Criminal Promises (10 page)

She sighed as she looked at the picture on
Jared’s wall Mike had painstakingly painted. It was a strange and
colorful glow-in-the-dark view of the arctic tip as it should have
looked three thousand years ago. He’d even included symbols around
the edges, hiding them within the images while claiming they were a
legend—like on a man. Breathtaking in its detail, it was the last
thing he’d done for Jared. Maggie worried it rooted him in his
grief, or maybe she did it by keeping him too close.

Jared snuggled deeper into her, his thin
fingers fidgeting a shirt button in sleep. He had no idea danger
had crossed their doorstep. She would make sure it stayed that
way.

Tomorrow she was taking the kids to stay with
her parents, out of harm’s way until things settled down. She
wasn’t sure if it was a good decision or bad—the three of them
hadn’t been apart for the last year—so she’d taken tonight to
assure Jared the visit would be like old times. The assurance had
been more for her sake.

A cry from the nursery sounded on the
cordless monitor. Her feet hadn’t hit the floor before Emma stopped
crying. She still wanted to check before going to the office to
work out an HTML issue she was having.

She stepped on a Transformer on the way out
of Jared’s room and muttered about the new hole in her foot. She’d
clean the room properly while he was gone. He’d done a pretty good
job, but it still needed some help. Books needed to be re-sorted,
marker lids needed to be matched properly, and toys were just
shoved onto shelves and into the toy box. They needed
straightening. She’d find similar disarray in his drawers and
closet.

A thud and soft curse from Emma’s room
snapped her head up. Harte was in his room. Who was in Emma’s?

Harte had assured her the kids were safe, but
no one had thought Adalia would walk through her front door either.
Anxiety dancing along her nape, she pushed the nursery door
open.

One step into the room, she jerked to a
stop.

The badass detective had removed his shirt
and exchanged his jeans for a pair of loose-fitting, drawstring
pants that hung low on his hips. His broad back was tan and smooth.
She’d had her hands on that back when he’d kissed her. Each
chiseled muscle rippled as he swayed with Emma.

“Come on, sweetie.” His
normally rough and husky voice sounded smooth as cream as he
soothed her fretful infant. “Don’t fuss. Mommy will come as soon as
she finishes with Jare.”

Emma continued to fuss. Harte continued to
talk. Maggie continued to stare, and smile at the tenderness he
showed her daughter. Her belly quivered at Harte’s sexy, softer
side. A man that good with kids deserved his own.

“Now, Ems, if you don’t
stop crying, I’m going to have to take drastic measures.” He
stopped swaying and looked down at Emma. “I’ll have to sing. I
don’t think you’ll like that.”

Maggie tried to suck back the sudden laugh.
Maybe if he’d said it in something other than a syrupy, singsong
voice it would’ve carried some weight.

Harte spun on his heel. The sudden movement
shocked Emma silent. Maggie’s hand flew up to cover her mouth. Not
in her wildest imaginings had he looked this good shirtless.

His eyes—the bright, clear blue that looked
like the sky after a rain—always appeared to know her thoughts
before she had them.

She devoured the sight of bulging muscles,
picturing her fingers tracing each perfectly sculpted inch of him.
A light dusting of sandy brown hair trailed down to the hard abs.
She wanted to run her fingers over him and down his thin treasure
trail.

She could virtually feel
his skin glide under her fingers as she familiarized herself with
his body. Her stomach did a round-off-back-handspring combo. She
tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but it refused to
budge.
Yummalicious.
It was the only way to describe his body.

Taking a deep breath, she
gathered her self-control. When she lowered her hand to her side,
it shook lightly. His state of dress, or rather undress, and the
sight of him holding Emma in the remembered security and strength
of those arms aroused her.
Lucky
kid.

Her feelings for Mike had evolved quietly and
gradually from a close friendship. Nothing about Harte was gradual
or quiet, which probably explained some of the appeal. She’d often
fantasized about a life with more spark.

Space. She needed space. Now.

