“Probably not. He’s training impaired. But I’ll hear and come get him.”
She smiled, then her breathing took on the slow, easy rhythm of sleep.
J.T. left the bathroom light on and the door cracked open to guide her should she wake. He looked out the window of his bedroom, noted that the blizzard had let up. Still, between the snow and the televised Rose Parade and football games, people would likely stay home today, and he wouldn’t be needed in his office. He’d heard the Caltrans crew pass by twice, already plowing the state highway. He lived close to the highway because of the accessibility, no matter what the weather. Most people would have to clear their own driveways or wait for Barney Cochran’s teenage sons to roll out of bed and plow the private roads they were contracted to do. J.T. also needed to have Gina’s car brought to his place.
His mouth twisted in a half smile. Everyone would see the unfamiliar car, and word would spread that he had a guest for the first time since he’d come to town. The rumors would start…
Turning from the window, he dropped onto his bed. With effort he tugged off his boots, then stretched out on the quilt, exhaustion rolling in waves down his body, but sleep not even a temptation. The nightmare would return. He didn’t doubt it for a second.
How long could he stall it?
He drew a deep, settling breath. That didn’t help, either. Gina’s perfume clung to his shirt, reminding him of their first meeting. She, a Phoenix, Arizona, transplant about to start her sophomore year at the University of Southern California. He, a thirty-one-year-old big-city cop trying not to let the job make him too cynical.
He had taken the youth athletic league team he co-coached with his partner, Eric Banning, to Tony’s Pizza after they’d won the age-ten-to-twelve division championship. Somewhere between the game and the party, Eric had disappeared—not a surprise. J.T. never had figured out why Eric had wanted to help coach, since he showed up only sporadically at the practices and games. He’d probably met some woman in the stands or the parking lot or at a traffic signal, and had gone off with her, his usual modus operandi. J.T. wasn’t about to let it spoil the kids’ celebration.
That first hot slice of pepperoni and sausage was calling his name when Gina walked through the door, wearing jeans, a plain white T-shirt, black leather jacket and boots, her long, dark hair shiny, her eyes sparkling. He barely noticed the two young women flanking her. Why would he? She was magnetic.
The restaurant might as well have been empty, except for them. Her eyes met his, and he finally understood that time really could stand still. Her smile froze, then softened before she looked away, her brows lifting at the last second, as if asking him a question she didn’t want to wait to have answered.
One by one his young players left with their families. He stayed and watched as she shot some rounds of pool, her jeans cupping an enticing rear end, the rest of her just as curvy. Leaning against her propped cue stick between shots, she returned his stare, less blatant but just as frequent.
It was crazy. He didn’t pick up women, yet he wanted to drive this one home and sleep with her that very night. Hell, he would’ve taken her right then and there on the pool table if he could have.
And because his attraction was so powerful, he waited for her to make the first move.
She finally did. After winning her fourth match, she silently held out a cue stick. Anticipation roared through him as he accepted her invitation. Or was it a challenge?
“J.T. Ryker,” he said as he wrapped his hand around the stick, taking care not to touch her.
“I’m Gina Benedetto.” She cocked her head. “And J.T. stands for…?”
A drift of flowery perfume reached him. “Jasper Thelonius.”
Her eyes twinkled. She leaned into him a little, her radiant heat stoking his fire a little hotter. “Or perhaps Jarvis Thurgood?”
“One’s as good as the other.”
“I’ll find out, you know. Somehow.”
Because he was tempted to kiss the smile off her lips, he reached around her to pick up a cube of chalk, his arm brushing hers. The air popped and sizzled between them. Out of control. This is way out of control. Shaken, he took a step back, hiding behind the motion of chalking the cue tip. “May I buy you a beer, Gina Benedetto?”
“You could, um, Junior Titus—” she flirted easily, naturally “—but the cops would probably haul you in.”
He knew, then. Knew before she said the words that there was no future with her, not tonight, not any night.
“I’m eighteen,” she added. “Nineteen soon, though.”
Eighteen. Might as well be a century between them. She hadn’t lived yet. And he…he had already lived too long.
Not finding a robe among the clothes in her closet, Gina showered and dressed before she left the guest room at a little past noon. Her night’s sleep had been interrupted several times by periodic trips to the bathroom or to walk off leg cramps. She might not be fully rested—was anyone this pregnant ever fully rested? she wondered—but she was relaxed. And hopeful.
No headache, so far. That was progress.
Her stomach rumbled, sending her in search of food. She wondered if the chief was at home. A glance into his bedroom as she’d shut and locked both bathroom doors had netted her a glimpse of an imposing four-poster bed. Sturdy pine furnishings and a cobalt-blue comforter and curtains lent a strong, masculine look to the tidy but warm and inviting room, one free of clutter or knickknacks. On the walls hung a couple of seascape watercolors that she wanted to inspect a little more closely, but she wouldn’t enter his room without an invitation. He’d already helped her above and beyond his responsibilities as a police officer, without complaining about the imposition.
Gina admired his house as she moved from room to room. The comfortably rustic furnishings melded with trees and mountains visible through huge windows, creating an indoor environment as impressive as the outdoor one. This wasn’t a house but a home, well loved and tended.
She found him sitting at a counter in the kitchen, sipping from a mug and reading, and dressed in his uniform, a gun holstered at his waist. He looked up from the book. Her breath caught a little at the intensity in his rich, golden eyes. Although his gaze never strayed from her face, she felt him look her up and down, as if she were a slender, sexy woman instead of…what she was. Wishful thinking, she chided herself, then frowned. She had no business wanting him to see her as a woman. She was married—
“Good morning,” she said firmly, changing the direction of her thoughts. He didn’t smile, exactly, but his expression wasn’t as fierce as last night. He really was an attractive man, in an I’m-the-boss kind of way, his uniform reinforcing the all-male, in-charge impression. She didn’t know a person could set his jaw that hard without shattering it.
“Sleep well?” he asked.
“Hmm.” She craned her neck to see the title of the book: Pregnancy and Childbirth. “A little light reading?”
“Found it in your trunk. I’ve been trained in how to deliver a baby, but I don’t know much about pregnancy.” He pointed to a cutaway drawing of an eight-months-pregnant woman. “This is you right now. How do you breathe?”
“Breathing’s not as much a problem as staying within bathroom range.” She examined the picture a little more closely. “I feel sorrier for the baby, all cramped up like that.”
This time his gaze did encompass her whole body, then lingered on her belly, as if he had permission now to look.
He picked up his mug again. “So, does ‘hmm’ mean you did or didn’t sleep well?”
“As well as can be expected.”
“You