Temperature's Rising (15 page)

“As long as the show is over, Conor, I might as well go to sleep. And you could at least turn the bathroom light off. It shines right in my eyes.” The mattress squeaked as he got up. She glanced over her shoulder, then hurriedly ducked her head as he switched the light off.

Yeah, right. Like she’d be able to go to sleep now.

Sleep was the last thing on her mind.

Fool! Why’d you look again?

She’d take a cold shower, but Conor would know exactly what she had on her mind. Like it would do any good after that show. Hell, he probably already knew she wasn’t immune to his physical attributes.

And what attributes they were! Bronzed skin, a broad chest she could easily imagine resting her head against.

Lean and hard. Oh yes, Officer Conor Richmond had very nice attributes.

Ones she would ignore if it killed her.

Damn, it was freakin’ hot in here. Her pajamas were suffocating. She flipped to her back and began the task of unbuttoning her protective suit. She barely registered the light spilling from his room. She refused to look in his direction.

After finally getting each button undone, she wiggled and squirmed out of her bunny pj’s. Much better, she sighed with relief, and tossed them into the corner before pulling the sheet under her arms.

“Too hot for you, Jessica?”

She jumped and turned to her side. Conor stood in the doorway, fully dressed.

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“You know, it’s only going to get worse. You want me and I want you. Eventually we’ll have sex. Why not leave in the morning and save yourself some regrets?” Damn it, he was reading her mind again. At least part of it. She did want to make love with him. She doubted she’d have any regrets, though. “Go to hell, Conor. Just wake me up in a few hours, and I’ll take the next watch.” Chapter 9

When Jessica opened her eyes the next morning, the night before came rushing back. Could her life get any worse? Damn, he’d caught her staring. How embarrassing.

She’d been able to face him better when she was half asleep and he’d wakened her to take over the watch. After brewing a pot of coffee, she grabbed a book and sat in front of the kitchen window. She’d managed to stay awake until four-thirty when he slipped downstairs and made her go back to bed. She glanced at the clock. It was seven-thirty.

She pulled the covers over her head, wanting to stay in bed the rest of the day, but the darkness brought visions of a tanned, naked body sauntering around the bedroom.

Just what she needed—erotic images for breakfast.

As delicious as those thoughts were, hiding because she didn’t really want to face him in the light of day would be taking the coward’s way out, and she wasn’t, and never had been, a coward. Still, she cautiously looked across the hall before getting up. She didn’t see him any-128

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where. The bathroom door was open, so he wasn’t in there.

Good. At least she could put off facing him until she had herself under control. She scrambled off the air mattress and rushed to the bathroom.

“Eghhh!” She skidded to a stop, slapping a hand to her chest and staring at her reflection. It was obvious she hadn’t gotten any beauty sleep last night. She’d tossed and turned so much, her hair stuck out worse than if she’d put her finger in a light socket.

She stripped out of the shorts and cotton top she’d put on after Conor went downstairs to take the first watch.

Much cooler than the blasted bunny suit she’d bought.

Besides the fact it hadn’t worked to keep her thoughts pure.

After adjusting the water, she climbed in the shower.

The hot water felt wonderful on her sore muscles. The air mattress wasn’t even close to being as comfortable as her bed, but she had no alternative. She’d suffer it until they caught the burglars red-handed.

As much as she enjoyed the soothing spray, all things had to end. She got out, towel dried, and quickly brushed her teeth. After dressing in dark green tights, running shoes, and a loose white, sleeveless shirt over a midriff-hugging spandex top, she fastened her hair back with a gold clip and deemed herself presentable.

As she passed the mirror, she couldn’t help frowning at her reflection. She didn’t want to look stuffy. She unbuttoned the top button. Better. Then the next one. Much better. Kind of like saying,
yeah, I saw your ass. So what?

Now she could face the day . . . and Conor. Well, maybe not Conor, but the longer she waited, the harder it would be. She groaned. Two words she didn’t want to think about in the same sentence.
Conor
—and
hard.

