”
Her lips quirked again and he swore she almost laughed. “Who’d have thought it,” she murmured. Then to him, she added, “You’re really—”
“Fascinating?”
“I don’t believe that was the word I was going to use.”
“Your eyes,” he said, quite seriously. “They are amazing. But I’m sure you’ve been told that a hundred times. A thousand. Such a passionate color. And yet you have this way of making them so cool and distant.” He smiled. “Like right now.”
She went to move away completely, but he turned and boxed her in against the wall. He wasn’t touching any part of her, but she could slip out to either side.
She didn’t.
She didn’t look at him directly either.
He noticed she was breathing more rapidly by the rise and fall of her chest. His own was a bit accelerated as well.
“But when you relax, let your guard down,” he went on, as if they were having a casual conversation, “they light up with this…well, twinkle. Takes my breath away.” And yet there was nothing remotely casual happening between them right now. She might be a mystery to him, one he’d like to solve. But the source of that snap, crackle, pop in the air was no mystery at all.
He knew sexual tension when he felt it. And, from the way her pupils slowly expanded when she turned her head to look directly at him…so did she.
“Will you be staying in Vegas?” he asked.
She said nothing, but kept her gaze on his.
“I’ll be here the rest of the week,” he said, then waited. Determined to wait as long as it took to get a response from her.
“Me, too,” she said finally, the words barely a murmur.
“Four days.” It was both statement…and request.
“Four.”
“Before we go our own way, back to our own worlds, never to cross paths again.”
She stared at him for the longest time, but said nothing. Neither did she move away.
He lifted a hand, surprised to find that he was the one with the tremor this time. He slowly stroked a blunt-tipped finger along the side of her face. Her skin was as fine and smooth as the porcelain he’d compared it to. So incredibly delicate he wondered how careful he’d have to be not to bruise it. “For those four days,” he said very quietly, “I’d like for our worlds to collide. A little. A lot. I don’t care. Well, that’s a lie. I know what I want.”
Her pupils exploded then, jewels flashed, sparked, and he grew hard. Harder anyway.
“But I’ll take your company any way you’re comfortable sharing it,” he finished.
“You’ll press,” she said and he wasn’t sure if it was a question…or capitulation.
“You’ll want me to.”
“You’re very certain of yourself.”
“About some things.”
“And if I say no?”
He lifted his hands, but kept his body close. “We walk away.” He grinned then, despite the fact that his heart was hammering and his body felt like a live wire had been introduced into his bloodstream. Then he let a slightly shaky finger drop to the full center of her bottom lip. “It’s up to you whether or not we’re smiling, bodies spent, heads full of fond memories, when we do.”
He let his hand drop away completely then, spent an agonizingly long moment staring at the spot he’d touched, wanting to taste it more than he wanted his next breath, before finally moving away from her. It took every ounce of willpower he owned, and a few more he had to take out on loan.
She took a moment to steady herself, then moved past him and put her hand on the office doorknob.
Was she really going to just walk away? he wondered. Just like that?
He wasn’t used to the sudden sense of desperation he felt. Which was probably why he blurted, “Can I call you then?” He’d never been in this position, of having to beg for attention. Maybe it was good for him. He wasn’t so sure. He only knew that in that moment, he’d willingly sacrifice his ego and just about anything else on the chance she’d say yes. He didn’t analyze why that was, why she was different. He saved that sort of deep thinking for crime scenes. Passion was supposed to be easier.
She stepped halfway through the door and he realized she really was going to leave without answering him. He wasn’t sure what his next move should be. Walk away? Or continued pursuit?
But she turned then, and looked at him. “I’ll think about it.” Then she shut the door in his face.
He let his forehead drop until it thunked on the wall next to the door. “She’ll think about it, she says.” And then what? he wanted to yell through the door.
She had him literally tied in knots. “Hell, you started it,” he grumbled, then pushed away from the wall. He gave the door a hard stare, but it didn’t open. Nor did he go after her.
Not yet.
He turned and headed down the hall instead, thinking he’d find Mig and Patterson. Immerse himself in a good crime scene. Those he understood.
Women on the other hand…? Maybe murder was easier.
4
APPARENTLY EVEN MURDER didn’t keep the Blackstone staff from their duties.
Misty had been half hoping her long cold dinner would still be in her room when she finally wound her way back to it. But the table was clear, her sheets had been turned back and the only food awaiting her was the chocolate rose on her pillow.
She was surprisingly ravenous. It would seem that police interrogation spiked her appetite.
She closed her eyes against the immediate image that took shape in her mind…and it wasn’t either of the intrepid Las Vegas P.D. detectives. No, as intimidating as the entire procedure had been, as admittedly fascinated as she’d become by the macabre turn of events, as worried as she should have been by the
