Sinclair Justice (Texas Rangers #2)(21)

Dear Lord, she could barely face herself, how could she face him? And why was he the only man she’d ever met who incited this degree of physical chemistry so quickly? There could be no future for them . . . After they concluded their business, she’d move back to the Northeast, and he was a confirmed Texan. He didn’t even like her, not really. He thought she was a spoiled heiress out to prove herself in her first case by denying his family the property rights to develop their land as they deemed suitable.

She had to clear her throat, her voice was so husky. Finally, she managed through the door, “Is there anything else? I . . . need some sleep and it’s getting late.”

“That’s not all you need. For that matter, I need it, too.” The words were guttural, as if he ground them out against his will. She didn’t answer because any denial would be a bald-faced lie and they both knew it. She was still afraid to open the door.

Then a note of laughter softened his tone. “Are you ever coming out?”

“Actually, I’m thinking of staying awhile. If I stare into this mirror long enough, eventually I’ll see someone I recognize.”

Silence on the other side of the door, and then it opened. She’d dropped the robe onto the floor to wash, so she stood before him bare in body and soul, or at least that’s the way she felt. “Hey,” she protested, “maybe we shared a kiss, but that doesn’t give you the right to invade my privacy.”

“You’re right. I just want to be sure you’re okay and then I’ll leave.” This time, he studiously kept his dark blue gaze on her face. “If you want me to . . .”

Stay—the word leaped to her lips, but she didn’t give it freedom. She was still too shaken by their passionate embrace. If she followed her instincts, yet more complications would result. “I can’t.”

The incandescent blue died down to a simmer. “I understand.” And then, like the gentleman he was, he picked up the robe, wrapped it around her shoulders, holding it while she stuck her arms in each side, and belted it tightly. “You need a new robe and slippers,” he said lightly, backing out of the door to give her room to exit.

“I know; this one is just so comfortable. And . . . Yancy gave it to me for my birthday a long time ago.”

“A very long time ago . . .” he teased. He bent to pick up the scattered papers. He stuck them back in the file, then flicked the business card against his thumb. “Where did you get Doyle’s card? She’s a consultant for the Rangers.”

“I met her at the library today. We were both researching trafficking, though I think she said she’d been hired to look into the drug trade more than kidnappings.”

“The two are intertwined.”

“That’s what she said.”

“Did she say who hired her?”

Emm shook her head.

He frowned, his eyes narrowing. The last of the lambent flames had died away and the stern Ranger captain was back as he growled, “This is not an association I approve of. She knows what she’s doing, but you don’t, and if you spend much time with her, I could see you trying to trail after her like a puppy—”

“At least give me the dignity of a bloodhound analogy instead of a puppy—”

“And as it happens, I received the okay just today to hire her to help look for your sister . . . and the other missing women, too, of course.”

Arguments died on her lips. “Thank you.”

“So you found her competent?”

“Beyond competent, though I shared more details with her than she did with me.”

He nodded approval at that. “By the way, do you recall if your niece speaks fluent Spanish?”

Emm tilted her head as she did when confused. “Yes, and so does Yancy. They both spent a summer and several holidays in Spain.”

“I see.” With a last look between her and the bed, a look that made her blush again, he went to the door. “Okay, well, let me know when the structural engineer will be in town. I want to be present for at least part of the survey.”

She nodded, holding her robe closed, and walked him the short distance to the door. “Thanks for stopping by.” The banality should have been comforting, but it wasn’t. She stuck her hands deep into her frayed pockets to avoid the urge to catch him around the neck and pull his head down. And then . . .

They both studiously avoided looking at the bed.

His wide shoulders blocking the hallway light, he turned back to look at her in that thorough, head-to-toe way again. “No—thank you.” He waited, and only when her flush deepened did he give that lazy smile. “It’s only a matter of time, you know.”

She pretended to misunderstand. “I know, I should be out of your hair in a month or so—”

“Until you sweep me off to bed. You’re a very passionate woman. You need it almost as much as I do. Why not save us both a lot of time and frustration and admit it?”

“Oooh!” She slammed the door on the kiss he blew her.

But as his footsteps retreated, she stared into space. He was right, damn him, as he’d been right about almost everything else. “Just business,” she repeated to herself as she flung off her robe and slippers and climbed into bed.

But as sleep claimed her, the mantra had changed to, Just once, what can it hurt? Just once . . .