still looked unconvinced, he added, “Believe it or not, I’m very good with my hands.”
She was certain he spoke the truth. But her mind didn’t dwell on the more mundane meaning of his words. Cruz was a toucher; she’d realized that soon after she’d met him. She’d seen how physically affectionate he was with his family. Right now he was absently rubbing two fingers along the satiny finish of the windowsill he was propped against. Her eyes trailed over his muscled thighs outlined faithfully by the worn denim. She wondered waspishly if the reason he leaned against everything in sight was that he knew the pose showed his long, hard body off to such advantage. He probably wore jeans constantly for the same reason. They clung lovingly to his thighs and gloved his sex. She pulled her gaze away with effort, and the fact that it had taken effort annoyed her.
“Why don’t you ever stand up straight?” she snapped, turning away from the indolent picture he made.
He noted her sign of temper and wondered at it. “Why stand when you can lean?” he asked logically. “Why sit when you can slouch?”
“Your chiropractor must love you.”
“Never been to one. I’m the picture of health.”
He was certainly that. And more. The picture of a drop-dead gorgeous man in his prime, a healthy male animal who managed to exude good-humored charm and sexiness at the same time. That should be outlawed.
He hadn’t made an offer to show her upstairs, and he didn’t intend to. Cruz wasn’t sure how much longer he could trust himself not to make a move toward her, and in the intimate surroundings of his bedroom the temptation would be even greater. As perfect as she seemed standing here, he was certain she would seem even more so in his room, where he’d imagined her too many times for comfort.
“Well, if you’re ready, I’m sure you want to get back to your parents’ after you take me home,” Madeline said, her uneasiness growing. She was tiring of the incessant warnings her mind issued her every time she noticed with appreciation the way he moved, talked or looked. The constant tug-of-war taking place inside her was exhausting. This feeling of teetering on the edge was wearing on her nerves, and on her control.
“There’s no rush,” Cruz said dismissively without remarking on her sudden anxiousness to leave. “I’m hungry again. Do you want a sandwich?”
Her heart sank at the thought of spending one more minute in his apartment. The atmosphere seemed too intimate somehow, and though she was obviously the only one to feel it, she wanted out of here before it acted to lower her defenses even further. “You can’t possibly want to eat again,” she argued with him desperately, following him out to the kitchen.
“But I do. I didn’t have much at Mom’s. I was too worried about keeping your plate full.”
An unladylike snort was her answer and Cruz smiled to himself. He’d had plenty to eat earlier, and it was another kind of hunger that was gnawing at him right now. But he was willing to seize any excuse to keep her here a few more minutes, and for some reason that seemed important to him. Especially since she was exhibiting a sudden desire to escape.
“Martinez, I do not want anything to… eat,” she finished as a plate with a sandwich was placed before her.
“Look, Ma, no green things,” he joked. Her sandwich was missing the lettuce and fixings he’d piled on his own.
Her voice was tinged with frustration. “I’m not hungry.”
“Heard it before. Clean your plate, or I won’t take you home.”
She regarded him with a narrowed look. That was nothing short of bribery, and he’d been manipulating events all day. But if eating the darn sandwich was all it would take to get her safely home and alone once again, she’d let him get away with it one last time
She picked up the sandwich and determinedly chewed. But swallowing proved to be a bit more of a problem while sitting across from Cruz, with his liquid dark eyes trained on her face. She reached an unsteady hand for the glass of milk he’d placed beside her plate. Cruz Martinez had found the chink in the armor that usually guarded her emotions, and she wasn’t being allowed the time she needed to carefully replace her defenses. Why couldn’t it be easier to divine what a person was truly like? This was the same man who’d made an impassioned speech earlier about the need for more youth programs in the city. The love he shared with his family had been very evident today. How could she reconcile the man who held his small nieces and nephews with a look of softness on his face, with the criminal responsible for putting guns into the hands of kids?
It made no sense, and even less after meeting his family today. Tomas and Kathleen Martinez were two people secure in their pride for their children. It was hard to imagine him taking a risk that would destroy his parents’ pride and loyalty if it was ever exposed?
Other people were capable of just that, she knew. She’d been a cop long enough to see plenty of criminals, some of whom had been considered pillars of the community. Her ex-fiance had been a prime example of someone with a perfect exterior that masked a black soul. But her belief in Dennis, she now realized, had more to do with her inability to admit she could have been so wrong about him. Later she’d been able to recall instances in their relationship when his careful mask had slipped a bit. If she’d been willing to see him for what he was, the opportunity had been there.
“Are you done mangling that sandwich yet?” Cruz indicated the bread that was twisted in her hands, only a few bites gone from it. Madeline looked down and for the first time noticed the damage she’d done to the food.
“Sorry. I really wasn’t hungry.”
He nodded. “Let me grab something and we can be on our way.”
He went to one of the drawers in the kitchen and withdrew his checkbook, pushing it into his back pocket. Madeline cleared their plates off the counter, rinsed them and placed them in the dishwasher. She turned to see him watching her, an odd light in his eye at the sight of her performing the mundane task.
She hurried past him to grab the purse she’d set on the floor of the living room, but he didn’t immediately follow. “C’mon, Martinez,” she said, not altogether jokingly, “are you driving or am I going to have to walk?”
He moved then, but not, as she’d hoped, in the direction of the door. Instead his booted feet walked deliberately over and stopped in front of her. Inches from her, in fact.
“What’d you call me?”
His nearness was the last thing she wanted to deal with. She was already edgy from her warring emotions, and she definitely didn’t need him this close. She inched backward a little, until she found the wall behind her. “I called you…” To her chagrin, her voice sounded a little breathless. “What I always call you. Martinez.” Her voice trailed to a whisper at the intent on his face.
His arms came up to rest upon the wall on either side of her shoulders. “Cruz,” he said, the gentleness in his tone contrasting with the dark intensity in his eyes. “Call me by my name, Maddy.”
She didn’t even comprehend the hated nickname on his lips. She was too attuned to what he wasn’t saying. To what his body language was saying for him.
“Move aside, Martinez,” she ordered softly. Not in a million years would she admit to him that she used his last name to keep a buffer between them. Martinez was her partner, a fellow cop. Cruz… Cruz was someone else entirely.
“Not until you call me by my first name,” he replied, his voice just as soft.
“Don’t make me hurt you.”
His eyebrow cocked in amusement at her threat but there was no smile on his face. His eyes were on her lips and his mouth seemed to draw closer to her own.
Madeline let her body relax more and he came even nearer. Then one foot came out swiftly behind his, and a moment later he was stretched out on the hard floor with her on top of him, one knee pressed to his throat.
She was good, he admitted to himself ruefully. Her reflexes were lightning fast. “Uh, Maddy…” The increased pressure at his throat had him amending, “Madeline… could you…” He gestured with one hand toward her knee and she obediently eased back a little. Too late she realized her mistake. In less than an instant he’d reversed their positions, rolling her off and under him so fast her breath was lost in the process.
A wicked glint was in his dark eyes, and Madeline knew intuitively just how much trouble she was in. He held his weight off her slightly, taking care not to hurt her, but she was trapped against the ungiving floor and the equally hard but so much more tempting form above her. She needed to say something light, something that would
