The Heat Is On (3 page)

“It was last night.”

Ramon's gaze slid across the kitchen to where Bella was standing in front of a baker's rack, inspecting whatever she had on it. It looked like cream puffs.

They smelled like heaven.

His mouth watered and he wondered if under different circumstances—say, her not running out on him, and him not answering his cell phone—he'd still be at home right this minute, once again sampling her considerable wares—

“Let me take a wild stab at this,” Ramon said. “The date those assholes set you up on was with one Isabella Manchelli.”

“I guess that's why they pay you the big bucks.”

Ramon didn't cut a smile. “You slept with her. Hell, Madden.”

Across the room, Ethan approached Bella, fun, laid-back guy gone, cop face on, his pad out.

Ramon let the silence hang between them a minute, then blew out a breath. “Bad timing.” Yeah.

Ramon was quiet another moment, then shoved
his fingers through his dark hair. “Okay, well, we'll deal with it.”

They didn't have much of a choice. Jacob glanced over at Bella again. She was still talking to Ethan, but looking past him, right into Jacob's eyes, her own soft and compelling.

She'd planned on never seeing him again, and he'd reconciled himself to that as being for the best.

But fate had intervened now. He wondered just where it would take them, and if they were going to enjoy—or regret—the ride.

B
Y THE TIME
B
ELLA
finished talking to Ethan at the police station, it was nearly two, which was when her shift ended. She checked in with Willow, who told her that there was still yellow crime scene tape blocking off the shop, so she'd never opened for the day, disappointing their customers.

All those delicious pastries and cakes, going stale…

Ethan drove Bella home from the station. Home was, temporarily at least, one of the two small apartments above Edible Bliss.

“You're new to town,” Ethan said lightly, idling at the curb while Bella unhooked her seat belt.

They'd been over this, but she nodded. “Yes.”

“You planning on sticking?”

“I don't tend to stick, I never intended to stick.”

“Are you…unsticking anytime soon?”

“Not this week.”

“Good enough,” he said. “Thanks for cooperating this morning.”

She'd been raised right enough that she automatically thanked him in return, even though she had no idea what she was thanking him for. Asking intrusive questions? Plying her with bad cop coffee until she was so jittery she was in danger of leaping out of her own skin? He seemed like a good cop and a decent man, but she was on overload now, facing an adrenaline crash. “How long until we can go back inside?”

“Another couple of hours, tops. Just long enough to let CSI finish. You'll call me if you think of anything else you can tell me?”

“Yes,” she said, then asked him the question she'd been wondering all day. “Are you Jacob's partner?”

“We work together sometimes, but not on this case.”

Something in his voice had her taking a second look at him.

“Conflict of interest,” he clarified.

She hesitated, knowing that they both knew
she
was the conflict of interest. “Is he in trouble?”

He started to say something and then stopped.

“Is he?”

“For being with you? No. For not being able to keep his nose out once he's feeling protective about someone he cares about? Not yet, but give him a day or two.”

“We're not together. It was…just a one-night thing.
You need to make sure your commander, or whatever he's called, knows that. I don't want Jacob to be in trouble over me.”

“I'll be in touch.”

She nodded, ignoring the unease in the center of her gut, and got out of the car. She looked at the front door to the shop. Edible Bliss, the cute little paisley sign read. The interior was just as unique. Done up like a sixties coffeehouse, the colors bold and happy.

And just a little psychedelic.

She loved it here.

But at the moment, she also hated it.

There was still yellow crime tape blocking the front door. Willow was sitting on the steps. She was forty, tiny, with a dark cap of spiky hair tipped in purple this week. Her eyebrow piercing glinted in the sun as she watched Bella approach with a worried tilt to her mouth.

It'd been a while since Bella had stayed anyplace long enough to make friends, been a long time since she'd wanted to, but Santa Rey had snagged her by the heartstrings.

So had Willow. They'd spent only a month together, but it felt like more. She sank to the step at Willow's side. “I'm so sorry.”

“Not your fault.” Willow had sweet, warm eyes and a smile to match, and she hugged Bella tight. “We don't see a lot of murder in Santa Rey,” she murmured. “They asked me a bunch of questions and
I didn't get to ask any of my own. Do you suppose they have any leads?”

“At the moment, I might be their only one.”

Willow pulled back, clearly shocked. “They suspect
you?
”

“I think it's standard procedure to suspect everyone.”

