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  The possibilities shimmered between them like an electric current, tantalizing. He started to formulate a rationalization before he stopped himself.

  “Wendy, we can’t …” He ran his fingers through his thick, wavy hair, which hadn’t seen a comb in too long. “What I mean is, I’ve got more to worry about than an unplanned pregnancy. You have to realize that I didn’t just cross the line here, I jumped over it and stomped around.”

  “Oh.” She cast her eyes down. He wished she would look at him. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings. “I guess this was sort of one of those wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of things, huh?”

  She made their lovemaking sound cheap and casual, which it hadn’t been. But how could he explain?

  He stood up and paced the small room, then started another explanation. “I’ve always been a good cop. My record is spotless. But this falls into the category of abusing my power, my authority, as a peace officer.”

  “Oh, baloney,” she said flatly, scowling at him. “You didn’t abuse anything. What just happened out there had nothing to do with you being a cop and me being a suspect. Unless you thought I might confess in the heat of the moment.”

  “No, I certainly wasn’t thinking about the case,” he said, unable to suppress an evil grin. When he’d been inside Wendy, he’d thought of nothing but her heat and her passion and his need to possess her completely.

  “So what’s the big deal?”

  “The big deal is, if anyone found out about this, my application to the Bureau would get kicked back so fast, my head would spin. Hell, I might even lose my job. No, make that a certainty.”

  “And how, pray tell, would anyone find out about our making love?” she asked succinctly. “You think I’m going to call a press conference?”

  He scratched his head. Didn’t she get it? “Wendy, I wouldn’t blame you if you did. You could probably get your whole case thrown out.”

  “Really?”

  He didn’t know why he was telling her this. He might as well call the damn press conference himself and sign a written confession. “Really.”

  “Well, I’ll keep that in mind if the case should actually go to trial,” she said with a toss of her head. Then she grew serious. “Michael, I’m not going to tell anyone. I don’t believe in using sex as a weapon. I’ll beat these charges against me with honesty and good old-fashioned detective work, not sleazy legal tricks.”

  Michael couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He’d long ago given up on that kind of integrity. It seemed as if everyone he knew, everyone he dealt with, was out to beat the system and screw whoever it took to win.

  Later he would realize that that was the moment he’d started to fall in love with Wendy Thayer.

  “Thank you,” was all he could think of to say.

  “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, if you want to walk away from a night of indescribable pleasures, don’t do it because you think it’ll derail your career.”

  She was a tricky one, all right. She’d just argued him out of all his sensible reasons why they should forget about getting naked ever again.

  “I can’t offer you any promises,” he said. “As soon as I’m accepted at the Bureau, I’ll be shipping out to Quantico for training, then to Washington.”

  She thrust her chin out in a gesture he was becoming very familiar with. “I’m not looking for a longterm relationship,” she said. “I just got rid of one boyfriend, and I’m not keen on finding a replacement any time soon. But I’m scared and feeling all alone, and you’re real and warm and solid, and I just … I just need you tonight. Stay here with me. One night.”

  One night. A promise of eight or ten or twelve hours of incredible delight. “And then we both walk away?”

  “Do we have any other choice?”

  “No.” But maybe, he thought, if he indulged every fantasy he’d had about Wendy—and he’d entertained plenty—he could get over his fixation on her.

  “Make up your mind,” she said, crossing her arms. “I don’t make this sort of offer every day.”

  Ah, hell, he already knew what his answer was. No jury—provided it included plenty of heterosexual men—would ever convict him.

  “You drive a hard bargain, lady,” he said, reaching for her. “But if you’re lonely, you’re lonely, and I guess it’s my job to remedy that.”

  Her eyes flared with remembered passion as he drew closer, intending to claim a kiss to seal the devil’s bargain they’d just made. But she turned her head at the last moment. “Wait a minute. Condoms? Surely you aren’t going to forget that.”

  No, he hadn’t forgotten. “Sweets, I can think of lots and lots of things we can do that won’t put you at risk. I bet you could think of some, too, if you put your mind to it.”

  “Ooooh.” She grasped his collar with both hands and closed the distance between them. As they shared a searing kiss, Michael was amazed that his passion could be aroused again so quickly.

  “By the way,” she murmured in his ear, “how was your day?”

  “If you ever make me get near those Poms again …” He couldn’t think of a threat dire enough, so he kissed her again.

  Hunger drove them from the warm, cozy, but sagging bed shortly after midnight.

  “I’d feel better if you stayed here,” Michael said as he donned his shirt. “I’ll make a pizza-and-condom run.”

  In truth, Wendy was scared to stay alone. She didn’t know how she’d done it the previous night. But it would probably be more dangerous to run around in the streets after midnight.

  “All right,” she agreed. “But hurry.”

  “I’ll call the pizza in first. There’s a place over on Hampton that stays open for pick-up all night long.”

  She propped herself up on the pillows and watched him dress, amazed at how close she felt to him. In the past few hours they’d explored each other’s anatomies with the dedication of naturalists studying a new species. No area of her body had been overlooked or ignored, including her earlobes and the backs of her knees.

