Temperature's Rising (11 page)

“You okay?” Conor asked.

The vision vanished. She blinked several times. He was fully dressed. She’d hoped for a moment . . . It didn’t matter. They would just see who could turn up the heat until the other cried uncle.

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She, after all, was a Nelson, and Nelsons didn’t play fair.

“I’m perfectly fine . . . thank you very much.” She squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye.

He wasn’t about to run her off.

Chapter 7

Someone had a warped sense of humor. Jessica helped with unpacking boxes and putting away stuff, and with each box she died just a little more. There was a small box of cinnamon-scented candles and glass holders to place the votives in. That wasn’t so bad. It was the way they were decorated. Little golden cupids with little bows and arrows, all in the shape of little hearts.

They were disgustingly cute.

Then her cousins had lugged in a plush love seat that could only be meant for snuggling. They didn’t even dare look her way when they added heart pillows.

And really! A white, faux bearskin rug? She could see herself and Conor wrapped in each other’s arms in front of a roaring fire with the temperature outside pushing ninety degrees. It wouldn’t be the sweat of passion rolling down their faces.

She leaned against the banister as her gaze moved toward the rug. The bear’s mouth was locked open, teeth bared. Her vision blurred and for just a moment she could imagine Conor lying naked on the white fur, leaning back 92

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on his elbow with one knee bent. His skin sleek and tanned. Her gaze moved slowly over him, her mouth going dry. He wouldn’t even try to hide all his . . . glori-ous . . . uh . . . attributes.

A bead of sweat slid down her face and into the vee of her blouse, tickling her breasts as it slipped between them.

She drew in a shaky breath, realizing her hands were caressing the knob of the newel post.

“Oh, now that’s sick,” she told herself.

When she looked back up, the vision had vanished.

Disappointment flooded her. She even took a step toward the stupid rug, as if that would make her wanton image materialize once again.

Damn, it didn’t. Even so, it took a few more minutes to cool down.

Her eyes narrowed. Whoever set them up had put a lot of thought into their planning, but it wouldn’t work. She’d resist. It was the only choice she had. She stiffened her spine and returned to unpacking boxes.

It didn’t take long to empty the truck, since the bigger appliances came with the house. Other than what they’d already unloaded, there were a couple of armchairs, a dresser for the bedroom, table and chairs for the kitchen, and some boxes of dishes, along with other odds and ends. Before she knew it, Lucas and Jimmy were gone.

They were alone.

Just the two of them.

She and Conor.

Jessica covertly glanced in Conor’s direction. Instead of making a smart remark about some of the stuff they’d unloaded, he turned and strode toward the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “I’m starved. Do you think they might have stocked the refrigerator?” Food? At a time like this? How could he think about TEMPERATURE’S RISING

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his stomach? She braced her hands on her hips, staring at his retreating back. They’d be practically living as man and wife for who knows how long, and all he could think about was eating? She certainly had other things on her mind.

She squeezed her eyes shut as the rug and a nude Conor invaded her thoughts. No, not that. She wasn’t thinking about sex. The burglars—that’s what had skipped across her mind.

Right, and if a frog had wings he wouldn’t bump his butt when he hopped.

Laughter came from the kitchen, drawing her attention. She hadn’t thought Conor the type of man who laughed. He’d been too serious the day he’d arrested her.

So what did he find so damn funny all of a sudden? It certainly wasn’t a heart-shaped refrigerator. She’d seen the kitchen.

Proceeding cautiously, she eased down the hall and through the open doorway. Her gaze swept the room. The kitchen was large with a long row of white cabinets. A wooden table and four matching chairs were by a window looking out into the backyard. Most of the house next door was also visible.

In the center of the room was an island with a chop-ping block and small chrome sink. Above that, one of the guys had hung copper pans.

Shivers ran up and down her arms. It felt too warm and cozy, too . . . homey, but it looked just as it had earlier. At least, nothing seemed out of place.