Willow was quiet a moment. “It's probably not appropriate to ask, given what's happened, but I never got to ask you. How did last night go? Date number eight?”

In spite of everything, Bella felt herself soften. “Nice.”

Willow blinked, then let out a slow grin. “Honey, a smile that like means a whole helluva lot more than
nice.
”

“Yes, well, it got complicated.”

“Uh-huh. Most good stuff is. Is he good looking?”

“Yes.”

“Good kisser?”

“Willow—”

“Oh, come on. I haven't had a date in three months. Let me live vicariously through you.”

“Yes,” Bella breathed on a whisper of a laugh. “He's a good kisser. But—”

“Oh, crap. There's a but?”

“A big one, actually. He's the detective assigned to this case. Or he was, until it was established that he'd slept with the person who found the dead guy.”

Willow stared at her. “Oh, shit, Bella.”

“Yeah. That about covers it.”

They stood together and walked past the yellow tape to the alley between the building and the one next door. It was narrow and lined with two trash cans. Passing through, they came to the rear of the shop, where there was more yellow tape across the back door.

Bella took in the sight of the stoop and shivered. Willow hugged her, then they took the stairs to the second-story landing. Her boss moved to her door. “You going to be okay?”

“Absolutely.”

Willow blew her a kiss and vanished inside her place.

Bella entered her own apartment, where she stripped, pulled on her bathing suit and headed back out, walking the block to the beach. The boardwalk stretched out in front of her, but she didn't walk it as she normally did. Today she wanted to swim. Hard.

This particular beach drew sunbathers looking to soak up the California sun, and fishermen seeking fish and crab. It was a popular spot, and not much of a secret, but this afternoon, there wasn't a crowd. Standing at the water's edge, Bella stared out into the waves, inhaling the warm, salty air. The scent was intoxicating. With a purposeful breath, she let loose some of the tension knotting her shoulders and neck, and kicked off her flip-flops. She dropped her towel
to the sand, and then her sunglasses on the towel, and without pause, dived out past the waves. There, she swam parallel to the shore for half a mile, and then back.

By the time she walked out of the water at the same spot she'd started, the sun was slanting lower in the sky, perched like a glorious burning ball hanging over the horizon.

The beach had completely cleared. Instead of the pockets of families dotting the sand, there was only the occasional straggler. She bent for her sunglasses, slid them on, then straightened, coming face-to-face with Detective Jacob Madden.

He looked her over slowly, taking in her dripping wet suit without a word. He wore the same loose jeans and the shirt she'd seen him in earlier, and still had his gun at his hip. The shirt was snug across his shoulders and loose across the abs she had every reason to know were flat and ridged, as she'd spent some time running her tongue across them.

All day her thoughts had drifted to him.

He was easy to think about. He looked great when he was smiling. He looked great when he was just standing there. Hell, he looked great naked and sweaty, and that was hard to do—no pun intended.

He was wearing dark sunglasses and looked like a movie star. She squeezed the water from her hair, quiet as she eyed him. “Definitely Tall, Dark and Drop-dead Sexy.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, maybe
drop-dead
aren't exactly the right words today.”

He grimaced, and she had to let out a low laugh. “Are you embarrassed?”

“No. I don't do embarrassed.”

But he was. She could tell, and she shook her head. “You do own a mirror, right?”

He ignored that, probably out of self-defense. “I wanted to know if you were okay.”

“I was thinking of asking you the same.”

“I'm not the one who had a pretty rough morning.”

“Are you sure? Because I hear you lost a case just by sleeping with the chick who found the dead guy. I'm really sorry if it was because of me, Jacob.”

“I'm a big boy. I'll be fine.”

She nodded, but the tension she'd just worked so hard to swim off had come back. Worse, her stomach chose that moment to rumble,
loudly,
reminding her she hadn't eaten all day.

He arched a brow, and she shrugged. “Listen, I've got to go.”

“You're hungry.”

Usually when she shooed a man away, he went. And stayed gone.

Not Jacob. He stood there, hands on hips, unconcerned that she'd just dismissed him. “I'm thinking they can hear your stomach in China. Let's get something to eat.”

Here was the problem. She wanted to gobble
him
up. But she wasn't going to get him in any more of a bind. “I'm fine.” Again her manners got the better of her. “But thank you.”