  She tingled all over at the memory of Michael’s bold caresses and the creative ways he’d thought of to share pleasure without actually making love. She’d found herself doing things she’d only dreamed of, or read about, and becoming an instant expert. Michael was an excellent teacher and a bright pupil.

  They had so many lessons to teach each other. But morning would come too soon—what, in six or seven hours? Much as she’d like to stay up all night and indulge, they needed to get some sleep. Michael had to work the following day—his real job, not hers—and she absolutely would not be responsible for putting him out on the mean streets in a sleep-deprived haze.

  “Back in a few,” he whispered, grazing her forehead with his lips. “Don’t move.”

  When he came back about thirty minutes later, she’d fallen asleep. The smell of pepperoni woke her, though. She was famished, having skipped both lunch and dinner. In the most decadent fashion they sprawled on the bed to eat their feast.

  Wendy suddenly realized that they’d exchanged little conversation during the last few hours, other than “Mmm, that feels good,” and “Don’t stop.”

  “So, what do you really think of the redecorating?” she asked, trying to tell herself that his answer didn’t mean anything to her. But she’d put a lot of herself into the overhaul. It would hurt her feelings if he hated it.

  “That depends,” he said, popping a mushroom slice into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “How much will it cost me?”

  “Oh, that’s the best part,” she said, immediately waxing enthusiastic. The only thing she loved more than a bargain was bragging about it. “The whole thing only cost seventy-eight dollars, or thereabouts.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No. Fabric-a-rama was having this incredible sale—I did all the curtains with remnants. The hardware store gave me a break on the paint because it was a custom color someone had returned. I kept the receipts for the rugs and pillows and throws
. You can return or exchange those—”

  “Oh, no, they’re fine. I wouldn’t dare tamper with the look.”

  “You’re making fun of me.”

  His dark eyes twinkled. “No. I think you’re dynamite. Next I’m going to turn you loose on my own house.”

  Wendy was inordinately pleased. He couldn’t have said anything nicer. And the idea of infiltrating the lion’s den, of spending time in his private home, selecting sheets and towels and all of the things he would live intimately with, sent a guilty thrill zinging up her spine.

  “They say a good decorating job can make a huge difference in the sale price of a home,” Michael mused. “I’ve talked to a real estate agent about listing my house, and she hinted that it needed a face-lift if I wanted to get my equity out of it.”

  Wendy’s fantasy fell to earth with a thump. He wanted her to spiff up his house so he could sell it and move to Washington. She would do well to remember that.

  They did a creditable job on the pizza, leaving only two slices. Wendy, shamelessly naked, carried the leavings into the kitchen, storing the leftovers in the fridge and pitching the rest.

  When she returned to the bedroom, to her delight she found Michael as bare as she, lounging across the bed like a big, lazy tom cat.

  “Now, where were we before hunger struck?” He held up an obscenely long string of shiny plastic squares.

  “Planning a busy night, are you?” she said, easing herself onto the bed next to him. She stroked one fingernail along his firm chest.

  He dropped the condom packages and reached for her. “As busy as I can manage.”

  Wendy awoke before Michael the next morning. He was sprawled next to her, one possessive arm thrown across her chest, sleeping the sleep of the well satisfied.

  In repose his face was relaxed, unlined, more boyish. His hair, normally on the unruly side, was positively rakish, and the shadow of beard darkening his face gave him a bad-boy look that made her heart beat faster.

  He’s not yours to keep, she told herself over and over. They’d been living on borrowed time, stealing those hours of reckless abandon. But with morning, sanity returned.

  She had a life to return to, a business, a criminal case against her to defend. She had an appointment with Nathaniel, she remembered, to talk over the new charges against her and try to punch holes in the cops’ allegations.

  And, Lord, the mayor’s party was the following day. She had to get hopping.

  She knew darn well Michael would fight her tooth and nail about leaving his rental house and returning to work. But what if they never caught the person who was trying to hurt her? She couldn’t live in fear the rest of her life. She wouldn’t have a life to go back to if she didn’t give her work more attention.

  Then there were Bill and Ted. They had a continuous feeding machine and plenty of water, but they needed her affection, not to mention her skills in cleaning the litter box. Suddenly she missed her silly cats. She missed the normal routine, the occasional moments of boredom, the inconsequential worries—bills, keeping good personnel, advertising, watering her plants.

  She looked at Michael again, her heart aching. The longer she lay there staring at him, wishing for things that would never be, the harder it would be to end their excruciatingly brief affair. She’d better just get on with her life.

  With a sigh she got out of bed and dragged herself to the shower.

  Wendy let the hot needles of water massage her aching muscles. She’d gotten an unaccustomed workout last night. Michael had challenged her creativity, not to mention her flexibility. She was sore in places that should never get sore. For days to come, her body would remind her of the previous night’s pleasures. That was both a blessing and a curse.

  After her shower she dressed in day-before-yesterday’s clothes, which she’d managed to wash and dry. She combed out her hair. Every stroke reminded her of how Michael’s fingers had felt combing through the tangled strands. She had a sad feeling that everything in the world—a color, pizza, the smell of new paint—would forever after remind her of Michael.

