Asking for Trouble (8 page)

The house welcomed him with the addictive aroma of fresh-baked bread and hot brewed coffee. The spacious foyer was divided like a multipronged fork. The woodwork and crown molding along the ceiling must be original to the house. The floors had been refinished, accentuating the aged dings while giving them a modern shine. Quality work, too. The house would be a real showplace once it was finished if the attention to detail continued. The carpenter in him itched to be set loose on the house.

So much potential here. Absolute paradise.

“Morgan gets the same look on her face when she comes in.” Angela laughed, gesturing for him to follow her into the kitchen. “Bringing this house to life again is one of her passions. Any spare minute she has is spent working on it. I think that's why her grandmother left it to her. She knew it would be in good hands.”

“This is Morgan's doing?” Despite her penchant for surprising him, Gage had a difficult time picturing the woman he'd met the other night staining antique floors or cutting baseboards.

“She's a whiz on home repairs, thank goodness. Saves us a fortune. Just not enough hours in the day to keep up with it all. You can set those on the counter. Nico, Inspector Gage Juliano. Inspector, my husband, Nico Fiorelli.”

“Nice to meet you, Inspector,” Nico said as Gage caught sight of Kelley peeking around the pantry doorway. Gage winked at her. She brimmed with the energy of an overloaded pixie as she giggled, her cheeks tinting bright pink.

“Gage, please.” Gage wondered how such a bear of a man made a kitchen feel so welcoming. Taller and much wider than Gage, like a clean-shaven Santa, but jollier. “These look amazing.” The kitchen counters and table were filled with racks of cooling bread, pastries, and muffins. “Where do you sell?”

“Sell?” Nico let out a bark of laughter. “I don't. It's what keeps me sane since I retired. What we don't freeze or eat I give to family and friends, although I think by now they consider me a carbohydrate dealer.”

“Do you mind?” Gage gestured to a blueberry muffin that would dwarf a softball.

“Help yourself.” Nico tossed flour on the butcher block island and started rolling out a large rectangle of dough. “I tend to lose track and get carried away.”

“You should see this place at Christmas,” Angela joked. “It looks like a cookie factory exploded.”

Gage split the muffin and felt steam release against his fingers as he bit into the moist cake. The mixture of tart berries and crumb topping made his stomach growl in greedy response. “Amazing. There's something different though—”

“Nutmeg.” Nico grinned. “My secret ingredient.”

“Gage brought Morgan a present,” Angela all but sang. “Must be a special occasion?”

“Just returning something she lost the other night.”

Angela's not-so-innocent tone clanged a familiar warning bell in Gage's head. In that instant he vowed she and his mother should never meet. Gage glanced at the clock as he polished off the muffin, thinking Nico could make a small fortune if he went into business. He'd told Janice he'd be back by one and it was twelve fifteen now. “You said Morgan's in the garage?”

“She is,” Nico said, aiming a warning look at his wife. “Instead of interrogating our guest, Angela, why don't you show him the way?”

“I'd love to,” Angela grinned and took a swig of coffee. “I'm sure she'll be surprised to see you.”

***

Morgan pulled out her wrench just as someone banged on the side of the car.

“What?” Morgan shouted from under the carriage of her latest pride and joy.

“Company, Morgan.” Angela called.

“Tell them I'm busy.”

“I can see that.” Morgan tucked her chin down in time to see Gage grinning at her. “'67 Impala. Nice refurb. How's it coming?”

“Sh-ugar!” Morgan whacked her forehead on the oil pan. “Oh, ow.” Pain shot through her skull as she was dragged from under the car by her ankles.

“You okay?” Gage's grin faded under the concern clouding the blue eyes that had haunted her dreams all week. He picked up a rag as she shoved herself up, pressing oil-slick fingers against the sore spot.

“I'm fine.” Oh, God. What was he doing here? Had the D.A. found something? Had there been a break in the case?

Morgan slammed her foot on the mental brakes. Gage had no way of connecting her to Nemesis that she knew of, and if he had come because of the case, he wouldn't have done it with a wink and a smile.
Get it together
.