She should take Emma, who had drifted back to
sleep, send Harte back to his side of the house, lock herself in
her room and hope it was enough to keep her from straying to him.
His bed.

She took another deep breath, stepped
forward.

“Harte…”

“Mags…”

They spoke at the same
time. Whatever she’d been planning to say flew from her mind. His
raspy voice was back, and it scraped along her sensitized nerve
endings like a soothing caress. She tilted her head and studied
him. “Why do you call me Mags?”

Harte shrugged his
shoulders. “Just seems to fit.”

“I’ve never tolerated
anyone calling me that.” A childhood memory had the corner of her
mouth twitching. “I nearly broke a boy’s nose for it in middle
school.”

Harte raised his eyebrows
and patted Emma on the back. The gesture felt more like a promise
to continue calling her Mags than any kind of surprise. “Why do you
call me Harte?”

With a small grin, she
tossed his words back at him. “Just seems to fit.”

Silence invaded, arousal hummed, as they
stood watching each other. Her humor leaked out of the situation
like air hissing from a tire. Too bad Emma was asleep and couldn’t
distract them.

She motioned toward Emma
and sighed. “Why are you doing this?”

“I heard her crying.” He
kept swaying as if Emma still needed soothing. “You were
busy.”

She’d wanted to know why he
was inserting himself in her life, making it impossible to not like
him or want to lean on him. He may not be doing it on purpose, but
neither was he interested in satisfying her hunger for a man’s
devotion. Even if he was it couldn’t happen. His job was just too
deadly. “Thanks for the help.”

“You seem
surprised.”

Huh? Oh, right.
“Most men, especially single ones, are hesitant
when it comes to babies.” She’d have guessed him to be one the day
he’d first seen Emma. “You handle her like you’ve done it a
thousand times.”

“I like kids.” He brushed
a finger over one of Emma’s angelic cheeks. Maggie couldn’t see his
eyes, but somehow knew that like his voice they had darkened with
sadness. “My sister Laurel has a daughter about this
size.”

Maggie’s eyes widened. Laurel had called
during one of Harte’s runs for more boxes. They’d talked for a
while, but Maggie had gotten the impression there was a distance
between them. The pride in his voice suggested she rethink her
judgment.

She held out her arms for
him to give Emma to her. “Thank you for letting me finish with
Jared.”

“No problem.” As he moved
away after passing Emma over, his hand brushed Maggie’s breast.
There was nothing sexual about the touch, and yet an electric jolt
shot through her. Looking into his eyes, she knew he felt it
too.

Harte cleared his throat and stepped aside,
out of her way, but not out of the room. Wishing she didn’t want to
ask why he hovered, she settled Emma in her crib.

Thunder boomed. The lights went dark.

Maggie jerked. Her heart lurched and slammed
into her ribs.

Adalia?
She shook off the thought.
No.
The main breaker probably
flipped. It was normal during bad storms. She needed to have it
replaced. Sighing, she straightened, stepped back, and slammed into
Harte. Lightning zapped her.

“I need…” She tried to
step to the left, but bumped into his arm.

Moving to the right, she hit his other arm.
Since he left her no choice, she braced her hands on the crib and
shoved back against his chest hoping to budge him—all six-plus feet
of him. Too much longer of touching him and she’d melt into the
floor, her brain would turn to Jell-o and she’d begin drooling.

At least then he wouldn’t be invading her
space and senses.

When he didn’t budge, she stepped closer to
the crib. The move broke the contact so she could no longer feel
his body, yet his heat and scent, something spicy that made her
want to lean in, bury her face against him just smell him for
hours, still enveloped her.

“Harte, is there a reason
you’re hovering?” She applauded herself for not sounding as
erotically stimulated as she felt.

“Come with me.” He grabbed
her hand.

By the time he stepped back
enough to let her turn, her eyes had adjusted to the dark enough to
see his gun. Where had that come from? Because it hadn’t been
tucked in his pants. Did he have a pocket in his skin? She trailed
after him, not that his pulling on her hand gave her a choice.
“What’s with you and the gun?”

