On Thin Ice (13 page)

Her eyes closed and her head bowed, touching the keyboard with a discordant note of hopelessness. How could she do it? How could she reconcile having the means to successfully defend her client and yet deliberately withhold the evidence? Doing so meant compromising her career, her belief in the law, her ethics. And look what had happened already; she’d had a panic attack in front of Devlin. She’d handed him a lovely weapon to wield against her, and she didn’t doubt he’d make superb use of it.

Yet what would happen if she didn’t hide that report? Getting Franco off would solve none of her problems, except her moral dilemma. Because Franco wouldn’t fade away once he was free. He’d hang around, a dark, malicious albatross, until he totally destroyed her life. Again.

She closed the keyboard cover on another dream that had died. No amount of agonizing would change the bottom line. If she followed through with her impulse and hid the police report, if she didn’t use every means at her disposal to gain her client’s acquittal, then she truly was no better than Franco. She might as well have stayed under Vito’s control and lived the life of the Mafia princess she’d been born to. Everything she’d done for the last fourteen years would have been in vain. Her whole way of life would be a mockery.

How could doing the right thing feel so wrong? She had no other choice but to expose the police error, and consequently, enable Franco Sabatino to go free.

Rocky, lying stretched out beside the piano, raised her head and stared at the front door. A few seconds later a knock sounded. The dog rushed to the door and scratched at it, whining happily, her tail wagging. At least the visitor wasn’t Franco, Gabrielle thought.

She crossed the living room to look out the peephole. Devlin. How dare he show his face there after the number he’d pulled on her? She didn’t answer, but folded her arms over her chest and waited to see what he’d do.

“Gabrielle,” he called, pounding on the door this time. “I know you’re in there. I heard you playing.”

She stuck her tongue out, feeling better after the childish action. More pounding. Rocky scratched at the door again and looked at her expectantly. Dumb dog didn’t realize that Devlin was as big a threat as Franco.

“Dammit, Gabrielle, let me in,” he shouted, his voice muffled by the barrier. “I need to talk to you.”

“Go to hell!” she shouted right back. “And get off my property before I call the police.” Not that she’d carry things so far, but he didn’t need to know that. She waited, Rocky whining beside her, but didn’t hear any more noise. Minutes passed with no other sounds. Had he actually left?

The sound of glass shattering had her whirling around and rushing to her bedroom. By the time she and Rocky reached it, Devlin had pushed up the window and was already halfway inside. Stunned by the sight of the urbane, sophisticated Devlin Sinclair crawling through her broken bedroom window and swearing a blue streak as he did so, Gabrielle could only gape.

Rocky launched herself at him, but from the furious wagging of her tail Gabrielle suspected the attack would be more on the order of licking him to death. Brushing glass shards from his shirt and jeans, Devlin quelled the dog’s enthusiasm with a word. Rocky promptly sat on her haunches, panting and gazing at him adoringly.

“You should put her out before she cuts herself,” he said.

Parking her fists on her hips, Gabrielle found her voice. “I don’t believe this.” She glared at him, wishing she had something to throw. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He shrugged. “I needed to talk to you, and it was obvious you weren’t going to let me in.”

“Gee, I wonder why?” she said sarcastically. “Could it be because I’ve had enough humiliation for one day?”

A flush rose in his cheeks. Gabrielle decided she must be dreaming. Devlin Sinclair, blushing?

“That’s what—I didn’t mean—” He broke off, grinding his teeth and swearing savagely under his breath. “Dammit, this is harder than I thought it would be. I came here to apologize.”

“Are you apologizing for not taking advantage of me, as you put it, or for letting me think you did?”

His jawline hardened. “For letting you think we’d made love. For telling you like I did. For—” He broke off again, grimacing. “For being such a bastard when I did tell you the truth.”

Gabrielle had the feeling Devlin didn’t often apologize for his words or actions. Privately, she admitted that he had reason to be angry, or at least frustrated, about the night before. Besides that, she knew quite a few men who wouldn’t have cared what condition she’d been in.

Well, so what?
she thought. That didn’t say a lot about the men she knew, and it didn’t justify Devlin stringing her along like he had. She couldn’t forgive and forget quite so easily. And if that wasn’t enough, he’d witnessed her panic attack as well.

Why didn’t he just go away and leave her to her misery? “Okay, you’ve apologized. You’ve admitted you were a jerk, and I’ll admit I was a fool to drink so much. Can we just forget it now?”

He shook his head, smiling ruefully. “Unfortunately, no, I can’t forget it. I wish to hell I could.”

So did she. Gabrielle felt her throat close and tears sting her eyes. Why wouldn’t he go away? Hadn’t she made a fool of herself enough times already? Abruptly, she said, “Rocky, come. Time to go out.” Turning on her heel, she left the room.

