Embracing Midnight (2 page)

The night was about to heat up.

T
hey rode up the elevator to Callie’s apartment in silence. As she eased open the door and snapped on a nearby lamp, apprehension warred with lust. She couldn’t help but look forward to the few hours they might share, though she knew she was walking a thin line. Shivering, she let out a slow breath.
You’re getting in deep.

Stepping inside the narrow foyer, Iollan Drake squeezed past her. His body brushed hers, his hands lingering a second longer than necessary on her hips. “Excuse me.”

“No problem.” Though it only lasted a moment, it was enough to set Callie afire. Her heart raced, and her sexual senses were attuned to his masculine strength. Every beat inside her chest made her that much more aware this was a man she deeply desired.

She almost sighed with relief when he stepped back and slid off his coat. His tall frame seemed to fill every inch around her, hammering home his very presence. Did he know how aroused she was? Six months had passed since a man had touched her in an intimate way.

Oblivious to her thoughts, he glanced around for a place to hang his duster.

“Let me.” She hung his coat on the rack beside the door.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Callie debated whether or not to lock them in. After a moment’s hesitation, she slid the dead bolt into place. There’d be no going back, no changing her mind.

“I’ll make coffee,” she said, leading the way into the living room. The apartment was miniscule. An open kitchen/living room arrangement branched off into a small bedroom with adjoining bathroom. The furniture was well used in a shabby chic sort of way: serviceable, but scarcely more. The next stop would be the junkyard instead of the Salvation Army. Nothing was amiss except the ashtray full of cigarette butts on the coffee table—and the dozen peach roses arranged in an exquisite crystal vase.

Seeing the flowers, Callie felt her gut spasm around the meager snack of peanuts and coffee she’d earlier consumed at the bar. They hadn’t been there when she’d left this morning. Bile rose, burning the back of her throat. She didn’t have to read the card tucked into the middle of the arrangement to know who’d sent them. Roger Reinke. Her current boss. And her ex-lover.

Her impromptu guest also noticed the flowers. “Special occasion?”

Callie cleared her throat. “My birthday.”

An eyebrow rose. “Oh?”

“Yeah, today’s my big three-oh.”

He touched the delicate petals of one bloom. “From anyone special?”

“Not by a long shot.” Dropping her purse, Callie plucked the small envelope from the roses.
To my best girl
, it read. There was no name. She rolled her eyes. Roger Reinke knew how to cover his tracks. The handwriting wasn’t even his, but that of some female florist fulfilling the order.

She crumpled the card. She shouldn’t let the gift disturb her, but it did. Now wasn’t the time for Roger to try and make nice. She’d just convinced herself ending their affair was the right thing to do. Her life—and work—was much less complicated without a jealous lover.

But emptier
, an inner voice pointed out.

Her sigh sounded defeated. “They’re from an old boyfriend.” A hairline crack opened up in her heart when she said the words. Apparently the mending was easier said than done.

Iollan raised an inquiring eyebrow. “Someone you still care about?”

Her jaw tightened. “Someone who doesn’t realize it’s time to let go.” Knowing their breakup was necessary didn’t ease her longing one bit. It only served to make her a brooding, bitter woman.

He nodded. “I see.”

“No, you don’t,” she snapped. “You don’t know anything about me or my life, so don’t think what you have to say is going to help one bit.”

He held up his hands as if to ward off blows. “Hey, I’m just an innocent bystander.”

Callie’s desire for company vanished. She’d rather be alone. If he had any grace about him, he’d take note of her sour mood and leave. Investigation or not, she had half a mind to cuff the asshole and beat him senseless. One less criminal wouldn’t be missed in this world.

Come to think of it, one less man wouldn’t be missed, either.

Make that
two
men.

Needing to steady herself, Callie sat down on the futon and reached for the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table. Digging a cheap plastic lighter out of her purse, she cocked her head toward the rear of the room. “There’s the door. Don’t let it hit you on the ass on the way out, okay?” Hand trembling, she lit her cigarette.

Goddamn men,
she silently cursed. So much for remaining detached. Her composed, aloof control was crumbling with each passing second. She took a deep drag, welcoming the pacifying rush of smoke filling her lungs. The cigarette’s tip glowed red before dying into ashes.

“I think the door can wait a bit longer.” Instead of leaving, Iollan crossed the living room and sat down. “Something you need to talk about?”

Callie scowled her nastiest frown. Didn’t this man know how to take a hint and haul ass? “No.” Warning of her impatience, she flicked her cigarette toward the ashtray. She missed, and the ashes scattered to the floor. She brushed the ashes away with the tip of her shoe.

He snagged her cigarette with a deft hand. “You’re getting a little irresponsible with that thing.”

Callie protested. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

Snuffing it out, he shook his head. “You’re quitting. Remember?”

Annoyance gritted her teeth. “I’ve decided to start again. Since I haven’t got a bottle of whiskey, nicotine will have to do.”

Iollan Drake leaned close, so close she could kiss him if she wanted. “This asshole ex of yours—he really broke your heart, didn’t he?”

Hands clenching into fists, Callie dug her nails deeply into her palms. “It’s none of your concern.”

He took hold of her hand, working her fingers open until he had access to her inner palm. She tried to pull free, but he held her tighter. Not enough to hurt or threaten. Just enough to let her know he wasn’t letting go. “You’re wrong, love. Anything that hurts you concerns me.”

She speared him with a cold emotionless glare. “As if you’d care.” She twisted her wrist and he let her go. He could have restrained her, and for a moment Callie wished he would. She enjoyed that sort of thing.

“I can,” he said softly. “If you’ll give me a chance.”

“I’ll be just fine—” she started to say, but got no further. The cracks in her composure widened. Giving into the pressure building inside, she felt a tear spill down her cheek, and then a second.