“I always have it.” He
stopped outside Emma’s room. “Close her door.”

Maggie rolled her eyes and
did as he asked—ordered. “You’re being pushy.”

“Deal with it.” His tone
held a smile, telling her he remembered their talk, wasn’t
changing, was in fact enjoying pushing her buttons.

As soon as Emma’s door latched, he pulled
Maggie down the hall and checked her room. Images of them on her
bed, rolling in the covers, flashed in her head before they were
moving back up the hall to Jared’s room. In the office, Harte made
sure the blinds were still closed and checked every possible hiding
place—including beneath the desk.

She tried telling him it was likely just a
breaker. He brushed her off.

His proximity minimized the fear his search
had closing in on her. The doubt telling her she was wrong about
the breaker. Had Adalia really gotten into the house again? What
was she after?

When he started to pull her back into the
hall, she jerked her arm free. The bullying demands and nagging
whys and what-ifs had to cease.

“What the hell are you
doing?” He grabbed her hand again. Frustration tightened his grip,
but he didn’t hurt her.

“You may enjoy trolling
around in the dark with your gun, but I’m getting a flashlight.”
She pulled free and inched her way to the desk, not knowing where
all his boxes were. “Besides, it’s easier to see the breaker box
with a flashlight.”

“How do you know it’s a
breaker?”

I don’t, thanks to you! I’m
trying not to be scared.
“We almost always
lose power in strong storms.”

“We, as in you, or we, as
in the neighborhood?”

“Me.” She pulled her pink
Magnum flashlight out of the pen holder, twisted it on, and shined
it to the floor. Slowly, she slid the beam of light up his body. He
was hard everywhere. Absolutely everywhere. Dark, half-dressed,
aroused. Her own body hummed a hungry response.

“The breaker box needs to
be replaced,” she choked out.

“Fine. We’ll check it.” He
held his hand out. Did he honestly think they were cozy enough to
walk through the house holding hands like a love-struck
couple?

“Fine.” Ignoring his hand,
she started to move past him with the light.

He grabbed her wrist, slid
his hand down to grip hers and pulled her behind him. “After you
humor me and we check the rest of the house.”

Arguments tripped over themselves at her
tongue’s tip, but she didn’t want to admit he might be right. And
all right, his strong hand around hers was a seductive distraction.
Then he pulled her right up to his side.

Too close.

His scent wouldn’t let her breathe. She
wanted nothing more than to bury her face in any part of him and
breathe him deep. No! It wasn’t right. He was here to do a job.
Sure, he’d pulled her to his body, but that didn’t mean he was
inviting her to taste every inch of him.

He was aroused, but not necessarily because
of her. Still, she wanted to wallow in the warmth and pure maleness
oozing from him. Too bad she’d probably burn up faster than a
re-entry into Earth’s atmosphere.

His spice had her stomach muscles clenching.
She was probably playing with fire, tempting him to kiss her again,
but she couldn’t resist.

She drew in a slow
breath.
Ooooh.
He
smelled delicious. She’d gone loony, but he was too potent for a
woman’s peace of mind. What was he thinking running around with
pants only held up by a tiny string, no shirt and a gun?

She rolled her eyes. Wicked as her thoughts
may be, resisting the urge to test the limits of the tightly
leashed power humming beneath his skin wasn’t an option. She
justified curiosity by telling herself she needed to know the
boundaries to avoid getting burned. She needed to know the line not
to cross if she hoped to guard her heart.

His grip on her arm held her so close she
bumped into his back every time he hesitated. The imprint of his
body remained when he moved away. The more times they brushed, the
more heightened her senses became to his flesh against her own. The
longer her skin took to stop tingling.

He moved toward the kitchen and dining room.
Another boom of thunder shook the house. Maggie yelped and clutched
his arm.

“Retract the claws.”
Tension tightened his voice. “It was just thunder.”