“Your eyes are spinning.” He pushed her back until she leaned against the car door. “Sit still for a minute. Let me get you some water.”

“I don't need water.” What were the odds that as soon as she vowed to extricate herself from Nemesis, Inspector Juliano stopped by for tea? “Where's Angela?” She could use a buffer between them about now.

“She went inside. Probably to grab one of those muffins Nico made.”

At the mention of muffins, Morgan realized she'd forgotten to schedule in breakfast again and then lunch, which baffled her because Nico made the best blueberry muffins in the county.

“Here.” Gage pushed a bottle of water into her hands, squatted down next to her, and dragged a semi-clean rag across her forehead. “Damn. That's going to bruise. I didn't mean to startle you.”

Holy. The man wore simple dark slacks and a blazer as perfectly as he had the tux. “What are you doing here? I didn't think I'd see you again after the other night.”

“Hmmmm.” He pressed gentle fingertips against the sore spot on her head. “How do you feel? Nauseated? Dizzy?”

Not from the knock on the head. “I've had worse. Help me up.” He grabbed hold of her hands and pulled, but before she toppled into him, she detoured and leaned on the workbench. The last thing she needed was to be in Gage Juliano's arms again. Dammit. What was she supposed to say? She opened the water and took a long drink. “It's Friday. Shouldn't you be at work?”

“I am at work.”

Morgan's mouth went dry and she drank again, trying to swallow the panic. “You are?”

“Well, lost-and-found isn't in my job description these days, but I thought you might like these back.” He reached back for a paper bag she hadn't noticed before and pulled out a beautifully wrapped shoe box. He placed the gift on the trunk of the Impala. “I don't know much about shoes, but they didn't look as if you got them at the Salvation Army.”

“Oh.” Morgan pressed a hand against her heart as gratitude swelled within her. “Oh, I didn't think I'd see them again. My, um, my mom bought them for me to go with the dress.” She hadn't wanted to dwell on the loss, not when there were more important things to worry about, but the dress looked lost hanging alone in her closet.

She grabbed hold of his shoulders and kissed him on the cheek, startling both of them.

She stepped away, tried to laugh, but his hand came up to cup her cheek like he had after the party. Her entire body ignited as if he'd turned on a blowtorch. So much for hoping the fireworks between them had been her imagination.

“What happened the other night?” He rubbed a thumb against her lips. She shivered, unable to pull her gaze from his. “What scared you away?”

What didn't scare her about Gage? The way he made everything else vanish? The way her mind turned to hot, steamy soup whenever he touched her? Or maybe that with very little effort he could rip her life apart?

“The other night was a fairy tale, Gage. Make-believe. You see this?” She shouldn't want him touching her, but she did, even as she gestured to her grungy, grease-stained cutoffs, and ripped T-shirt. “This is me, my life. I fix cars, repair water heaters, and paint siding when I'm not working, which is pretty much all the time. I'm helping to raise four foster kids and trying to keep this roof over their heads. I'm not that glamour girl you met the other night. I don't get prettied up and go to parties and eat at the tennis club. I am not my sister.” Not that that didn't work for Sheila. It just didn't for Morgan.

“Did it ever occur to you that I might think that's a good thing?”

“No.” Because no man ever had before. Not that there had been many interested. “Look, Gage, the other night was wonderful.”
For the most part.
“But there isn't any room in my life for this. Besides, you're a cop. That isn't the most safe profession in the world, and, no offense, I can't take on someone else to worry about.” She flailed her hand between them, gasped when he caught it and tugged her closer. “Forget what scares me, Gage.” She tried a different tactic because nothing, no good at all, could come out of what he made her feel. What he made her want. “Everything around me should scare
you
. You need to run.”

He ran his thumb over the sensitive skin at her wrist, jump-starting her pulse beneath his touch. He smiled, watching her as if she were a mirage in the middle of the desert, commanding every bit of his attention. “I was a cop for fifteen years, Morgan. It'll take more than ‘all this' to scare me, and trust me when I say I've learned to be extra careful. But there's more. Something you're not telling me.” He inclined his head, those piercing blue eyes shooting like lightning into her soul.

