“Judge?”
“Hmm?”
“If you’re going to keep looking at me like that, I’m not going to be responsible for what happens.”
She straightened, the ridges of her spine grinding against the door. “Like what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t, huh? Fine, we can play it your way.” For some unknown reason he seemed annoyed with her already. He stalked away, grabbing a water bottle from a nearby bench and taking a long drink.
Jessica lost her train of thought as she watched his throat contract and release. Water ran out of his mouth and down his neck, streaking across glistening muscles. Her head began to buzz, and she put her fingers to her eyes, rubbing against the dry, gritty sensation caused by too little sleep and too much McGuire in the night.
“What brings you to my side of the tracks?”
“Uh, I…ah…” Jessica dropped her hand and pushed away from the door. She could not look at him and think straight. Instead she fiddled with her purse, moving items around as if she were in desperate need of finding some hidden treasure within.
“You must have a good reason for coming to a grimy police station weight room. I can’t recall seeing you on this side of the street before.”
She glanced at him, then quickly away. He was right. She rarely came to a station. Her job was at the courthouse. Though they were on the same side of the law, technically, their jobs and their outlooks couldn’t be further from one another. Had she made a mistake in coming here?
“Listen, Judge, I had a lousy night thanks to you. A cold shower didn’t do me a damn bit of good, but an hour in here was getting my head straight—until you showed up. I’m not in the mood for an argument, so if that’s why you’re here, you can just use those great legs of yours to take that sensational little tail of yours out of here.”
Jessica was too interested in the fact that he’d been up all night and needed to take a cold shower because of her to get insulted over his chauvinistic assessment of her body. She abandoned her purse to look his way, startled to find him too close once again.
Their eyes met, held. Her lips parted and she whispered, “Why did you kiss me last night, Doug?”
His gaze dropped to her mouth and he inched closer. Excitement flooded her as he aligned his body to hers; his thin sweatpants did little to contain his arousal. Her body responded to the evidence of his interest, pressing into him even as he pressed against her. He reached past and flicked the lock on the door, his knuckles brushing her hip as he withdrew. A shudder rumbled over her. Raising his arms, he placed a hand on either side of her head, and leaned closer, looming over her, but his size did not threaten, it soothed her. No one would ever hurt her if he were around.
“Kissing you seemed like a good idea at the time,” he growled. “And you know what?” She shook her head, unable to trust her voice anymore. “It seems like a better idea now.”
His mouth took hers. He tasted of the sea—salt and fury. Was he angry at himself, at her or at what they felt despite the futility? Suddenly the why didn’t matter, she had to kiss him back—to touch his skin or go mad.
Opening her mouth, she met his intensity with all the pent-up desire and need of a lifetime. She splayed her hands on his chest, fingers tangling in the hair, palms smoothing the taut muscles.
He moaned into her mouth, nipped her lip, then his hands were in her hair, yanking the pins free with a desperation that matched her own. The bun she’d so carefully constructed sprang free, and her hair spilled over his hands, over her shoulders. Grasping great handfuls, he tilted her head and plundered her mouth more deeply. This man would never do anything halfway. When he kissed he did so with all of himself.
Her hands flitted over his belly, and the muscles fluttered like butterfly wings against her fingertips. When she ran a finger inside the waistband of his sweatpants, he took a deep, rasping breath, and before she could delve inside he grabbed her hand and pressed her palm to his arousal.
A pounding on the door at her back vibrated through Jessica, causing her to freeze as if ice water had been dumped over them both. McGuire tore his mouth from hers. “Get lost,” he shouted, his voice harsh and loud in the silent room. “I’m busy.”
Whoever it was moved away, grumbling. Doug lowered his forehead to hers. “You make me lose my mind, Jess.”
He let go of her hand, which still cupped him in her palm, and she jerked her fingers away, the loss of his heat and hardness making her ache despite the knowledge she should not be touching him that way.
What had come over her? She had thought their conduct had been irresponsible last night. How was this for crazy?
He raised his head and looked down at her. She didn’t remember touching his hair, but the usually well-combed strands were rumpled, and a wayward lock drifted across his forehead. His mouth was wet from hers, the day’s growth of beard and dark circles beneath his eyes giving him a haunted look she knew too well. The same look had stared back at her from the mirror that morning.
“Let me go,” she whispered.
He frowned but did as she asked. Her hair swirled about her face as she bent to pick up the pins on the floor. He knelt to help and their hands brushed. They both pulled back as if scalded, and Jessica held her breath until he moved away, trying to ignore the intense flare of need his mere touch sent up her arm.
She stood and turned away, then began to repin her hair. Her trembling hands caused the task to take longer than usual. What if someone had come in and seen them? What if someone saw her now? Hair unbound, makeup kissed off her mouth, her jacket askew and her blouse completely untucked.
“So, what are we going to do about this?” he asked.
She took a deep breath and turned. “This?”
His lips tightened and his blue eyes went icy. “You know what I mean, Jess. You annoy the hell out of me.”
“The feeling’s mutual.”
“I know. Still I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep my hands off you. What are we going to do about that?”
Well, there she had it, an answer to the question that had haunted her all night. He wanted her. She wanted him. What could be simpler?
But she could see that any kind of relationship with McGuire wouldn’t be simple. How could a man like him be anything but complicated? Once she took this step there would be no going back. This man could not be as easily dismissed as Dennis Wolcott. He could never be forgotten. And she had a feeling that someone was going to get hurt. That someone would probably be her.
“Jess?” he pressed.
Fear made her stiffen her spine, pick up the things she’d dropped and walk to the door. She’d been naive enough to believe they could have a casual affair, but now she knew better. She could never keep it casual—and McGuire would want nothing more. “We’re not going to do anything, McGuire. Not ever again.”
She left him behind and went to work.
The descent of the sun finally signaled the end of a very bad day. Jessica watched the sun go to sleep in the west then turned to stare at her living room. The sight only made her feel lonelier than she’d ever felt in her life.
As she had no court appearance scheduled that day, she’d finally relented to Liz’s insistence and gone home early. A nap had taken care of her headache, but the dreams set her more on edge. She could push McGuire out of her mind while she was awake, but when she was asleep he returned to torment her.
So