The rattling of pans and the aroma of frying bacon drew TEMPERATURE’S RISING

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her down the stairs and toward the kitchen. Hesitantly, she entered.

“Good morning,” Conor said, glancing in her direction, then turned his attention back to the skillet of sizzling bacon. “Coffee’s on the counter. Cups in the cabinet to the left. Hope you like bacon and eggs.” It was amazing how at home he looked standing in front of the stove with a blue-striped dish towel tucked into the waistband of his jeans. She never would’ve thought he’d be the kind of man who cooked.

Some of her uneasiness at facing him evaporated.

Conor acted as if nothing had happened.

“How do you like your eggs?”

She strolled to the coffeepot, sniffed, then opened the cabinet and reached for a cup.

“Unfertilized,” she muttered, then louder, “I don’t usually eat breakfast. Just coffee.” His hand stilled in the process of turning the bacon.

“You’re joking?”

Jessica shook her head. “No, that’s all I eat. I like to run every morning. Jogging and a full stomach don’t mix.”

“You won’t make an exception? I cook a mean egg.”
I bet you do.
In fact, she figured he did most things extremely well.

“No, nothing.” She poured herself a cup of coffee. The thought of food sent an uncomfortable rumbling in her stomach. Or maybe Conor made her stomach turn inside out.

“Okay. But you haven’t lived until you’ve eaten the famous Conor Richmond breakfast.” She had to admit the man was irresistible when he grinned. A smile tugged at her lips as she took a sip.

“Ugh. This is awful.” She grimaced as the dark liquid hit her taste buds. “It’s always better if you add water.” 130

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His eyebrows drew together. “Too strong?”

“That’s an understatement.” She poured half down the drain and added hot water to her cup. “Maybe we should invest in another pot. Then we can each make our own.”

“That reminds me, we should know a little about the other’s likes and dislikes. Just in case we need the information.”

He made sense. Of course they should know more about each other. After all, they were supposed to be married.

“You’re right. It’d be a shame to ruin your cover just because you don’t know which side of the bed I prefer.” She froze. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to call them back, but it was too late. Why the hell had she brought up sleeping? He was probably remembering she’d seen him naked—at least, his backside.

She cleared her throat. “That is . . . I mean . . .”

“Absolutely. The little details can blow a cover quicker than the big stuff.”

She breathed a sigh of relief that he’d let her blunder slide by without commenting and embarrassing her further. It made her reassess her opinion of him. Maybe she’d misjudged.

Taking her watered-down coffee with her, she sat at the table. Conor added the eggs to his plate and joined her, grabbing the catsup bottle as he straddled a chair, then pounded out a good portion on top of his eggs.

His breakfast looked like a bloody massacre.

Surely he didn’t plan to eat that mess. It made her sick just looking at it.

“By the way, which side of the bed
do
you prefer?” he asked.

“Both.” She smiled sweetly.

He cleared his throat and concentrated on stirring the conglomeration on his plate. “Yes, well, uh, if we think TEMPERATURE’S RISING

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about it”—he met her gaze across the table—“there’s already a lot we know about each other.” Was he referring to last night? She’d certainly seen more than she’d anticipated. Would he be that blunt?

“What do you mean?”

He bit into a slice of bacon and chewed. “Well, like when you get nervous, you fiddle with your buttons.”

“I don’t . . .”

With half a slice of bacon, he pointed toward her shirt.

Glancing down, she saw that she was indeed twisting the button. With a snort of disgust, she straightened the wrinkled material.

“Okay, so maybe I do have a couple of bad habits.”

“I’m not faulting you for it. And by the way, you snore.”

“I do not!” She sat straight up in her chair, chin jutting out.

“Don’t worry. The sound didn’t vibrate off the walls or anything.”

Conor Richmond was definitely no gentleman. Especially after he’d dropped his towel to the floor last night with little concern that she was just across the hall and would see so much delicious, sexy, irresistible, and very naked skin.

Oh lord, was she drooling? She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders.

He placed a hand over hers, his expression turning serious. “That’s what I mean, though. The little stuff is what we need to learn. I know you don’t eat breakfast, but what sort of food do you enjoy?”

