faced him squarely. “Listen, I’ve got a kid brother, too. And God help us both if I tried to take responsibility for him.”
Her gaze was clear and direct as a punch. He felt its impact in his gut, harder than recognition, deeper than desire. His breath went.
How long they stood there, staring at each other, he didn’t know.
But then her thin face colored. She looked away, breaking their connection. “I’ve got to go.”
His heart was pounding, his chest felt tight, and he hadn’t touched her, hadn’t kissed her, hadn’t… What the hell had just happened here? He didn’t need his memory back to recognize lust. But this understanding was both more foreign and more seductive.
“Go where?” he asked. “What are you planning to do?”
“I’m on harbor patrol today.”
“I meant about Swirsky.”
“Nothing. I’m off the case.”
“No.” His protest was automatic. Instinctive. “I want you to handle the investigation.”
“It’s not up to you.” Her mouth quirked ruefully. “Or me, either. Chief Denko has assigned the case to Detective Palmer.”
That long look had diverted the blood from his brain to below his belt. He couldn’t think worth a damn. Which explained what he said next.
“I’ll pay you.”
She stiffened. “For what?”
All right, he’d said it badly. But it wasn’t such a bad idea.
Laura Baker was intelligent. Stubborn. Discreet. She hadn’t blurted out his loss of memory to his brother. She’d come to him directly to tell him about the new detective assigned to the case. And she had nothing personal at stake in the outcome of this investigation.
“I want someone close to me I can trust.” Pushing back from his computer, he stood. “I want to hire you.”
She shook her head. “I can’t work for you.”
He came around his desk. “Why not?”
Her soft lips set. “Well, for one thing, I already have a job.”
Her resistance made him want her more. He didn’t take time to reflect on what that revealed about his character.
“You can do it in your off hours,” he argued. “Moonlighting, or whatever they call it.”
“No, I can’t. I have a conflict of interest.”
“That doesn’t bother me.”
“Well, it bothers me,” she snapped. Her gaze flicked to his face. He didn’t know what she saw there, but her own expression suddenly softened. “Look, I’m sorry, but…no.”
No.
Simon sat on the corner of his desk. Well, that was clear. Confronted by a million unanswered questions, he’d pushed her for a response, and he’d gotten one.
Too bad it wasn’t the one he wanted.
He continued to stare at her, trying to figure out what he could possibly say or do to change her mind, to persuade her to help him, to stay with him, to be with him.
He closed his eyes, dizzy with the force of his need.
She cleared her throat. “How’s your head?”
“What? Oh.” He reached up to touch the swelling above his ear. “It hurts.”
“Have you had it looked at yet?” she asked.
As if, he thought wryly, now that she had slapped him down, she was trying to soften the blow.
“No.”
She took a step closer. His body went on alert. “Maybe you should,” she said.
His mind snapped into action, testing, weighing options.
He angled his head. “Be my guest.”
She took another step forward.
Cautious, he thought. But not a coward.
Her hip, in navy blue polyester, brushed his thigh. She raised her hand; hesitated. And then, very gently, threaded her fingers through his hair.
She smelled like sun and water, like shampoo and…gasoline? For a second he thought his mind might be playing tricks on him again, and then he remembered her boat.
“It looks bad,” she said.
“It’s clean.”
“Tough guy.” His scalp tingled as her touch feathered through his hair. “You should have had stitches.”
“Too late now.”
“Yeah.” She started to draw away.
He grabbed her wrist.
“Hey,” she protested. “You’ve already got one bump on the head. Don’t make me hurt you again.” But her pulse thrummed under his thumb.
Simon’s grip tightened. Maybe he’d pushed for the wrong response before. Maybe he’d asked the wrong question.
At least he could settle one damn thing.
Leaning forward, he covered her mouth with his.
Chapter 3
If Laura had let herself think about kissing Simon Ford ahead of time… Okay, so she had thought about it. Big deal. Anyway, she’d expected him to kiss the way he talked. Cool. Controlled. Kind of dry.
She missed the target all three times.
His kiss was hot, wet and deep. He kissed like he was starving for her, like he wanted everything, wanted her. And instead of getting offended or disgusted or afraid, she yanked him closer and kissed him back.
Tongues. Teeth. Heat.
Sensation kicked through her system like rapid fire on a pistol range, all flash and fire and recoil. She was blinded, deafened, her palms sweaty and her mind a blank. She was operating on instinct and body memory, living purely in and for the moment. Her knees buckled.
Simon made an encouraging sound deep in his throat and widened his stance against the desk.
Wow. Pow. Even better.
His body was lean and hard. It fit hers as if they’d been carved from the same piece of oak, every plane and curve lined up and matching. Her starved system sparked and exploded. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she fed and devoured him.
But
