arms, it would have been there, he thought as his gaze drifted to her mouth. It was soft and unpainted. From ten feet away he could all but taste it. Slowly, irresistibly, desire crept into him, and with it an ache--a dull, throbbing ache he'd never felt before. If he could have her, even once, the ache would go. Slade could almost convince himself of that. He needed to touch that butter-soft skin, experience that promise of passion, then he'd be free of her. He had to be free of her.
Glancing up, Jessica found herself trapped again. His eyes imprisoned her. She could feel herself being pulled--as physical a sensation as if he had taken her hand. She resisted. He's quicksand, her mind flashed.
You'll never get away if you take that final step. And yet the risk tempted her.
"Jessica."
Michael took her hand, scattering her thoughts. "Hmm, yes?"
"How about dinner tonight? The little place up the coast you like."
His calm, familiar green eyes smiled at her. Jessica felt her pulses level. This was a man she understood. "I'd love to."
"And don't worry about getting home early," David put in. "I'm minding the shop tomorrow; you stay home."
Jessica lifted her brow at the order. "Oh, really?"
David snorted at the dry tone. "There goes Miss Radcliffe," he told Slade. "She forgets I was around when she was twelve and had braces on her teeth."
"How would you like to be flat on your back again?" she invited sweetly.
"I'll be ready at seven," she told Michael, ignoring David's grin.
"Fine." Giving her a quick kiss, Michael rose. "See you tomorrow, David.
Nice to meet you, Mr. Sladerman."
As he left, Jessica set down her cup and sprang up, as if she had been in one place too long. "I'm going to take Ulysses for a walk on the beach."
"Don't look at me," David drawled. "I have to conserve my energy."
"I wasn't going to ask you. Slade?"
He would have liked to steer clear of her for a while. Resigned, he rose. "Sure. I'll get a jacket."
The beach was long and rocky. From off the bay, the breeze was keen and tinged with salt. Jessica was laughing, stooping to pick up driftwood and toss it for the dog to chase. Ulysses bounded up the beach and back again, running energetic circles around them until Jessica flung another stick. To the right, water hurled itself on rocks, then rose in a misty spray. Slade watched Jessica run to another piece of driftwood.
Doesn't she ever walk? he wondered. She laughed again, holding the stick over her head as the dog leaped clumsily at it. Don't contact us unless you have something useful. Slade jammed his hands in his pockets as he remembered his orders. Watch the woman. He was watching the woman, damn it. And she was getting to him. Watch what the sunlight does to her hair. Watch how a pair of faded jeans cling to narrow hips. Watch how her mouth curves when she smiles... Watch Detective Sladerman blow everything because he can't keep his mind off a skinny woman with brandy-colored eyes.
"What are you thinking?"
He snapped back to find Jessica a step in front of him searching his face. Cursing himself, he realized he was going to blow more than his cover if he wasn't careful. "That I haven't been to the beach in a long time," he improvised.
Jessica narrowed her eyes. "No, I don't think so," she murmured. "I wonder what it is about you that makes you so secretive." With an impatient gesture, she pushed back her hair. The wind immediately blew it back in her face. "But it's your business, I suppose."
Annoyed, he picked up a rock and hurled it into the breakers. "I wonder what it is about you that makes you so suspicious."
"Curious," she corrected, a bit puzzled by his choice of word. "You're an interesting man, Slade, perhaps because there's so much you don't say."
"What do you want, a biography?"
"You annoy easily," she murmured.
He whirled to her. "Don't push it, Jess."
The nickname pleased her--no one but her father had ever used it. The fury on his face pleased her too. She'd poked
Glancing up, Jessica found herself trapped again. His eyes imprisoned her. She could feel herself being pulled--as physical a sensation as if he had taken her hand. She resisted. He's quicksand, her mind flashed.
You'll never get away if you take that final step. And yet the risk tempted her.
"Jessica."
Michael took her hand, scattering her thoughts. "Hmm, yes?"
"How about dinner tonight? The little place up the coast you like."
His calm, familiar green eyes smiled at her. Jessica felt her pulses level. This was a man she understood. "I'd love to."
"And don't worry about getting home early," David put in. "I'm minding the shop tomorrow; you stay home."
Jessica lifted her brow at the order. "Oh, really?"
David snorted at the dry tone. "There goes Miss Radcliffe," he told Slade. "She forgets I was around when she was twelve and had braces on her teeth."
"How would you like to be flat on your back again?" she invited sweetly.
"I'll be ready at seven," she told Michael, ignoring David's grin.
"Fine." Giving her a quick kiss, Michael rose. "See you tomorrow, David.
Nice to meet you, Mr. Sladerman."
As he left, Jessica set down her cup and sprang up, as if she had been in one place too long. "I'm going to take Ulysses for a walk on the beach."
"Don't look at me," David drawled. "I have to conserve my energy."
"I wasn't going to ask you. Slade?"
He would have liked to steer clear of her for a while. Resigned, he rose. "Sure. I'll get a jacket."
The beach was long and rocky. From off the bay, the breeze was keen and tinged with salt. Jessica was laughing, stooping to pick up driftwood and toss it for the dog to chase. Ulysses bounded up the beach and back again, running energetic circles around them until Jessica flung another stick. To the right, water hurled itself on rocks, then rose in a misty spray. Slade watched Jessica run to another piece of driftwood.
Doesn't she ever walk? he wondered. She laughed again, holding the stick over her head as the dog leaped clumsily at it. Don't contact us unless you have something useful. Slade jammed his hands in his pockets as he remembered his orders. Watch the woman. He was watching the woman, damn it. And she was getting to him. Watch what the sunlight does to her hair. Watch how a pair of faded jeans cling to narrow hips. Watch how her mouth curves when she smiles... Watch Detective Sladerman blow everything because he can't keep his mind off a skinny woman with brandy-colored eyes.
"What are you thinking?"
He snapped back to find Jessica a step in front of him searching his face. Cursing himself, he realized he was going to blow more than his cover if he wasn't careful. "That I haven't been to the beach in a long time," he improvised.
Jessica narrowed her eyes. "No, I don't think so," she murmured. "I wonder what it is about you that makes you so secretive." With an impatient gesture, she pushed back her hair. The wind immediately blew it back in her face. "But it's your business, I suppose."
Annoyed, he picked up a rock and hurled it into the breakers. "I wonder what it is about you that makes you so suspicious."
"Curious," she corrected, a bit puzzled by his choice of word. "You're an interesting man, Slade, perhaps because there's so much you don't say."
"What do you want, a biography?"
"You annoy easily," she murmured.
He whirled to her. "Don't push it, Jess."
The nickname pleased her--no one but her father had ever used it. The fury on his face pleased her too. She'd poked
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