The stove was to her left, then a span of counter. At the end of the counter was the refrigerator. Conor leaned against the open door with a smirky grin on his face. The kind of smile that said she wouldn’t like what he was looking at any more than she had liked the love seat built for two or the bearskin rug. Okay, maybe she hadn’t 94

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minded
looking
at the bearskin rug—drooling, salivating, slobbering . . .

So what had he found that could be so funny? She met his gaze. Laughter twinkled in his eyes. She had to admit, she rather liked this lighter side of him. As long as she didn’t have to shove his grin down his throat. She edged closer and leaned around him, peering inside.

“I see they sent the staples,” she commented dryly.

“Champagne, oysters, chocolate, and strawberries.” If she ever found out who did this . . .

A frown wrinkled her brow as her suspicion grew. She reached past Conor and picked up one of the foil-wrapped chocolates, unwrapped it, and bit into the candy, taking half into her mouth.

Wonderful. She closed her eyes for a moment of heavenly delight as she took pleasure in the burst of raspberry flavor that shot out. When Conor’s hand circled her wrist, her eyes flew open. Slowly he brought the rest of the candy toward him. Their gazes locked.

Some of the creamy, soft center had dribbled down the side of her finger. His tongue licked, scooping the gooey, rich candy into his mouth. He closed his eyes as if savoring the taste.

A slow, aching need started in her belly, trembled down her legs, and curled her toes.

He opened his eyes, then brought her hand to his mouth again—and stole the rest of the candy.

“That”—she cleared her throat—“was mine.”

“But since we’re going to be living together, we’ll have to learn to compromise . . . and to share.”

“I don’t like sharing.”

He leaned closer. So close she could smell the raspberry on his breath. She had an incredible urge to taste him. She already enjoyed kissing him, but mix the flavor of chocolate and raspberries and man . . . you couldn’t TEMPERATURE’S RISING

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ask for more than that, except maybe if you threw in a heart-shaped bed draped in silk sheets.

Without thinking, she leaned a little closer, so close she could almost feel the heat of his lips against hers. His fingers lightly stroked hers, causing the embers inside her to glow.

He groaned, effectively bringing her to her senses. She tugged her hand free. He was doing it again. His whole personality changed when he tried his seduction routine.

He went from cop to flirt in the blink of an eye before she could put her guard up.

That was her problem. He was more tempting than any man she’d ever been around. If he kept this up, she had a feeling the days were going to be exquisite torture. Hell, they hadn’t been together but a few hours and she wanted to drizzle him in chocolate and slowly lick his entire body.

Chocolate-covered hunk.

Note to self: start new diet. One that doesn’t include chocolate of any kind.

“I could teach you how much fun sharing can be,” he drawled. “We could share the shower—save on hot water.

I could wash your back. I’ve been told I’m pretty good at washing backs . . . and other body areas.” Ohhhh, so not fair. Conor was good. Really good. Two could play this game. “And maybe while I’m here I’ll teach
you
a few things,” she told him in a throaty whisper, not about to let him know how much he affected her.

His frown told her she’d won this round. Funny, but she didn’t much feel like a winner.

Conor looked sorely disappointed that she hadn’t run from the house to get away from his animal magnetism.

That gave her some measure of satisfaction.

But then, he didn’t realize how close she was to jumping his bones, not running away. She’d have to keep her guard up at all times around him now that she knew his 96

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game. Oh yes, Conor thought he could seduce her right out of the house.

Over his shoulder he said, “Come on.” She let the smallest of smiles curve her lips upward.

He only wanted to scare her. She wouldn’t run home to her safe apartment just because he flirted with her.

What was he up to now, though? “Where are we going?” she asked before moving an inch.

Stopping, he faced her, and with the sexiest grin she’d ever seen, said, “Although sweet and tasty, I can’t live on what’s in the fridge. We need to stock up on groceries and linens. Unless you want to sleep bare.”

“Bare?” she croaked, her muscles turning to the con-sistency of jelly. Darn—now, instead of on the bearskin rug, she pictured him in the same position, no clothes and on the heart-shaped bed. Her thighs trembled. This time he’d crook his finger as he beckoned her to join him.