Anger sliced through her, sharp, irritable. She didn't like being read so easily, which was even more reason to stay away from him. He might see too much. “Did it ever occur to you I'm just not interested?”

“No.” Gage grinned and brought her grease-covered fingers to his lips. “Fairy tales don't work that way.”

“You've met Kelley.” Morgan let out a small laugh, and for a moment, rested her forehead against his chest. Big mistake. He smelled fresh, clean, and she caught a trace of . . . sawdust? Her head spun. She patted a hand against his arm, lifted her head. “She's eight, Gage. She still thinks bedtime stories are real. Besides.” She needed to put some distance between them. “I don't need any man riding to my rescue. I manage on my own.”

“I wouldn't presume to rescue you. But work can't be everything. There has to be more to life. Crap.” He frowned, his eyes narrowing as he shook his head hard. “Crap. Crap. Crap. Dammit, she broke through after all.” He rubbed fingers across his forehead as if trying to erase a thought. “Why is she always right?”

Morgan looked around for a hidden camera. “Who are you talking to?”

“Talking about, actually.” Gage blew out a breath and dragged a hand through his hair. “Okay, I'm just going to do this. Not that this will be humiliating at all. I'm hoping, praying, actually, that returning your shoes has earned me a favor in return.”

Morgan felt a labyrinth erupt around her. No clear way out, dead ends at every turn. A Minotaur lying in wait wasn't as dangerous to her as Gage could be. So she went with, “What kind of favor?”

“What's that calendar of yours look like for Sunday?”

“Sunday? I spend my Sundays here working on the house unless I have brunch with Dad, which I don't.” Why, oh, why hadn't she arranged for brunch with her father? Better yet, why hadn't she just lied? “Gage, I know you think you're being charming and that this is fun, trying to seduce me into a date, but—”

“Morgan, please say you're free on Sunday because you are the only woman who can help me out of a situation with my mother.”

Morgan stared at him. Blinked. Blinked again. “Say again?”

“One afternoon with me, at my parents' house. Family birthday party. Your presence has been, well, requested.”

“By your mother?” Morgan clarified.

“She saw that picture—”

“In the paper.” That damned picture. First Kelley, then Kent, now Gage's mother? “And your mother is . . . ?” She waved her hand, urging him to explain.

“Obsessed with me getting married and giving her grandchildren.” He grinned, held out his arms in exaltation. “Tag. You're it.”

“Seems like a lot to expect from one afternoon.”

“You think this is funny.”

Morgan laughed and held out a hand as he advanced on her, which made her laugh harder. “Of course I think this is funny. The big, bad inspector's afraid of his mother. Don't!”

Strong hands gripped her arms, freezing the laugh in her chest as he hauled her against him.

“Gage, I—” Her voice lost its strength as his gaze fell to her mouth. A whimper escaped her lips as his face dipped toward hers. Her hands skimmed the front of his shirt, grazed the taut muscles of his chest, fingers tingling against the buttons as she considered exploring further. “You can stop,” she whispered. “I'm not laughing anymore.”

Please stop. Please stop. Please . . .

Don't stop.

And then his mouth was on hers. Doubt became vapor. Desire and passion entwined as his tongue swept over hers, teasing, exploring, tempting. Gage was all there was, all she wanted, the heat of him, the strength of him. She drew him closer, felt his leg wedge between hers as he pushed her against the workbench and pulled her higher against him. Her body pulsed, hot, ready, to the point of overheating, and still she clung, not wanting it to end. She was on the brink of surrendering to this man who had invaded her thoughts and dreams from the moment they'd met.

Her cell phone chimed, the blaring alarm cutting through the Gage-induced fog. His mouth lifted, but only enough for him to press his forehead against hers. His fingers continued to stroke her face, his breath hot against her face. “Time's up.” Except, for the life of her, she couldn't remember what was next on her calendar.

“Is that a yes to Sunday?” His question brushed against her cheek, against her heart.

The only excuse she had for saying no meant confessing to a felony. She nodded.

“Thank you.” The relief in Gage's voice did nothing to quell the hammering of her heart. A date. With a cop. What the hell was she playing at? “I'll call you tomorrow with the details.”