  Had she made a mistake giving in to her temptation?

  No. She wouldn’t trade what they’d shared for anything.

  She went into the kitchen to make a few phone calls. She needed to get back to her life, but she intended to take a few precautions.

  Jillian, tapping into the office computer from home, gave Wendy a long list of tasks, including several things Michael hadn’t gotten to.

  “Where did you find that guy?” Jillian asked. “He’s gorgeous, but I’m not sure he’s suited to this kind of work.”

  “Don’t worry, yesterday was his first and only day working for me. It was a temporary deal,” Wendy explained breezily.

  “Okay,” Jillian said, indicating by her tone of voice that she didn’t understand at all. “Now explain to me why you’re not coming in today.”

  “Someone’s been following me,” Wendy said carefully, still reticent to reveal all the details. “I’ve shaken him for the moment, but I don’t want to show up at places where he can catch up with me again. Which reminds me, could you run to my apartment during lunch, pick up my mail, and check on Bill and Ted?”

  “Sure, but … Wendy, where are you?”

  “Gotta go, bye!” She hung up, knowing that sooner or later she would have to fess up to her life of high adventure.

  When she returned to the bedroom, Michael was just waking up. He surveyed her drowsily. “Whatcha doing?”

  “Getting up. Moving around. Thinking about breakfast.”

  “You’re a perky morning person, aren’t you?” he accused.

  “Yup.”

  “I’m not.”

  “I can see that.” She smiled. God, he was damn near irresistible. But resist him she must. She couldn’t afford to get any more stuck on the guy than she already was.

  “Give me a minute,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Did you use all the hot water?”

  “If you’re looking for an excuse to stay in bed, I’m not giving it to you,” she said crisply. “There’s plenty of hot water left.”

  “Darn.” He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Did you say breakfast? Is there anything here to eat?”

  “Yogurt.”

  He made a face of extreme distaste. “I’m taking you out to Irene’s Diner. Give me ten minutes, tops.” He headed for the bathroom.

  Her heart ached. She’d already called her taxi. It would be there any minute. This was the coward’s way out, but she knew that if Michael discovered her plans, he would talk her out of them. She was no good at resisting that man’s will.

  Michael didn’t have anyone to curse at, so he cursed at the hapless deejay on his car radio as he drove to the station. How could he have been so careless as to let Wendy escape? How could he have been so unobservant that he didn’t see the signs that she was going to leave him?

  Now she was out running around, God knew where, exposing herself to all kinds of danger. If she got herself killed, it wouldn’t look very good on his résumé.

  Michael put a stop to that line of thinking. This really had nothing to do with his career. He was royally ticked because she’d been his lover and she’d walked out. He was the one who’d put the limits on their relationship. He was the one calling the shots. To have her suddenly taking control rubbed him the wrong way, particularly because he cared.

  Any other suspect, he’d be saying to hell with it. You want to put yourself in danger despite all my best advice, then knock yourself out. Save the taxpayers the cost of your trial.

  But it didn’t work that way with Wendy. The thought of her getting herself iced paralyzed him with fear and wracked him with guilt. Why hadn’t he gotten through to her? Why hadn’t he made the situation more clear? Why the hell did he care so much what happened to her?

  When he walked into the squad room, a couple of catcalls and whistles greeted him. Full of trepidation, he went directly to Joe’s desk. His partner w
as on the phone, but he flashed Michael a thumb’s-up sign, then pointed to Michael’s desk next door. That’s when he saw the pink message slip.

  In two strides he was at his desk. He snatched the small piece of paper off the desk’s messy surface and read it, then groaned.

  The message was from Wendy: Don’t worry about me, I’m fine, and the baby is fine.

  “All right,” he said to the room in general, “who took this message?”

  “I did,” Joe said with a shrug. “That’s exactly what she said.”

  “She must be talking about Maggie,” Michael murmured. It was much too early to know anything about little Consequences. Wendy had probably just wanted to let him know that despite their lack of expertise in the field of obstetrics, they’d done the Courtland baby no irreparable harm. His irritation receded as he remembered the incredible experience of bringing a child into the world.

  When he looked up, he realized half the guys in the squad room were watching him, and he had a goofy smile on his face. “It’s not mine,” he said succinctly.

  “Yeah, that’s what they all say,” someone called out.

  Michael shook his head and tossed the message into the trash can. Wendy.

  Joe came over and propped one hip on Michael’s desk. “So, what’s the story, Tagg?”

  “There is no story,” Michael said, trying to make sense of the mess on his desk. Even one day away from his work caused things to stack up. Piles of messages, memos, things he was supposed to read and pass on—

  “So where were you yesterday? You were pretty mysterious when you called.”

  “It was my day off.” Michael didn’t look up at his partner. He hated it when Joe got chatty.

  “Thought you were gonna put in some overtime. It got pretty lonely here.”

  “I had things to do, okay?” Michael sighed. “It’s just this art deco case … it’s got my brains scrambled.” He knew it was a lame excuse for snapping at Joe, who was the nicest guy in the world.

  “I tried calling you last night, but you weren’t home.”