Naked Edge (23 page)

Let me make you come. Then I'll stop. I promise.

What if I can't?

Are you kidding? As sensual and responsive as you are? Just relax, honey.

He'd made her feel like she was burning up, his touch both the cause of her torment and her only hope for relief. She'd fought to stay in control, some part of her genuinely afraid of what might happen if she didn't. But Gabe had taken control away from her, never giving her a moment to catch her breath.

Let go, Kat!

His words had set her free--and the fire inside her had exploded. Waves of shimmering ecstasy had washed through her until it seemed that her body was made of light--weight--less, radiant.

He'd done all of that for her without taking anything for himself.

She had opened her eyes to find that she was still flesh and blood after all, Gabe looking down at her, an emotion in his eyes that she'd never seen before. If she hadn't already realized she was in love with him, that right there would have done it.

She was in love with Gabe. She loved Gabe Rossiter. The thought left her feeling both euphoric and terrified. Falling in love with him was the last thing she'd expected. The two of them came from different worlds, different cultures, vastly different attitudes about love and sex.

Still, she knew he at least cared about her. The mark of a bullet on his chest was proof of that--as was her presence in his bed. She hadn't had sex with him, yet he'd slept beside her all night. That had to mean something, didn't it?

Kat wanted to believe it did, but she wasn't naive enough to think that her feelings for him could change his feelings for her.

Is that the mistake her mother had made? Had her mother felt so worn down by her loveless marriage that she'd fallen for some charming
Bilagaanaa
stranger--and then let herself believe that her love for him would make him love her? How sad.

The world Kat had been trying so hard to ignore came into sharp focus around her. She sat up, reached for the alarm clock on Gabe's nightstand, and turned it so that she could see the time. It was 7:15--later than she'd thought. She needed to take a shower, get dressed, and get to Denver by nine, or she'd miss the I-Team meeting.

Conscious of the fact that she was still naked, she got out of bed and gathered her clothes, which lay on the floor where Gabe had tossed them. She slipped on her panties, then grabbed the T-shirt of his that she'd worn last night, pleased to find that it still smelled like him. She closed her eyes, inhaled his scent and let herself imagine for a moment that he was still in bed with her, still holding her.

SUSPENDED FROM HIS hangboard by the tips of his chalked fingers, Gabe gutted it out, keeping his breathing slow and steady as he counted off the repetitions to the grinding beat of Metallica's "The Unforgiven II." He needed to drown out the sound of his own thoughts, to burn off his excess sexual energy. He had a date with his right hand later in the shower, but that wasn't going to be enough to get Kat out of his system.

Ninety-seven. Ninety-eight. Ninety-nine.

One-twenty-seven was his own personal best for fingertip pull-ups, and he wanted to break it today, if for no other reason than to drive her out of his mind. He didn't love her. Wouldn't love her. Couldn't love her.

One hundred six. One hundred seven. One hundred eight.

His forearms, shoulders, and lats burned, his muscles completely pumped, sweat dripping down his temples and chest. He ignored the pain, kept his gaze focused on the A-Basin poster on his wall. Steep slopes. Deep powder. Glades.

One hundred ten. One hundred eleven. One hundred twelve.

He'd warned himself not to get tangled up in her, but when he'd woken up this morning he was about as tangled up as a man could get, his arms around her, her face nestled against his chest, her scent all over him. His cock had been rock hard and ready, apparently oblivious to the fact that it was still imprisoned in his jeans, which he'd had the good sense not to remove last night.

He'd watched her sleep, savoring the feel of her in his arms, relieved to see that her nightmares had gone, protectiveness mingling with some other emotion inside him. It was only after he'd realized what that emotion was that he'd begun to panic.

One hundred fifteen. One hundred sixteen. One hundred seventeen.

He hadn't held a woman like that for three years, hadn't slept with a woman or woken up with a woman since that last night with Jill. And the last time he'd made a woman come without getting off himself ...

Well, that had never happened.

