Regina Kyle - Triple Time

Almost.

They lapsed back into silence. Devin focused on the blurred buildings speeding by outside the grimy window. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t ignore Gabe, sitting only inches away. His thigh brushing hers when he shifted. The scent of his cologne—citrusy, with a hint of cedar—teasing her senses.

Majorly pathetic.

“Can I ask you something?” His words tumbled out, like he was afraid if he didn’t say them at light speed, they wouldn’t come out at all.

“Uh, sure.” She turned to him with a shrug. “I guess so.”

“Would you say I’m...” He raked a hand through his close-cropped, chestnut hair. “Do you think I’m, well, boring?”

Devin almost choked. Boring? Seriously? Of all the words in the English language, boring was just about the last one she’d choose to describe Gabe Nelson. A little straitlaced, maybe. Serious. Panty-meltingly hot. But boring?

Hell, no.

She opened her mouth to answer but Gabe waved her off. “Never mind. Your hesitation speaks volumes.”

His shoulders stiffened and he turned his back to her to stare out his window.

Shit. What was it about this guy that always made her say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing? It was as if she was a tongue-tied teenage girl with a crush on her best friend’s hunky, totally hands-off younger brother.

Which was exactly what she was. Except for the teenage part.

Before she could figure out a way to straighten him out while salvaging her pride, they pulled up outside her apartment building and Gabe hopped out of the cab, holding the door for her.

“Keep the meter running,” he instructed the cabbie. “I’ll be right back.”

She brushed past him, ignoring his outstretched hand, and he followed her up the steps to the main door.

“Thanks,” she said, digging in her purse for her key. Where the hell was it? All she wanted was to get inside, change into sweats, scarf down a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Coffee Toffee Bar Crunch and forget this whole humiliating night. “Look, about what you asked earlier, in the cab. You’re not boring. A little repressed, maybe.”

“Repressed?”

“You know. Old-fashioned. Conservative.”

She let out a yelp as Gabe spun her around, pressing her against the door with his hips. “How’s this for conservative?”

“This” was his hands on her shoulders, his lips crushing hers. After a moment of shock, her body responded to him. Her purse slipped from her fingers, her keys forgotten, and her arms came up to circle his neck. Her hands tangled in his hair, holding him tight. Her lips parted and he didn’t waste any time in taking advantage, stealing his tongue into the opening and sweeping it across her lower lip.

Hot flipping damn . She was right about those lips of his. She could kiss them for hours. Days, even. And that naughty tongue...

She mentally struck straightlaced off her list of adjectives for him.

Not to be outdone, she met him lick for lick, running her tongue over his teeth and into the corners of his mouth. With a moan, he nudged her legs apart with his knee and moved between them. She could feel his rock-hard thigh pressing against her core.

She was ready to hook one leg around his hip and grind against him like a stripper on a pole when he broke off the kiss as abruptly as he’d started it.

“Christ, Devin, I’m...”

She pushed against his chest, resisting the temptation to grab his designer shirt in her fists and pull him back to her. “If you say you’re sorry, I’ll...”

He backed away, thrusting his hands in his pockets. “Knee my balls right through the roof of my goddamned mouth?”

“Something like that.”

“Then I’ll just say good-night.” One corner of his mouth curled into a half smile. “And sweet dreams.”

She slumped against the door, needing something to keep her vertical, as he climbed into the cab and drove away. Only when the taillights disappeared from view did she let herself slink to the ground, fumbling for her purse in disbelief.

Dudley Do-Right had done what no man had done before.

He’d left her wanting more.

2

“HEY, NELSON. BOSS wants to see you.”

“In a sec.” Gabe’s fingers flew over the keyboard, his eyes never straying from the computer screen. “I’m almost done with this motion.”

“Boss says now.”

Gabe looked up at his second-in-command, Jack Kentfield. “What gives?”

Jack lifted a shoulder. “Who knows? But you’re wanted on the seventh floor ASAP.”

“Great.” Gabe hit Save, closed the document and pushed away from his desk. Being summoned to the penthouse could only mean one of two things. Either he’d screwed up and was going to have his ass handed to him or he’d pleased the powers that be and was getting a commendation.

He wasn’t in the mood for either.

“Good luck,” Jack called after him as he headed for the elevator. “If you’re not back in ten I’ll send up a search party. Or start a memorial fund.”

“Make sure you hit up Tim in elder abuse.” The elevator doors opened and Gabe stepped in. “He owes me twenty bucks.”

The doors slid shut, leaving Gabe alone to wonder which fate awaited him upstairs. He couldn’t think of anything he’d done to warrant an ass reaming. Although, to be honest, his mind hadn’t totally been on his work since that night with Devin in the park last week. And on her doorstep.

Their kiss had been nothing short of explosive. Way more intense than anything he’d experienced before. He prided himself on his control. His ability to think before acting. All that had gone the way of the cassette tape when Devin surrendered to him, her soft lips parting under his, her full, warm curves molding to him.

A stirring below his belt buckle made him shake his head and silently scold himself. Down, boy. Big meeting coming up. Think clean thoughts. Mom. Apple pie. A busload of nuns on their way to a prayer meeting.

Gabe squeezed his eyes shut. He’d been a selfish, impulsive bastard to kiss her, but at least one good thing had come of it. Now he understood why Kara’s rejection had left him more numb than hurt. He’d been an idiot, proposing to her for all the wrong reasons. Thinking he could choose a life mate based on shared interests and political expediency. Thinking passion would come later and build slowly, like a roller coaster climbing that first hill.

It wouldn’t. And it wouldn’t have been fair to her. Or him.

With a ding , the elevator doors opened and Gabe stepped into the inner sanctum of Manhattan District Attorney Thaddeus Holcomb. Teddy to his friends. Mr. Holcomb to his underlings at One Hogan Place.

“Gabe.” Doris, Mr. Holcomb’s secretary from what seemed like the dawn of time, beckoned him closer with a wrinkled finger. “He’s waiting for you.”

She ushered him into an office three times the size of his own. Instead of a regulation-issue gunmetal gray desk like Gabe’s, the current district attorney sat behind a massive oak table. Matching bookshelves lined the walls, bright blue statute books and thick legal treatises artfully arranged alongside plaques, trophies and the occasional family photo.

“You wanted to see me?” Gabe took a seat in one of the two leather armchairs in front of the table.

Holcomb closed the file he’d been reading. “Nice work on Patterson. Convincing Judge Morrison to let in the defendant’s statement.”

“Thanks.” Gabe relaxed into the soft leather. Looked like it was going to be door number two.

“Any word on sentencing?”

“It’s scheduled for next Thursday.”

“Good. Keep me posted.”

Holcomb cleared his throat. Gabe steeled himself. Now came the real reason for their little tête-à-tête. Holcomb pushed the file across the table. “The police made an arrest in the Park Avenue homicide case last night.”