He was quiet a moment, then blew out a breath when she shivered. He bent for the towel she'd left on the sand and handed it out to her. “Bella, I—”

“Look, I hate that you got in trouble for me, okay? And I know you did.” She dried herself off.

“I'm not in trouble.”

“You got taken off the case!”

“I
took
myself off the case. Officially.” He paused. “Unofficially, I'm still involved.”

“What does that mean?”

“Let's just say I feel invested.”

“In the dead guy?”

He just looked at her.

In her. “Oh, no.
No.
” She added a head shake. “You aren't going to risk your job for me.”

“I'm not risking anything. I'm off duty at the moment, and my time is now my own, however I wish to spend it. Turns out I wish to spend it helping you.”

“You think I need help?”

“I think, if nothing else,” he said with terrifying gentleness, reaching for her hand, “that you could probably use a friend.”

Dammit. Her throat burned. Too much swimming in the sun. Too much caffeine at cop central. Too much adrenaline still flowing. But it had nothing, nothing at all, to do with having him at her side. “I really didn't kill him,” she whispered.

“Well, that makes this a lot easier.” Not letting go of her, he tugged her close, looking into her eyes. “How about we figure out who did.”

She bowed her head a moment and watched the water drip from her, vanishing into the sand at her feet.

Jacob pulled off her sunglasses and then his, studying her face with his cop's eyes. “You look done in.”

“I—” Yeah. Yeah, she was.

Without another word, he tugged her hand again, leading her across the beach to the boardwalk. Willow's shop was off to the right, but he went left.

“Hey,” she said.

He didn't answer. He didn't say a word, in fact, until they'd crossed the beach, stepping onto the back deck of Shenanigans, a lovely outdoor café, one of Bella's favorites. Her favorite, because they bought their desserts from Edible Bliss, Bella's own creations, serving them for their nightly dinner run. Jacob pulled out a chair for her and she shifted on her feet. “I'm all wet.”

Jacob had slid his dark sunglasses back on, but she felt his gaze go from mild to scorching in zero point four.

Her body answered the call.

“I meant from the ocean,” she clarified wryly. “I'm wearing a bikini here, Jacob.”

“Trust me, I noticed.”

Her belly executed a little flutter. She told herself
it was nerves and an empty stomach, but that was one big fat lie.

It was all Jacob.

He excited her. Even just sitting across from her the way he was, slouched in his chair, long legs spread carelessly out in front of him, just breathing and watching her, he excited her.

“It's a no shirt, no shoes, no service sort of place,” she said.

“Fine.” He started to shrug out of his button-down.

“Wait— What are you doing?” she asked in a horrified whisper.

“Helping you out with the shirt part.” Beneath, he wore a pale blue T-shirt advertising some surf shop in Mazatlán.

And a lot of lean muscles.

A
lot.

Not that she was noticing.

The light in his eyes said that he noticed her noticing, so she made a conscious effort to shut her mouth and surreptitiously check for drool.

Jacob stood up and walked around to the back of her chair, draping the shirt over her shoulders.

It was warm from his body heat, and it smelled like him, and she had to work at not moaning out loud. Her eyes drifted shut.

Bending so that his mouth brushed her ear, he murmured, “Stand up, Bella.”

As if her brain had disconnected from her body, her body obeyed. She stood up.

Still behind her, he guided her hands through the sleeves and rolled the cuffs up, the insides of his arms grazing the sides of her breasts. “Better?”

“Uh-huh,” she managed brilliantly.
God, please let me find the bones in my knees so I don't collapse to the floor in a puddle of longing…

His fingers were sure and firm as he buttoned her up, but somehow gentle, too, evoking memories of last night.

Of course, he'd been
removing
her clothes then, with lots of hot, openmouthed kisses and hands stroking down her body in a way that had brought pleasure and heightened her need and hunger.

As if she'd needed help with the heightening.

Hell, by the time he'd slid his clever, knowing fingers between her thighs, she'd been primed to go off.

And go off she had, like a bottle rocket.

At the memory, her nipples hardened even more. She clasped his shirt to her, her fingers brushing his. “Thanks.”

He nodded.

And yet neither of them moved for a long beat. They just stood there, locked in an embrace, her back to his front, his arms around her.

A few customers walked by and broke the moment. Bella slid back into her chair.

Jacob's gaze ran the length of her, a light in his eyes that said arousal, and just a hint of possessiveness.