So, he wanted to get down to business. That was fine, but his hand on hers was a little too warm. Too pleasant.

If she didn’t keep her distance, she’d have to turn the thermostat down again. She pulled her hand away and stood.

Suddenly the lukewarm coffee had as much taste as a 132

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can of drain cleaner. She needed to concentrate on something besides how he made her body tingle. She went to the sink and poured her coffee out.

“Mexican and Chinese.” She glanced over her shoulder.

Conor looked confused. “What?”

“You wanted to know more about me,” she reminded him. “I love Mexican food and hate Chinese.”

“How can anyone hate Chinese food?” She curled her lower lip. “Ugh. No, thanks. Even as a kid, I hated it. I rate it on the same scale as liver. So what about you? Is there something I should know?” She rinsed her cup and placed it in the drainer, then looked around for a towel to dry her hands.

“What do you like? Sports? Football? My father and brother always hogged the remote if there was a game on. I finally began to like it through osmosis.” She knew her words were coming out faster than she intended, but the man made her crazy.

He grinned, and her heart did somersaults. The room got smaller and smaller as his presence filled every tiny space.

A towel. She needed something to dry her hands on.

Anything to concentrate on besides Conor. She scanned the cabinet. Where were the blasted paper towels?

“I like sports,” he told her. “But I like other things as well. I’d rather participate than watch it on TV. You know . . . touch football.” He stood and ambled over to the sink, tossing her his towel.

While she dried her hands, he turned the water on and squirted soap on his dishes before rinsing them and placing them in the drainer alongside her cup.

“I also like picnics on a warm spring day.” He tugged the towel out of her hands and began drying his. “A blanket on the ground, a beautiful woman, a bottle of wine, and some cheese. And maybe later, making love beneath TEMPERATURE’S RISING

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the trees. You like picnics, Jessica?” His gaze held hers as he pitched the towel on the counter.

The birds outside the kitchen window grew silent.

Even the everyday sounds, like the refrigerator running, all quieted to a mere murmur as his presence enveloped her in a cocoon. “I love fried chicken,” she whispered.

She needed space. The man had cast a spell over her.

What was he, a magician or something?

“I’m . . . um . . . I’m going out. I mean, jogging. My morning run.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

Did he want her to stay with him? What did he have in mind? An image formed of naked limbs twined together.

Sweating bodies straining. His hands caressing. Lips joining.

Maybe she could skip her run this once.

“Was there . . . something . . . uh . . . you had in mind?” She tried to make her words sound casual, but to her ears they sounded anything but normal.

“Well, I can’t very well protect you if you’re off somewhere else. What will you do if one of the suspects approaches you?”

Boy, had she misjudged him this time. Always the cop.

That was Conor. “I know you mean well, Officer Richmond.” Her lips thinned. “But I don’t need you to run my obstacle course. You were right earlier. There’s a lot you don’t know about me. You just assume I’m a sitting duck for every burglar, bank robber, and jaywalker because I’m not as experienced as you. In fact, I happen to know more—”

“Okay, okay.” He held up his hands. “I know you’ve been through the academy, and even worked the streets for a while, but be careful. Run in the opposite direction from their house or something.” Jessica opened her mouth, then snapped it closed. Explaining anything to him was like talking to a brick wall.

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Impossible. She whirled around and stomped from the room, unbuttoning her shirt as she went through the house, then tossing it on the sofa before she went out the front door.

Once outside, she took a deep, cleansing breath to clear her head. Running would do her good. She needed to work off some energy. Anything to get her mind off Conor and how he affected her senses. He could make her angrier quicker than anyone she knew, then, in the next breath, turn around and have her wanting to have sex with him.

Good grief, she hadn’t thought so much about sleeping with anyone before she’d met him. Must be all that testosterone that oozed from his pores. At least six feet four inches of living, breathing, raw maleness constantly invading her space.

She turned her attention to the peaceful street. It seemed quiet and lazy as she stood on the front porch and glanced up and down the sidewalk. Too quiet. One wouldn’t know a gang of burglars had set up shop in the neighborhood.