“Yeah, on a bare mattress,” he said.

He probably knew exactly where her mind would go—

right in the gutter when he’d mentioned sleeping bare.

Conor wasn’t giving up, and he wasn’t playing fair.

The way he looked at her, his gaze slowly traveling over her body, told her the food in the refrigerator and a sheetless bed weren’t all he envisioned. She only hoped the arsenal she’d packed in her suitcase would be enough to ensure her survival over the length of time it took to gather enough evidence to get a conviction on the burglars.

And speaking of which, would it be wise to leave?

“What about the suspects?”

“Since George made contact, we can’t stay home all the time. That would look strange, even for newlyweds, but if they see us coming and going, they shouldn’t get suspicious. Someone in an unmarked car will patrol while we’re away. They’ll probably still be there when we get back.”

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That’s what she was afraid of. The suspects had better hurry and make a mistake so she could be done with this stakeout and go home.

“You coming?”

She certainly hoped not, but she was very close to doing just that every time he looked at her. She rolled her eyes.
Get your mind out of the gutter, Jessica.

Conor was right about not staying home all the time. It would look odd. Maybe food would take her mind off all the sexy images she was having. And they did need to eat.

Apparently her father wasn’t too worried about his job. She scowled. If he was, he wouldn’t have set up this surveillance like he had. Heart-shaped bed! Didn’t he have more imagination than that?

But the Godiva Chocolate. She had to admit that was a good idea, and a dead giveaway. Only her father would have purchased the specialty candy. He always gave her a box on her birthday, at Christmas, and on special occa-sions . . . like when she’d made it through the academy.

How appropriate for him to send it now—her first surveillance. If he was trying to tell her he liked Conor, giving his stamp of approval, she hated to disappoint him, because she still wasn’t getting involved with a cop.

She trailed behind Conor, thinking what a shame. He had the sexiest walk she’d ever seen on a man. A slow, easy gait. And those hip-riding jeans. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. They were enough to take her breath away. As she passed by the thermostat, she bumped the central air down a notch. Maybe it would be cold enough when they returned to keep her passion under control.

She looked one more time at his butt.

Or maybe not.

“We want heart-shaped sheets,” Conor told the saleswoman.

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Jessica wondered how he could ask that with a straight face. Hell, she couldn’t even say it without spitting.

Earth to Jessica. What was her problem? Was she getting spacey? No, her problem was she didn’t want to be in this store. It was embarrassing. Not only were there female mannequins wearing skimpy, lacy nighties, but there were male mannequins, too. They’d actually put a black leather thong on one, and from the bulge it looked anatomically correct. What man would be caught dead wearing a black leather thong?

Her gaze moved back to the mannequin’s face. It winked at her! She blinked several times. No, mannequins didn’t wink. She frowned. It looked a lot like Conor, too.

Great, now she was imagining things. Lack of sleep, that’s all it could be. Knowing they’d be moving in together had kept her up most of the night.

“You okay?” Conor asked.

She jerked her attention away from the man of plastic and narrowed her eyes on Conor. He thought the situation was hilarious.

“It’s just a little crowded in here.” She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was uncomfortable being in the store with him.

Didn’t anyone use the Internet to shop? Or order from a catalog? She found it much easier doing that than actually shopping for something as ridiculous as heart-shaped sheets.

She bought all her sexy lingerie off the Internet . . .

along with deliciously sexy toys that she certainly didn’t want to think about with Conor standing near her. Or what she could do with a certain stimulating device. She was self-conscious enough as it was.

Hell, she wanted to crawl underneath the counter just listening to Conor. Anyone would think he came into this store every day. She looked at him from the corner of her TEMPERATURE’S RISING

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eye. Maybe he did. It was always the dark, quiet ones who surprised people the most.

He glanced her way, looking as innocent as a newborn babe. She attempted a smile, but knew he saw through her act. She couldn’t help it; she didn’t like the way the other customers were eavesdropping.