Leslie Parrish - Pitch Black

All was not lost, though. There was another option. He had other resources to find out what Samantha was up to, another way to peer into the darkest recesses of her private life.

And he intended to use it.

As soon as Alec had said he was leaving, Sam had gotten out of the car. His decision was made; no way would she make things uncomfortable by getting pissy or whiny about it. But, as he’d gruffly informed her, he wasn’t going to let her carry her CPU up by herself. So she’d been forced to wait there while he hoisted the large box and lugged it up the outside steps, trying not to feel embarrassed at having been shot down.

Leading the way, she’d tugged off one of his gloves so she could retrieve her keys from the bowels of her purse and unlock the door. “Just leave it on the desk,” she said once they were inside. “I know you’re ready to go. I can take it from here.”

With a curt nod, he did as she asked, then turned to go. The man obviously intended to ignore what had happened between them. He seemed anxious to get out before the pathetic, horny, cheated-on ex-wife leaped on him or something.

Don’t be stupid . He was playing this smart. A lot smarter than her.

She had somehow managed a cordial tone as she handed him his gloves. “Don’t forget these. Thanks for letting me borrow them.”

As he took the bunched leather, his fingers touched hers ever so lightly. She managed to maintain an impassive expression, despite the way her fingertips sizzled in reaction to that brief, innocent brush of skin on skin.

“You’re welcome,” he said in a low growl, waiting for her to let go.

She forced herself to. And then, with a simple good night, he was gone.

The moment she closed the door behind him, Sam heaved a disappointed sigh. She stood there for a long moment, trying to go back three days in her mind, to before her world had turned so upside down. Wondering how things could feel so off-kilter in such a brief amount of time. She felt like a different person, as if the real Samantha Dalton was finally showing her face again after her long, self-imposed period of penance and isolation.

Penance for being stupid enough to get involved with someone who she knew would inevitably hurt her. Isolation to try to prevent it from happening again.

So why on earth was she getting hung up on a man who had been shot by a woman less than six months ago and now refused to talk about it?

“You’re crazy,” she told herself. “And you’re lucky he left.”

The words might have emerged from her mouth, but they didn’t sink into her mind or her heart. Because when a knock sounded on the front door a few seconds later, she yanked it open without a single hesitation, not knowing why he had come back, just glad of it.

The first thing she noticed: Alec wasn’t frowning. In fact, if she had to name it, she’d call his expression rueful.

“Is something wrong?”

He stepped inside, closing the door against the cold. Looking down at his own hand, Alec made a small sound that could have been either groan or laugh-or both; then a smile widened the sexy mouth. “Uh, Sam?”

“Yes?”

He lifted the bundle of leather she’d given him a couple of minutes before, holding the glove by a finger. Glove. Singular. “Black hole of death strikes again, huh?”

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry.” A quick, frantic glance confirmed the mate was lying on the floor nearby.

Grabbing it and handing it to him, she noted a glint of wicked amusement in his eyes. The brooding, angry man from the car was gone, as was the frustrated FBI agent, at least for the moment. Here was the flirtatious charmer she’d glimpsed a time or two since they’d met. The one who took her breath away.

“No wonder you have a dozen odd gloves. You steal ’em one at a time, huh?”

The change of mood had been so quick and unexpected, Sam could do nothing but laugh in response. Alec hadn’t exactly returned for a passionate kiss or a promise that they were going to do something about this thing they were both feeling. But he was smiling. Which, in her book, was a pretty good second choice. “It wasn’t intentional, I promise.”

“It’s okay. I never wear them and could have lived without them.”

She tilted her head, eyeing him curiously. “So why did you come back?”

He didn’t reply at first, merely staring at her. A battle seemed to wage behind his eyes, as if he honestly didn’t know what to do-something she doubted was a frequent occurrence for this competent man. Finally, when she had half decided he was just going to turn around and walk back out without another word, he admitted, “Because I didn’t want to leave you here to build this up in your head even more than you already have.”

“Oh, you’re a mind reader now?”

He leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. “It wasn’t too hard.”

“Are you profiling me?”

“Any guy who’s ever wanted a woman would know what you’re thinking, Sam.”

She tried to stay huffy, but melted a little instead at his admission that he wanted her.

“You wear a shield that says, ‘Back off.’ When you finally dropped it in the car, you didn’t deserve to think I hadn’t even noticed.”

“I knew you noticed,” she shot back. “I just figured you were too chickenshit to do anything about it.”

His quick bark of laughter told her the insult had rolled right off. Lifting a hand to her face, he smoothed back a strand of her hair, rubbing it lightly between his fingers. “So you knew exactly what I was thinking, huh?”

She swallowed hard, fighting not to curl her cheek into his palm. “Yep.”

“Okay.” He dropped his hand again. “But in case there’s any last doubt, let me clear it up. The answer is yes. I did want to haul you onto my lap and kiss the taste out of your mouth.”

The strength drained from her legs, and she leaned against the back of a chair. She’d been wanting some physical connection; now she wondered if she had bitten off more than she could chew. Then again, choking on someone who excited her as much as Alec didn’t seem like such a bad way to go.

Someone else’s weak, breathy vocal cords asked, “Why didn’t you?”

“Because this whole thing has been a little crazy. Fast. Unexpected.” He shrugged in resignation. “What can I say? I was trying to be a nice guy.”

She waited, wondering if there was more to that sentence.

Now do you not want to be a nice guy?

The words didn’t come. Instead, he cleared his throat and straightened again. “I just thought you should know that. It’s not lack of interest; it’s lack of ability to focus on much of anything except the job right now.”

“I get that,” she murmured, meaning it. “Thank you for coming back and telling me.”

“You’re welcome.”

He didn’t say anything else, didn’t offer promises or make plans for what might happen later, when things were a little less crazy. Instead, he just stood there by the door, his hands shoved into his pockets, visibly torn about how to proceed.

Sam took the decision out of his hands. “I don’t have any scotch. And I don’t own a video game system.”

His eyes narrowed in confusion.

“But if you can stand tequila, I do play a pretty good hand of Texas Hold ’Em. No strings. No making things any more crazy. I just thought, if you want to blow off some steam, and extend our less-than-three-day relationship by an hour, you’re more than welcome.”

Relationship . A strange word to describe what was going on between the two of them. But she couldn’t take it back, and she couldn’t regret saying it.

He didn’t step forward. Nor did he turn away. Instead, he did something much more unexpected. “It wasn’t what you were thinking.”