me?”
Why had he come here? He could give himself any number of excuses—namely, that she’d been handy since her shop was a safe place to regroup and close enough to the park where the events had all gone down.
But that wasn’t the full truth.
He knew he was a bastard of the highest order, but Knox made every possible effort not to lie. Especially not to himself. “I needed help.”
“Try again.” Her gaze flashed once more toward the back door before it shifted to him. He felt her perusal as clear as a brand, from head to toe and back up again.
Damn if it wasn’t the sexiest thing he’d felt in a long time. Too long.
Focus, man.
He had a she-cat on his hands and he’d do well to remember that. This wasn’t a woman who backed down. “It’s the truth. I needed somewhere to lay low, and I remembered how to get to your shop. I’m just lucky you were still here.” Something unsettling flashed across her face like an ephemeral mask, and Knox stilled at the dark cloud that seemed to hover over her.
But it was her words that revealed even more than the look. “I’m always here.”
Was that pride? Resignation? Perhaps an odd mix of both?
He’d made a rather successful career at reading people, yet he couldn’t quite get a grip on this woman. Everything about her screamed confidence and competence, even as vague disillusionment tinged the edges. They’d met a few days before, and he’d gotten a nebulous impression of the same, but it had taken this comment for the impressions to form into a more cohesive thought.
She’s not your problem, mate.
The thought beat a rapid tattoo in his mind, but even a thousand warnings to himself couldn’t still the curiosity that had begun to run rampant about the luscious caterer with the long, curling hair that made a man itch to grab several fistfuls.
Her brother’s a cop.
He tried that internal warning on for size, and even the promise of a gun-wielding, protective sibling couldn’t quite eradicate the image of running his mouth over those generous breasts or burying himself at the apex of those long, long legs.
And then he nearly groaned as he pictured the spiky high heels she normally sported still capping off those long, long legs.
Voice harsh, he pressed his earlier point. “Look, I just need a few hours. You don’t even need to be here. Set the alarm and leave, and I can head out in a bit.”
“I’m not leaving you here.”
“Well, I’m not leaving, so we’re at an impasse.”
A triumphant note was layered beneath her sexy voice. “Then you can deal with my brother on his next set of rounds through the neighborhood.”
“Or you can do as I asked.”
Before he could check himself for being such a raging bloody idiot, he snagged the handcuffs from his back pocket and had one over her wrist. In a matter of heartbeats, he had the other cuff over his own wrist.
“What did—”
He cut her off, wiggling his fingers in a small wave as he lifted their conjoined arms. “Looks like you’ve got company for the evening.”
* * *
Gabby stared at the large hand that waved so near her own.
He’d handcuffed her? To him?
Shock had quickly given way to anger, and she fought to keep the upper hand. Or, hell, any hand. Preferably a free one. “What is wrong with you?”
“Desperate times, love.” He added a wink, and even though she knew the cheeky move was more an act than sincere, she couldn’t stop the shiver at the endearment. “I need to lay low for a few hours and I’m doing it here. Get over it.”
“Knox.” If she thought using his name would make her plea more personal somehow, she hadn’t given any thought to how it would make her feel. It slipped from her lips, wrapped in the breathless frustration of the moment, and she couldn’t deny she liked the sound of it on her lips and tongue.
The single syllable was hard and unyielding, like the man. Add on the unusual X at the end, and she had a sense of the wild and raw.
Also like the man.
“I can’t be a part of this.”
“You were anxious to be a part of things a few hours ago with your girlfriends.”
“I’ve been worried about them. Giving good friends moral support isn’t aiding and abetting a man with a gunshot wound.”
“I’m one of the good guys.”
“Are you sure?”
She’d seen his government badge and knew Lilah’s fiancé, Reed, had checked Knox St. Germain out through the Dallas PD database. So when had the whispers that the British officer wasn’t all he seemed taken root?
“Quite sure. You’ll be reimbursed for your time, trouble and your thousand-thread-count napkins.” He tapped his bloody shoulder with his free hand. “But for now let’s get out of the doorway.”
He’d cuffed the wrist of the same arm that had the gunshot wound, and no matter how hard she’d like to make him suffer for his asinine tactics, she reluctantly followed him back to the kitchen. The cuffs ensured there was minimal distance between the two of them, and a rush of awareness filled her at their nearness as they moved in lockstep with each other.
She’d dragged his body inside, pressed against hers, not more than fifteen minutes ago, yet even that hadn’t seemed as intimate as the small links of metal that bound them to each other.
“What are you doing here so late?” he asked.
“Cooking and finishing up some paperwork.”
“It’s almost midnight.”
“It’s a lot of paperwork.”
The words came out on a snap, and she decided to let them linger. While it wasn’t his fault she spent nearly her entire life focused on her business, she wasn’t done being irritated with him. And she certainly didn’t need the inevitable lecture he’d feel honor-bound to deliver about the evils of working too hard.
“It must be a lot to run your own business.”
Her gaze flew to his at the gentle comment, and the swinging door to the kitchen nearly hit her before he reached out and caught it with his free hand.
“Sometimes.”
“But worth it, too. Hard work is its own reward and all.”
She continued on through the door as he held it open and fought the urge to shake her head. She’d already spent far too many precious hours this month arguing with
