eyes up to meet his through thick lashes. She inclined
her head gracefully as if she was doing him a big favor. "Of course. What
happened between us last night was very ... unfortunate, but hardly the end of
the world."
Unfortunate?
He scowled before catching himself and continued in as
smooth a voice as he could manage. "Okay, then, we're in agreement. We go
on as if it never happened."
Since Rafe never had any intention of cooperating with
Bigler County in the Vargas investigation, the idea of putting it behind them
was the best solution. Get the uncomfortable moment over with, obtain the damn
files, and move on, never to see ADA I. Torres again.
Isabella, call me Bella, Torres.
They would treat last night as a casual encounter between
consenting adults.
Right?
Why had he assumed only a man could be so ferocious in
refusing a request from a federal agent? And what a cosmic joke that he, who
rarely had time to date, would hook up at a bar with the very person he'd been
wrangling with over the Vargas case files! What the hell were the odds of
that?
Suddenly he recalled that his email address had also
contained simply his initial and last name. A. Hashemi. And he'd only mentioned
his full given name Ashraf last night. Call me Rafe, he had insisted.
And then he wondered. "Did you know who I was?" he
countered belatedly.
"Don't be ridiculous." She seemed restless as she
jumped up from the chair and examined the enlarged photo of Parker Center on
the east wall. "I had no idea who you were."
For some odd reason, relief flooded through him and on the
heels of that, genuine remorse. "Look, Isabella, I'm sorry."
Her back to him, her voice small-sounding, she whispered, "Yeah."
Then she squared her shoulders and turned to face him. "You're right. Let's
put this thing behind us."
A wave of regret washed over him for the
what-might-have-been. He'd heard that remembered passion was sweeter than the
real thing. If so, he was in a helluva lot of trouble. Last night the warm,
willing proffer of Isabella's body had clouded every sensible restraint he
usually put on himself.
Instead, he'd thrown himself into the intensity of giving
her pleasure. And there was no doubt that Isabella had been thoroughly pleasured.
He felt himself grow hard behind the desk that shielded his lower body.
Now what?
Would Torres use their brief relationship as leverage to stay
involved in the Vargas case? Looking at her grim face, her minimal makeup, and
her set jaw, he couldn't believe she would risk her career by going against her
D.A.
She couldn't be more than twenty-eight. Twenty-nine? Young
for an ADA, and that meant she was ambitious. No, he didn't think she'd want
last night's events splattered all over the small world of law enforcement any
more than he did.
He stood and bought himself time by adjusting the blinds
behind his desk and looking out over Temple Street. When he resumed his seat,
he felt calmer, ready to proceed. He smiled. "After all, the stakes are
the same. The Bigler County District Attorney's Office has information on Diego
Vargas that is germane to my federal case."
She nodded, throwing a glance at her briefcase still resting
on the floor by her chair.
"There's never been any question that your office would
turn over the files," he reminded her.
"We have no choice?" He knew her asking closed the
door to any secret hope she might've harbored.
"Exactly." And, he thought, last night didn't
alter that fact.
Rafe took in her appearance as she stood under the picture.
Isabella Torres looked as different from the bright, sexy Bella who'd spent the
night entwined in his arms as oranges from lemons. Even her mouth, drawn in
tight puckers, hid the other woman.
He recognized both her conservative suit and prim hair style
as attempts to detract from her looks. Torres wanted badly to be dealt with on her
abilities, not her beauty. Well, she failed miserably.
In just a few moments of observation, Rafe had learned a
great deal about
her head gracefully as if she was doing him a big favor. "Of course. What
happened between us last night was very ... unfortunate, but hardly the end of
the world."
Unfortunate?
He scowled before catching himself and continued in as
smooth a voice as he could manage. "Okay, then, we're in agreement. We go
on as if it never happened."
Since Rafe never had any intention of cooperating with
Bigler County in the Vargas investigation, the idea of putting it behind them
was the best solution. Get the uncomfortable moment over with, obtain the damn
files, and move on, never to see ADA I. Torres again.
Isabella, call me Bella, Torres.
They would treat last night as a casual encounter between
consenting adults.
Right?
Why had he assumed only a man could be so ferocious in
refusing a request from a federal agent? And what a cosmic joke that he, who
rarely had time to date, would hook up at a bar with the very person he'd been
wrangling with over the Vargas case files! What the hell were the odds of
that?
Suddenly he recalled that his email address had also
contained simply his initial and last name. A. Hashemi. And he'd only mentioned
his full given name Ashraf last night. Call me Rafe, he had insisted.
And then he wondered. "Did you know who I was?" he
countered belatedly.
"Don't be ridiculous." She seemed restless as she
jumped up from the chair and examined the enlarged photo of Parker Center on
the east wall. "I had no idea who you were."
For some odd reason, relief flooded through him and on the
heels of that, genuine remorse. "Look, Isabella, I'm sorry."
Her back to him, her voice small-sounding, she whispered, "Yeah."
Then she squared her shoulders and turned to face him. "You're right. Let's
put this thing behind us."
A wave of regret washed over him for the
what-might-have-been. He'd heard that remembered passion was sweeter than the
real thing. If so, he was in a helluva lot of trouble. Last night the warm,
willing proffer of Isabella's body had clouded every sensible restraint he
usually put on himself.
Instead, he'd thrown himself into the intensity of giving
her pleasure. And there was no doubt that Isabella had been thoroughly pleasured.
He felt himself grow hard behind the desk that shielded his lower body.
Now what?
Would Torres use their brief relationship as leverage to stay
involved in the Vargas case? Looking at her grim face, her minimal makeup, and
her set jaw, he couldn't believe she would risk her career by going against her
D.A.
She couldn't be more than twenty-eight. Twenty-nine? Young
for an ADA, and that meant she was ambitious. No, he didn't think she'd want
last night's events splattered all over the small world of law enforcement any
more than he did.
He stood and bought himself time by adjusting the blinds
behind his desk and looking out over Temple Street. When he resumed his seat,
he felt calmer, ready to proceed. He smiled. "After all, the stakes are
the same. The Bigler County District Attorney's Office has information on Diego
Vargas that is germane to my federal case."
She nodded, throwing a glance at her briefcase still resting
on the floor by her chair.
"There's never been any question that your office would
turn over the files," he reminded her.
"We have no choice?" He knew her asking closed the
door to any secret hope she might've harbored.
"Exactly." And, he thought, last night didn't
alter that fact.
Rafe took in her appearance as she stood under the picture.
Isabella Torres looked as different from the bright, sexy Bella who'd spent the
night entwined in his arms as oranges from lemons. Even her mouth, drawn in
tight puckers, hid the other woman.
He recognized both her conservative suit and prim hair style
as attempts to detract from her looks. Torres wanted badly to be dealt with on her
abilities, not her beauty. Well, she failed miserably.
In just a few moments of observation, Rafe had learned a
great deal about
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