He followed her, of course. She sensed his presence behind her as she stood in the open doorway to the backyard and wished desperately that she didn’t care what Devlin thought of her, or how he felt about her. Wished desperately that she only knew the face he showed the rest of the world and not the one he hid. The man who had so generously helped Marcie Field. The man who’d comforted her in a dingy stairwell. That man existed, no matter how much Devlin tried to deny it.

His hands fell on her shoulders, warm, strong, gentle. “You make me feel things I don’t want to feel,” he said, his voice low, quiet. “And I don’t like it.”

Her back still toward him, she said, “You wanted to make me angry and you succeeded. Why?” She felt his cheek against her hair, the warmth of his solid body against her back.

He kneaded her shoulders. “I told myself I wanted you to know what kind of man I am. To understand that I can’t offer you more than sex. To establish the rules so you wouldn’t get hurt.”

His warm breath wafted across her ear, her cheek. It shouldn’t have been seductive, but it was. “Did you think me so naïve, I didn’t know that?” She turned to look him in the face and search his eyes. “I think you wanted to make me so mad, I’d never go to bed with you. Are you going to tell me why?”

He stared at her for a long time. He didn’t look angry; he looked confused, unsure of himself. It wasn’t a look she’d ever have associated with his face, or emotions she would ever have expected him to have.

He turned his back to her and strode quickly from the room, swearing under his breath again. Gabrielle closed the back door and followed him, understanding less of what was happening with each passing moment.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” she asked. “You wanted to make sure we’d never make love. But you’ve been trying to get me in bed since we met. Why the sudden turnaround?”

Grimacing, he shoved his hands through his hair, the gold strands falling back in disorder. “I don’t believe this,” he muttered, and sat on the sofa.

She crossed the room to stand in front of him. “You’re not making sense.”

“Tell me about it.” He looked up at her. “Yeah, you’re right. I said it to tick you off. Subconsciously, I wanted to drive you as far away from me as possible.”

Confused, Gabrielle frowned and stared down at him. “All you had to do was quit making moves on me. You didn’t have to—” She hesitated as she remembered essentially throwing herself at him. Flushing, she continued, “If you weren’t interested, you didn’t have to drive me home last night.”

He made a sound halfway between a groan and a laugh. “I’ve wanted to make love to you since you dropped that lingerie at my feet, Gabrielle. And when I want something, I usually get it. But then last night and today, I finally figured something out.” His gaze connected with hers, his eyes dark gray, unhappy. “You’re different. I’m different. This whole thing between us is different.”

It wasn’t getting any clearer. Tired, bewildered, her emotions dangerously unstable, she needed for him to stop speaking in riddles. “Devlin, what in the world are you talking about? Spit it out.”

His jaw tightened. “Dammit, Gabrielle, I think I’m in love with you.”

For the first time since he started the conversation, Devlin smiled. That take-off-your-clothes-and-I-promise-to-make-you-a-happy-woman smile. But for some reason, it looked like he was smiling just for her. Her bones turned to cream cheese, and her heart gave a funny lurch. Oh, God, no. She couldn’t be in love with him too. Could she?

His gaze ran down her body while he considered her, returning to her eyes after a long study. “I think it’s your mouth.” She blinked. He shifted his grip to hold her wrists together, still stretched above her head. Slowly, he traced his forefinger over her lips, barely touching them. “Smart. Sassy.” Smiling, he dipped his finger inside her mouth and continued tracing with the finger now dampened. Gabrielle had never felt anything quite like it in her life. Her stomach fluttered, her breasts tightened, her skin tingled. All from the touch of his finger tracing her lips. And the look in his eyes as he did so.

“Quick,” he added, his voice deepening. “And then there’s how your mouth looks. Soft, wide, beautiful. Tempting.” While he spoke, he continued the mesmerizing motion of his finger, sliding it into her mouth, taking it out and shaping her lips.

Gabrielle couldn’t have spoken if the couch had caught on fire. He was too smooth, too gorgeous, too knowing to be for real, but oh, she didn’t care. If he didn’t kiss her soon, she was going to explode.

“But the best thing,” he murmured, his voice a husky caress, “is how you taste. Warm.” He kissed a corner of her mouth, as lightly as an imaginary lover might have. “Giving.” He repeated the caress at the other corner. “Seductive.” For an instant only, he touched his lips to hers, then drew back to stare at her once again.

Spellbound, Gabrielle could barely breathe. The only thought she had was to wish he would kiss her, really kiss her, and end the torture. Except she knew that would be only the beginning.

“Sweet,” he whispered, his mouth coming closer, hovering a breath away. “So damn sweet,” he said, then he kissed her and she went up in flames.

His tongue stroked inside, touched and toyed with hers, slipped out and in again to repeat the tantalizing process. Eager to touch, to caress his chest, she whimpered against his mouth and tried to free her arms. He held her still, deepening the kiss until she felt as fluid as water.

Finally, he released her arms, and she wrapped them around his neck, pulling him closer. His lips blazed a wet, heated trail down her neck, and she arched it to offer him better access. His teeth scraped at the hollow, then he pressed his open mouth against her throat, making her shiver, making her burn.