Until Kat.

One hundred twenty-four. One hundred twenty ... five.

His entire body shaking with the effort, his breath coming in grunts, he forced out the last three pull-ups, then let go, stumbling when his feet hit the crash pad. Winded, he turned to reach for his water bottle--and felt like he'd been kicked in the gut.

Kat stood at the bottom of the stairs watching him, dressed in one of his old T-shirts, her long hair gloriously tangled. The shirt was much too big for her, but damned if she didn't look hot. The frayed bottom hung to a few inches below her scrumptious ass, leaving her legs beautifully bare, the worn cotton clinging softly to the swells of her breasts, revealing the points of her nipples.

Gabe needed that shower--now. If he didn't beat one out soon, he was going to embarrass himself. Somehow he managed to speak. "Morning."

"Morning." She smiled shyly, then looked away, her cheeks flushing pink.

Damned if that wasn't the most adorable thing he'd ever seen--a genuine case of post-orgasmic shyness.

Dude, look at you! You are so fucked!

Ignoring that observation, Gabe walked over to her, brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, unable to keep his hands off her. "Did you sleep well?"

She nodded. "Thanks. How about you?"

Her gaze dropped to his chest. She reached out and ran her fingertips through the sweat-damp hair on his chest, the contact making the muscles of his abdomen jerk.

His mouth went dry. "Yeah. Fine. Hungry?"

One touch, and you're reduced to monosyllables. Yeah, you're screwed.

She nodded, withdrew her hand, and met his gaze again, her cheeks burning even pinker. "I can just have toast or--"

"Just give me a few minutes to
shower"--and take care of business
--"and then I'll whip us up some omelets."

"I don't want to make you late for work."

"No worries." Gabe took a drink. "Last night, Webb wanted to know why you'd suddenly taken an interest in possible looting. When I told him the truth, he fired me."

"What?" The color drained from her face, her eyes wide with shock. "Oh, Gabe, no! I'm so sorry!"

"Don't be. I know you tried to protect me, but I couldn't let you lie for me, Kat."

"But what will you do for--"

He pressed a finger to her lips. "Don't worry about it. I've got lots of money in savings, and the house is paid off. You know what this means, don't you?"

She shook her head, her face still pale.

He grinned. "Since I don't have a job and don't really need one, you've got yourself a full-time bodyguard."

"THEY MUST BE connected." Kat flipped on her turn signal and turned off Speer onto Colfax on her way to the paper. "Can it just be coincidence that looting is going on at the butte at the same time the
inipi
is shut down and Grandpa Red Crow is killed?"

She and Gabe had already been to her place. Marc and Julian had met them there. The men had checked the condo inside and out before they'd let her enter, then they'd evaluated the condo for security weaknesses and had agreed that Gabe's home was by far the safer of the two. So she'd changed into fresh clothes--a dark blue broomstick skirt and ivory sweater--and packed a small suitcase. Then she and Gabe were off again, this time for the newspaper.

"It could be a coincidence, but I'd say that's pretty damned unlikely. I can't help but think Daniels is part of this somehow. He's the one who called the raid on the sweat lodge ceremony. He was the first cop to respond when Red Crow's body was found, and he was quick to reach the scene yesterday."

"You noticed that, too."

"Of course I did. I also noticed the bastard couldn't keep his eyes off you."

Kat glanced over at Gabe, touched by the aggressive edge in his voice--another sign that he cared about her. He sat in the passenger seat beside her, dressed in business casual--gray tweed sports jacket over a black turtleneck, jeans, and black leather shoes. His jaw was clean-shaven, his eyes concealed behind black sunglasses. But there was nothing casual about the gun he carried in a shoulder holster beneath his jacket.

Afull-timebodyguard.

He hadn't been joking.

"When we get to the paper, you'll have to go through security. I'm not sure they'll let you bring your gun into the building." For some reason, the idea of bringing Gabe into the newsroom made her nervous.

