he still counted meeting Jo as the point in time when his life started going downhill, the image had fixed in his mind. A memory, which the unlikely scent of locker rooms could trigger off.
That’s where he’d been, Auckland Central locker room, reading a long boring letter from his brother, Scott, after a hard night keeping his friend Max Strachan company. When your best friend’s first marriage breaks up, what else can you do but help him tie one on over a bottle of whiskey?
Someone barging through the door of the shower room had jarred him from a miasma of facts and figures he really couldn’t be bothered sorting, but Scott insisted on relaying. Downing a cup of coffee at his desk had suddenly seemed like a much better deal. Prepared to slip by with a quick wave and a “Hi,” he’d stopped dead in his tracks, adrenaline pumping through his veins.
Wild animals took notice of the time-honored signal and ran for their lives. He hadn’t been able to drag his gaze away.
He’d yet to see a woman who could match her. Smooth, honey-colored skin all the way down to her toes; lush, rounded hips and long, long legs that were stepping into a pair of scarlet, silky French knickers. God knows how long he stood there caught in a trap by his hormones like a pubescent schoolboy. It seemed like forever. He’d wanted it to be forever, even while he recognized the danger as the elastic snapped on a scrap of red silk that would color his fantasies for the rest of his life, he’d known he should leave—get out of there quick. Instead he’d taken a step back, and watched her turn to snag a matching bra from the locker.
Instant arousal!
Her long tangle of black curls swung back, revealing the face behind their curtain. Strong features, straight nose, high Slavic cheekbones and lips that even memory couldn’t improve upon. All that before he’d seen her breasts. Once that happened, his hands itched to cup them and his mouth went dry at the thought of suckling their treacle-dark nipples.
Honey and treacle.
Poison where he was concerned.
The last thing he’d wanted from life was to meet a woman who could tempt him to fall in love.
So, he’d worked alongside her, knowing the pain he endured was nothing compared to the hurt that loving and losing her could bring. And he’d based his security in the knowledge that Jo couldn’t see him for Max, his best friend, and the man Jo loved.
How was he going to get through this week and still maintain that distance? He’d shaken the dust of Nicks Landing off his boots once before and all he could think of now was how soon could he do it again?
A week. Seven days. A hundred and sixty-eight hours, give or take a few if she wanted to sleep. It was going to be difficult working alongside Rowan. She’d never felt so unsure of herself in her life. Never felt as if her life was balanced on a knife’s edge with Rowan responsible for which way she’d fall. Never in all the years she’d known Rowan had she felt the mouth-gaping, heart-stopping attraction he had for her now.
She and Ginny had more in common than she had realized, for when she looked at Rowan she didn’t feel any older than the kid she’d left downstairs with Sergeant Jackson.
Why did it have to happen now, when she was on the most important case of her life, and the prize her father’s reputation?
She took a deep breath and settled the squirmy feeling in her gut. “Okay. Here’s where we start. I’ll give you all I’ve got to look over….”
Rowan’s eyes narrowed slightly, their cool, flecked green at odds with the slight curl of his lips. “Generous of you, Jo, but don’t you think the work on hand should be our first consideration?”
Well, she’d left herself wide open to that one and blushed. Rowan was sharp, too sharp, but maybe she could turn it to her advantage.
“Exactly what do you think we’re investigating here, Rowan? Attempted murder, attempted suicide, or just plain old fraud?”
Bull went first. “Jeez, Jo. This is Rocky Skelton you’re talking about. One of us.”
Jo swung around. She could see everything slipping away from her, from her father. She wanted to shut up, hold her tongue and not get into trouble, but she couldn’t. “Great, well why don’t we ask Rocky to help out? It’s already turning into Old Boys’ Week around here.”
She lifted one hand, not to swipe at the tears frustration had brought to her eyes, but to disguise them by brushing back her hair, and found her wrist enclosed in a firm grip. Rowan’s.
His fingers burned where they touched her skin. She looked up, ready to tell him not to manhandle her, and couldn’t. One look at his face whitening under his tan and she was distracted. He didn’t look well. Maybe the tan was simply camouflage he’d gotten up in the islands where he’d gone for some much-needed R and R.
Her mind drifted as his grip softened, warmed.
“Okay, Jo, we’ll do it your way. Where do we start?”
Chapter 2
Get over it, McQuaid.
The warning in Rowan’s mind didn’t go unheeded. It was simply impossible to implement while Jo’s scent filled his head with every breath. It was torture. Sheer bloody torture. And he was no masochist. Neither was he a coward, but what he wanted now was to exit her office without making an ass of himself, and take a few hours to get his act together. He was positive that’s all it would take. Just a little time to get his head on straight.
The words on the papers he was supposedly reading merged into one, making nonsense of the evidence. The utilitarian clock on the wall behind Jo made it plain only an hour had passed since her arrival had caught him off guard. Eyes closed, his gaze turned inwards as if his parole lay in the dark behind his lids. Damn, this had to be the longest afternoon of his life.
The hairs on his arms prickled each time she passed a piece of evidence, or pointed out a particularly interesting photograph. It was as if his body reiterated what his mind denied. He wanted to touch her. To hell with the weight of regrets lying in the pit of his stomach since he’d grasped her wrist and felt her heartbeat race under his thumb. Felt it pulse, tinting her soft skin blue, and still it hadn’t been enough. Not when he’d wanted the whole of her under him, naked and writhing as they joined for the first time right there on top of the desk.
A wry grimace crossed his mind at the thought of Bull’s face if he’d actually given in to his urges under his old mate’s nose, so to speak. Out of the three there, he’d be hard put to say who’d be the most shocked. And with Bull out of the office, Rowan knew even that small hindrance to temptation was lost to him.
Jo’s attention switched from the papers in her hand to her watch. “Hey, why don’t I just bundle this lot up and let you take it away to work on? I presume Bull won’t have any beef with that.” The pun lit a small smile in her features, the first to brighten them since they’d begun sifting through information which neither confirmed nor denied Jo’s theory of Rocky conning them.
Shoulder level and palm out she raised her hand as if to say pax or peace. If only she knew. Peace could never exist between them while this primitive tempo surged through his veins.
Then, very un-Jo-like, she giggled. “Don’t give me away. The one-liner was straight off the cuff, not a jibe at my boss. I can see how he got the
