table and resumed eating his meal.
She frowned at him. “But you said-”
“I know what I said. I just wanted to see how strongly you would defend your position. And you did it quite well, I thought.” His eyes twinkled. “You should have been a lawyer.”
Madeline stared at him. “You did it to me again,” she finally murmured, shaking her head in bemusement. “Why do I keep forgetting how you operate? You just like to get people stirred up, don’t you?”
“Yep,” he admitted without shame. “It’s my forte. You go with your strengths. Plus your impassioned persuasion kept you so busy you forgot what you were eating.” He pointed his fork at her plate.
“Very tricky,” she said, noticing for the first time that she’d eaten most of her helping. “But you’ll notice I managed to avoid the peppers.”
“You did quite well for the first time. And for your reward…” He got up and went to the refrigerator. “I brought something that would earn your forgiveness if you absolutely hated the meal.”
Her mouth watered on cue when he presented the dessert. “For French silk pie I would forgive you for starting World War III. But there’s no need for it. Everything was delicious.”
“Thank you, thank you,” he said with false modesty. “But I have to admit, my culinary genius does not extend to baked goods. I got this at a Miller’s Bakery.”
They savored the sweet dessert and when they were finished, Madeline sat back contentedly. “I don’t think I’ll move for the next several hours.”
“In that case, maybe we’d better go into the living room. You’ll be more comfortable on the couch in case you fall asleep. I’ll clean up the kitchen.”
Shaking her head, Madeline rose and walked over to the TV, flipping it on and dropping onto the couch as he’d suggested. “Forget the dishes,” she said. “I’ll do them later when I have more energy.”
He didn’t need any more encouragement, and sat on the other end of the couch. She would be amazed later to recall how quickly the evening passed. They talked as freely as two friends who’d known each other for years, with an easy familiarity. When Cruz rose later, remarking about the time, Madeline’s eyes flew to the clock. She was shocked to see how late it was getting. She followed him to the door.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely, “for the meal.”
“Well, I guess I owed you. I really didn’t mean to offend you this afternoon.”
“You didn’t have to do this, but…” She smiled impishly. “I’m glad you did.”
He gazed down at her. “So am I.” She was so close he could reach out and touch her, and he did so without thinking. One finger traced her delicate jawline, and the others curled under her chin of their own accord. He didn’t plan it, but his head began descending.
Just a quick kiss, that was all he expected. A light brushing of lips, a friendly goodbye. It would have been a fitting ending to a spontaneous evening that had turned out surprisingly well. But once his mouth met hers, his expectations faded, to be replaced with something deeper, more demanding.
She saw his face draw closer and she didn’t pull away as she knew she ought to. A kiss seemed almost natural after the evening they’d shared, and her eyelids drooped in anticipation. But anticipation didn’t prepare her for the onslaught of emotion that accompanied his kiss. She’d expected a casual peck, perhaps a teasing brush of mouths, and a joking remark to accompany him out the door. But there was nothing teasing about this.
At the first taste of her, Cruz could feel a spark in his belly quickly grow into a knot of fire. It wasn’t enough, and he followed the dictates of his body, not his mind. He pulled her closer, cupped her head in the palm of his hand and kissed her the way he wanted to, the way he’d thought about doing since the first time he’d seen her, looking so prim and professional.
His lips pressed hers apart and his tongue swept in, exploring boldly. Not expecting such an intimate caress, Madeline’s fingers clutched reflexively on his chest. The heat from his stroking tongue generated an answering heat in the pit of her stomach. She allowed the sparks to sweep away reason for a moment. For an instant she allowed herself to respond to the demand implicit in his kiss, and issued a demand of her own.
Their mouths twisted together in a mindless wanting that reduced their earlier friendliness to a sham. It was long moments before Cruz raised his head.
With her lips bereft of his, her eyes flickered open slowly. He was staring down at her, his eyes still full of the promise his mouth had been issuing a second ago. There was a slight frown on his face. Then he brushed his lips across her forehead and left, as if not trusting himself to do more.
His departure seemed no more abrupt than the cessation of that mind-drugging kiss of a minute ago, and when the door shut behind him, Madeline sagged weakly against it. What a fool she’d been just then, she thought dizzily. She’d imagined what a kiss from him would be like. But her expectations hadn’t prepared her for this thought- draining, soul-racking kiss, which left her boneless and alarmingly empty-headed.
It was some time before her mind cleared enough for her to lock the door behind him. But after she did, she leaned against it again. Later would come the self-recriminations. For now, words escaped her mind, and all she could do was touch her lips in remembrance and smile.
# # # #
Morning seemed to come with the gentleness of a sledgehammer against cement. Cruz hadn’t slept particularly well, and his mood didn’t improve much over coffee. His brilliant idea of the previous evening, to get on a better footing with Madeline Casey, had succeeded all too well. Except for the fact that he’d reacted to her as hot and fast as a randy sixteen-year-old in the back seat of his father’s car. He rubbed his forehead in remembrance. Keep it light, that had been his plan for the evening. But somehow he’d lost that thought at the first taste of her.
His sudden physical response was not a mystery; he’d been attracted to her from the beginning. He appreciated women, and he especially appreciated women who were smart as well as beautiful. It was his momentary lack of control last night that bothered him. Cruz hadn’t gotten to be a thirty-four-year-old bachelor without his share of experience with the opposite sex. But somehow none of that experience had come to his aid last night, and that was disturbing.
He was used to arranging things to suit himself. He had an innate charm that prevented people from protesting, even when they realized how he stayed in control of a situation. He’d figured the situation with Madeline had called for a little more camaraderie, a little lighthearted friendliness, and that was exactly what he’d provided. Until he’d lost control of that plan at the end, when their kiss had become much more than that.
He didn’t like the feeling he had now, as if he’d made a rather large mistake, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on when or why things had gone so awry. All he knew was that they had less to do with him and much more to do with Madeline Casey. And his reaction to her. He brooded over this on the drive to work. When he got to his desk, she was already there.
“Hi,” she said, glancing up at him. “It’s not often I beat you to work.” She took a closer look at his closed expression. “Bad morning?”
“I was looking through the files you compiled. I couldn’t find that picture of Valdez we had yesterday. Do you know where it is?”
Her matter-of-fact manner helped restore his own, even as it annoyed him further. He walked to his desk and pulled open the top drawer. He took out the picture and handed it to her. “What’s on your mind?”
She studied the picture intently, as if she didn’t already have the face memorized. He’d be shocked if she answered that question truthfully. However, there was no chance of that happening. She’d thought for an instant that he shared her discomfort at facing him this morning. But she’d obviously been wrong. There was nothing in his manner to suggest that. She, on the other hand, had had to mentally prepare herself for the moment she would see him again. And she resented bitterly the fact that the effort seemed to be one-sided.
But she was, above all things, a professional, and she’d do her job without consideration of any personal feelings if it killed her. She was proud that her voice was matter-of-fact when she answered. “What do you think Stover might have to say if we showed him this and told him we know he got the gun from this man?”
“Bluff him, you mean?”
“We don’t have anything to lose,” she reasoned. “He didn’t seem willing to talk without a guaranteed deal from the D.A. We aren’t going to get that. Maybe, if nothing else, we can surprise him. We might be able to tell from his