"They'll probably make me check it. As long as they give it back again when we leave, I've got no objections."

"We usually have an I-Team meeting at nine. My boss, Tom Trent, can be a difficult man. He's a great journalist, but he's got a terrible temper and tends to intimidate people."

Gabe grinned. "Well, honey, he won't intimidate me."

"I'm afraid you're going to get really bored and--"

"Would you relax?" Gabe looked over at her, gave her thigh a squeeze. "I'm here to watch over you, not have you watch over me. I'll be okay."

Kat turned into the paper's main parking lot, parked the truck, and waited while Gabe got out and walked around to the driver's side as they'd discussed. She waited for Gabe to open her door, then climbed out of the truck. Shielding her with his body, he looped an arm around her waist and hustled her to the paper's employee entrance, then opened the door for her and followed her inside.

She reached for her press card, which always hung around her neck when she was working, and held it up for Gil Cormac, the regular morning security guard. A former corrections officer, Gil had gotten a job at the paper thanks to Sophie, who'd felt sorry for him after his role in abetting Marc's escape from prison had gotten him fired. With a big beer belly and deep smile lines etched in his cheeks, he always brightened Kat's day.

"Good morning, Gil. This is Gabe Rossiter. He's--"

"I'm Ms. James's bodyguard." Gabe took out his driver's license and a small piece of paper, then opened his jacket to reveal his holstered gun. "I've got a permit for concealed carry."

Gil stood, a frown on his face, his gaze shifting from Gabe's driver's license and what must have been the concealed-carry permit to the weapon that lay against Gabe's side. "You'll have to check the firearm, sir."

Gabe drew the gun out of its holster and handed it, barrel pointed down, to Gil, who gave Gabe back his license and permit, took the gun, and bent down to lock it in some kind of safe behind the desk. "What's happened that you need a bodyguard, Ms. James?"

Kat was grateful when Gabe answered for her.

"She's gotten death threats related to one of her investigations. Yesterday afternoon someone fired several rounds at her with a high-powered rifle."

Gil stood upright with a jerk, his eyes wide, his gaze shifting to Kat. Then a look of gritty determination came over his face. "You're safe here, Ms. James. No one's going to get past me. Glad to have you watching over her, Mr. Rossiter."

"Thank you, Gil." Kat turned and took a few steps toward the elevator, but Gabe wasn't finished yet.

"Would you mind if I came back a bit later this morning to ask you some questions about the building security?"

"Not at all. I'd be happy to help, sir."

"Nice guy," Gabe said in a low voice as they walked away. "But I doubt he's fit enough to run a fifty-yard dash much less fight off an armed assailant."

Kat glanced back over her shoulder to see Gil still watching them, a worried look on his dear face.

CHAPTER 15

GABE HAD NEVER been in a newsroom before and had no idea what to expect. Taking up one entire floor of the six-story
Denver Independent
building, it looked like a maze, desks in clusters from wall to wall divided by shelves, filing cabinets, and periodic banks of televisions. He'd hate to be the techie whose job it was to keep these hundreds of computers plugged in, networked, and online.

"That's features over there--news features, entertainment, fashion, food," Kat said, pointing to divisions in the room that he couldn't discern. "Sports is in that corner. General assignment reporting is toward the middle near the copy desk. Opinion, obits, calendars are all toward the far wall, and the I-Team is up ahead."

"The I-Team are the rock stars of the paper, right?" Gabe had seen the advertisements and billboards.

Bringing you news that matters. The I-Team.

Her lips curved in a smile. "Don't let the opinion columnists hear you say that."

Still, it was clear to Gabe that the I-Team were the elite of the reporting staff. Their part of the newsroom was less crowded, with fewer desks and ample room for bookshelves and filing cabinets. Posters with quotes by Thomas Jefferson, Maya Angelou, and Martin Luther King Jr. hung in frames on one wall, while framed awards covered almost every square foot of another. He didn't have to look to know he'd find Kat's name on some of those.