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Authors: Adrienne Giordano
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Insanity looked pretty good.
The microwave dinged, but Jo didn’t budge. Not an inch.
He pointed. “Microwave.”
“I heard it.”
“You okay?”
“I’m trying to decide if you’ll help me get the picture of that severed hand out of my head. I guess I’m confused. You showed up here after, if the news coverage is accurate, you had a horrendous day. You sent Wasco home, and now I’ve pretty much thrown you every damned mating signal I can think of and you’re still standing there staring at me.”
He took a small step back. Yeah, that’d help.
She spun to the microwave. “You can stop backing away, Gabe. I won’t tackle you.”
Which would be fun .
She set the hot food on the stove and shoved another platter in the oven before poking one of the numbers on the keypad. “This has been—” another poke, “—a truly sucky day.” She jammed her finger against the keypad again then hit the start button.
Start button .
He wrapped his fingers over his forehead and squeezed. Helluva day . “The crime scene guys are running tests on the hand. They’ll…uh…fingerprint it and see if it matches someone in the system.”
“Did you see it?”
“Yeah, I stopped by on my way here. Nasty shit.”
“It was a woman’s hand.”
He gave up on retreating and inched closer. “Jo, you’ve gotta lay low for a while. No more hits. Please.”
She glanced down at her casted hand. “What kind of monster does something like that?” She looked back at him and her eyes filled with tears.
Jo Pomeroy.
Crying.
Game over. He took one long stride and pulled her close. Immediately, his body turned rigid. How many nights had he thought about her? About holding her? Running his hands over that amazing body.
Too many.
She grabbed onto the back of his T-shirt and squeezed. “Did I deserve that?”
Ah, jeez.
“Whoever did this is an animal. Nothing shocks me anymore, but this guy is escalating. He had your hand broken and you didn’t back off. The fact that he sent a severed hand in a Barelli box? No coincidence. Stay off the streets, Jo. No more investigating. No more hits until we find this guy.” He kissed the top of her head and the scent of her shampoo, something clean, like ocean air, bumped his pulse up.
Back away now .
He didn’t move. What was the point? They both knew where this was going.
The microwave dinged, but Jo kept her forehead pressed into Gabe’s chest. If she could just stand here like this, letting him hold her, maybe the chill, that paralyzing freeze that had soaked into her, would disappear.
Not that she’d ever needed a man to chase away her demons, but this was an unusual circumstance. For one night, she’d like to let someone take care of her. To allow her to be vulnerable without it turning into a power play.
Tomorrow she’d be herself again. She’d be the woman who wasn’t afraid to break rules to make a difference. Tomorrow she’d wake up and the person who sent that hand would experience how tough Jo Pomeroy could be. She’d find the sick bastard and make sure justice was served.
Tomorrow.
Tonight she needed a taste of euphoria to even out her fried edges and obliterate the recurring vision of that hand tumbling out of the box.
Tonight she’d allow herself to be weak.
She gripped his T-shirt again. “Are you going to help me forget about that hand or not? I know you want to.”
Unless the erection poking her belly was an apparition, he really wanted to.
“This is unfair.”
Leave it to her to find the one man on the planet who wanted to be a good guy and fight an opportunity to have sex.
She stepped back and held her hands up. “I see what you’re doing here. You’re trying to be a stand-up guy. I appreciate that, but I know you’re not a pig.”
He snorted. “Thanks so much for that stunning observation.”
“I call ‘em like I see ‘em, big boy. Here’s what I propose. We’ll have dinner. A dinner that is probably now cold again, but
The microwave dinged, but Jo didn’t budge. Not an inch.
He pointed. “Microwave.”
“I heard it.”
“You okay?”
“I’m trying to decide if you’ll help me get the picture of that severed hand out of my head. I guess I’m confused. You showed up here after, if the news coverage is accurate, you had a horrendous day. You sent Wasco home, and now I’ve pretty much thrown you every damned mating signal I can think of and you’re still standing there staring at me.”
He took a small step back. Yeah, that’d help.
She spun to the microwave. “You can stop backing away, Gabe. I won’t tackle you.”
Which would be fun .
She set the hot food on the stove and shoved another platter in the oven before poking one of the numbers on the keypad. “This has been—” another poke, “—a truly sucky day.” She jammed her finger against the keypad again then hit the start button.
Start button .
He wrapped his fingers over his forehead and squeezed. Helluva day . “The crime scene guys are running tests on the hand. They’ll…uh…fingerprint it and see if it matches someone in the system.”
“Did you see it?”
“Yeah, I stopped by on my way here. Nasty shit.”
“It was a woman’s hand.”
He gave up on retreating and inched closer. “Jo, you’ve gotta lay low for a while. No more hits. Please.”
She glanced down at her casted hand. “What kind of monster does something like that?” She looked back at him and her eyes filled with tears.
Jo Pomeroy.
Crying.
Game over. He took one long stride and pulled her close. Immediately, his body turned rigid. How many nights had he thought about her? About holding her? Running his hands over that amazing body.
Too many.
She grabbed onto the back of his T-shirt and squeezed. “Did I deserve that?”
Ah, jeez.
“Whoever did this is an animal. Nothing shocks me anymore, but this guy is escalating. He had your hand broken and you didn’t back off. The fact that he sent a severed hand in a Barelli box? No coincidence. Stay off the streets, Jo. No more investigating. No more hits until we find this guy.” He kissed the top of her head and the scent of her shampoo, something clean, like ocean air, bumped his pulse up.
Back away now .
He didn’t move. What was the point? They both knew where this was going.
The microwave dinged, but Jo kept her forehead pressed into Gabe’s chest. If she could just stand here like this, letting him hold her, maybe the chill, that paralyzing freeze that had soaked into her, would disappear.
Not that she’d ever needed a man to chase away her demons, but this was an unusual circumstance. For one night, she’d like to let someone take care of her. To allow her to be vulnerable without it turning into a power play.
Tomorrow she’d be herself again. She’d be the woman who wasn’t afraid to break rules to make a difference. Tomorrow she’d wake up and the person who sent that hand would experience how tough Jo Pomeroy could be. She’d find the sick bastard and make sure justice was served.
Tomorrow.
Tonight she needed a taste of euphoria to even out her fried edges and obliterate the recurring vision of that hand tumbling out of the box.
Tonight she’d allow herself to be weak.
She gripped his T-shirt again. “Are you going to help me forget about that hand or not? I know you want to.”
Unless the erection poking her belly was an apparition, he really wanted to.
“This is unfair.”
Leave it to her to find the one man on the planet who wanted to be a good guy and fight an opportunity to have sex.
She stepped back and held her hands up. “I see what you’re doing here. You’re trying to be a stand-up guy. I appreciate that, but I know you’re not a pig.”
He snorted. “Thanks so much for that stunning observation.”
“I call ‘em like I see ‘em, big boy. Here’s what I propose. We’ll have dinner. A dinner that is probably now cold again, but
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