Iollan’s hand rose, swiping away the moist trail. “Whoever your ex-boyfriend is, he’s a bloody bastard.”

Callie turned her head away, blinking to clear her vision. She wiped her damp eyes, smearing her mascara. She didn’t care. Right about now she was sure she looked as attractive as a puffy-eyed raccoon.

Squaring her shoulders, she tried for cool and unemotional. “I’m being stupid about it, too. He’s married, and he didn’t make any promises. I thought it wouldn’t hurt if we didn’t get involved too deeply—just enjoyed the pleasure of each other’s company.”

And they had, for three years, sneaking around for clandestine meetings. All to sate the hunger for the forbidden desires no other lover fulfilled. What hurt most was that Roger had dropped her without a word. No indication of trouble. No reason. Suddenly he was too busy, unavailable. Never answered his cell when her number popped up. Callie suspected the bureau had a hand in their breakup, such as it was. Roger never would say.

Iollan’s gently probing eyes met hers. “It doesn’t happen that way, lass. There’s more to sex than a collision of body parts. When you make love to a person, there’s always a connection that’ll never be broken. He’ll always be a part of you because his body joined with yours. That’s nothing you can easily forget.”

She shook her head. “I’m trying to.” Her words came out bitter, laced with poison. She’d been vulnerable and was punishing herself for her lapse in judgment. Not because she’d slept with a married man—but because she still wanted to.

He glanced at the roses. “He obviously hasn’t.”

As the mistress of sex without commitment, Callie forced a shrug. “He needs to. I did.” She glanced over at him, anger and frustration pulsing through her. “I made a mistake and fell in love, but I won’t let that happen again.”

“It still hurts,” he said softly. “I can see in your eyes something’s missing inside.”

He spoke as if he’d opened her up and peered inside the dark secret recesses of her mind. A tremor wound through her and her body visibly quivered in reaction. She hadn’t been prepared to face all the unpleasant memories of an affair she was struggling to forget.

She glanced at the roses, hating the sight of them. They were a mockery, a blatant slap in the face. What the fuck was Roger trying to do, messing with her head like this? Six months ago he’d kicked her to the curb without a word of explanation, not even a good-bye kiss-off fuck to ease the transition.

Burying her face in her hands, Callie closed her eyes and leaned back into the cushions. Emotions were more exhausting than the long night spent on her feet. Her head ached, her feet hurt, and she was just plain tired.

“Sorry.” As if that moment of weakness was all she allowed herself, she parted her fingers, peeking between them. “Sorry. You seem to have caught me in the middle of a nervous breakdown.”

Fingers curling around her wrists, he lowered her hands. “It’s okay. I know how it feels. Been there, done that.”

His unexpected touch reignited her inner fires. Sexual awareness hummed through her, tantalizing and seductive. “I’m being stupid, unloading my problems on a complete stranger.”

He was watching her watch him. “I’m glad to be here for you.” A pause. “I’m glad to be here with you.”

The lump in her throat lessened. A comfortable warmth settled in the pit of her churning stomach. “You’re too damn good to be true.”

And he was a puzzle, one Callie couldn’t quite piece together. Exactly how one of the bureau’s most wanted gave the impression of being a seriously nice guy was a mystery. Either the intelligence was seriously fucked, or he deserved an Oscar for a full-on performance of genuine sympathy. If he intended to take advantage of her with concern, well, he was giving a realistically convincing performance.

She looked at him, so up close and personal. She’d read the man’s dossier, for God’s sake. His criminal history was chilling, describing him as almost sociopathic. Yet here he sat, calm, graceful, boyishly charming. That’s what makes most criminals so successful, she reminded herself.

The notion of equating Drake with a murdering fiend somehow didn’t sit right in her mind. True, physical attraction blinded a person to qualities they’d rather not see, but Callie seriously doubted that was the case. This man didn’t act dangerous. More important, he didn’t
feel
dangerous.

He did feel right, though, and that unsettled her. With little effort she easily pictured herself in his arms, tonight, tomorrow, and the next day after. She didn’t believe in soul mates or anything of the like, but she had a strange feeling Iollan Drake was inextricably bound to her future from this moment forward.

A self-deprecating grin tugged at his lips. “Does that earn me any points for being a sensitive guy?”

She gave a wry grimace. “Humor’s the last defense of a guilty man.”

Her companion moved closer, his thigh brushing hers. “Maybe I’m just a good listener who can help you sort out a few things.”

Callie recognized his words for the come-on they were. The door to her trust was open. Whether or not she let him inside was her choice. “What kind of things?”

A grin tugged at his lips. “You’ll never know until you let me try, love.” Unmistakable innuendo laced his accented words.

She cocked her head cynically, regarding him through narrow eyes. He’d segued neatly back around to sex without missing a step in the dance. No doubting the intention behind his calculated manner. Having been around that block so many times she could’ve paved the path, Callie had to admire his tenacity.

“Oh, you’re definitely a smooth talker,” she said, arching a mocking eyebrow. If he had an act, now was the time to drop it. “I suppose a man will say anything to get a woman to spread her legs.”

To her surprise, he didn’t seem to receive her words as an offense. Instead he leaned forward, focusing on her face. A sensual combination of musky spice and hot male skin tickled her nostrils. Up close he smelled of heat, a lure as tempting as it was troubling.

“I don’t play head games, Calista.” He cupped her cheek in one large hand. Warmth and tenderness suffused his intimate touch. Compelling eyes engulfed her, in an all-consuming wave. “The first time I saw you, I knew you were special.”

In danger of sensual overload, Callie drew a breath against the tremor of awareness suffusing her body. Any doubts she’d entertained about him fled, scattered like morning dew under the rising sun. “Meaning?”