in no shape to drive.”
He grinned. “Next thing you know, Milano, they’ll be giving you an award for observation.” Dragging in a deep breath, he waited until the room righted itself. It did…barely. “I’ll call a cab.”
“You don’t need to. I can give you a lift.”
He stared down at her, surprised she’d offered. They’d been at his house that last time they were together. Grant knew if he slid into a car beside her, the minute they pulled into the gated drive that led to his family’s estate he would remember how her kisses tasted, how soft her cheek felt against his cupped hand. Remember, too, the panic that had shot into her eyes when his arms had tightened around her. The absolute paleness that had settled in her skin. The choked sound of her voice when she’d told him goodbye.
If you care about me, you’ll let me go.
Dammit, he had done both.
Keeping his eyes locked with hers, he took a step forward. “Do you really think your taking me home is a good idea?”
“I don’t know.” She raised a hand as if to press her palm against his arm. He saw the hesitation in her eyes, then her fingers slowly curled and she lowered her arm. “Grant, I think we should at least try to be friends.”
“We already made a stab at that,” he said, frustration hardening his voice. She couldn’t even bring herself to touch him. How the hell had he ever expected her to give herself to him? “It didn’t work.”
“We tried being more than friends.”
Without thinking, he raised his hand, traced his fingertip along the soft curve of her jaw. Staring into the depths of those blue eyes, he found himself stupidly pleased when she didn’t shrink from his touch.
“Sweetheart, there’s not a chance I’ll forget what we tried,” he said softly. He saw the instant flush that rose in her cheeks, caught the jump of the pulse in her throat, felt his own pulse respond in kind. He damned himself for giving her the power to shoot such searing need into his system.
As he lifted his suit coat off her arm, he looked over his shoulder at the bartender. “Mind calling me a cab?”
“Sure thing.”
Grant turned back. Sky’s expression was now controlled, emotionless. Her chemist’s face. “I’ll call when I get the results from the OSBI,” she said quietly.
“Fine.”
He watched her turn, watched her sleek gait take her around the dance floor and into the alcove. Then she was gone.
Standing beneath the rotating red beacon of the overhead bubble light, Grant ruthlessly kept control in place to keep from going after her. She was the first woman he had thought about a future with, the first woman who had really mattered. The first to reject him. Pride was as strong as the hurt he’d endured when she walked away six months ago. Pride had kept him from seeking her out. Kept him from begging for whatever scraps of her life she would agree to give him.
He jerked on his suit coat, then shoved his fists into his pockets. Damn if he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking.
Chapter 2
Hand unsteady, Sky rang the doorbell on the elegant Tudor brick house that sat bathed in silver moonlight. She was barely aware of the white roses that tumbled out of a massive planter near the door, paid no attention to their sweet scent that hung in the warm summer air. Two hours had passed since she’d walked out of the FOP club—away from Grant—and every nerve in her body was still scrambled.
So much for well-laid plans. Facing him had been hard. More difficult than she thought it could ever be. She had rehearsed everything in her mind before she walked into the club. Knew exactly what to say about the results of the DNA profiles. Had fought to keep her voice steady.
Nothing inside her had stayed steady, she conceded while she waited in the overlapping puddles of light from the carriage lamps bordering the house’s massive front door. She closed her eyes, picturing again the sight of Grant nursing his drink in a dim corner of the club. His thick, sandy hair had been rumpled, his broad shoulders bent as if they carried the weight of the world. His chiseled features had been set, remote. Yet, when he’d raised his head to meet her gaze, his eyes had been full of the pain of his partner’s death.
Just one look and he had shaken her off balance.
She thought she had grown stronger over the past six months. Maybe she had in other areas, but she still had few defenses where Grant Pierce was concerned. She needed those defenses. God, did she need them.
From somewhere behind her, a sharp, metallic click sounded on the still night air. Sky’s scalp prickled, followed by a jolt of sheer terror. Years of self-defense training kicked in; she raised her arms and whirled. The screech that followed could have doubled for the tornado warning siren.
“Good grief, Sigmund!” Sky stared down at twelve pounds of gray, outraged tomcat whose fur and tail were standing straight on end. “Sorry I stepped on your tail,” she muttered after her heart unfroze in her chest. How did you explain to a cat that she’d mistaken the metallic click of its tags with the snick of a switchblade shooting out of a hilt? The all-too-real memory of that sound echoed in her head, had her swallowing back bile.
Just then, the front door swung open and she jolted.
“Sky, what a pleasant surprise,” Dr. Judith Mirren commented in a soft voice that carried the faintest hint of her native Louisiana. Her searching gaze swept past Sky’s shoulder. “Please tell me it wasn’t you who just howled like a banshee.”
Sky pushed away the chilling memories that had surged from her past. “Sigmund snuck up on me and I stepped on his tail.” She motioned toward the shadowy porch rail where the cat now sat staring with regal feline disdain, tail twitching as if it had electrodes attached.
“No harm done, I’m sure,” Dr. Mirren said, pulling the door open wider. “Come in.”
The woman’s brown eyes were kind—and sharp. At sixty, she had settled comfortably into middle age, the lines on her face revealing a quiet intelligence that came only with experiencing life. Her hair was a mix of honey-brown and gray, scooped up in a loose topknot. She wore trim black slacks and a chic linen blouse the color of storm clouds.
Sky gave an apologetic smile. “I should have called first.”
“Nonsense. This evening’s group left about ten minutes ago,” the doctor said as she stepped back to let Sky in. “I was considering making myself a latte, but Richard’s out of town and I didn’t want to drink one alone. Now I don’t have to.”
“I didn’t plan on dropping by,” Sky explained as she entered the large wood-paneled foyer with glossy pine floors. “I went for a drive and somehow wound up here.”
Dr. Mirren arched an eyebrow. Wordlessly she shut the door and nodded toward a wide doorway. “Make yourself comfortable in the study. I’ll be back with our lattes.”
“Need some help?”
“Thank you, no. I’ll just be a minute.”
Sky walked
