Boiling Point (Phoenix, Ltd. Book 2) Read online

  She scooped up a spoonful of the red and waved it at him. “Just wait ’til you taste it.”

  He did, and the spicy concoction instantly banished the last hint of chill. Before he knew it, his bowl was half empty. When he glanced up to tell her how much he liked the dish, he found her regarding him with a look of frank assessment. He raised his spoon. “This is great.”

  She barely blinked. “I’m glad you like it. Now maybe you can tell me what is actually going on here.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Momentary confusion clouded Nick’s eyes, but it cleared quickly. Good. He wasn’t going to try to pretend he didn’t understand.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Or maybe not.

  “Why did you invite me to your hockey game? Why did you insist on following me home?”

  He shifted his weight in his chair and took a sip of tea. “You said you didn’t have plans for the weekend, so I thought you might enjoy the game. I already told you why I followed you home—to make sure you were safe.”

  “Okay. But why are we sitting here eating dinner together?”

  “We were both hungry.”

  “Stop it.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Is this a date?”

  “You say that like it would be the end of the world.”

  She suppressed a smile at the hint of bruised male ego in his tone. “I just want to be clear. After you kissed me, you made a point of telling me you refuse to get involved with work associates.”

  He dug his spoon into his curry. “We’re off-duty. Besides, now that Mahoney’s in custody, the Prescott job may not last much longer.”

  “So this is a date.”

  “Not exactly. Let’s call it a pre-date.”

  She sat back and raised her brows. “That’s a new one.”

  He muttered something under his breath then popped the spoon into his mouth, but she refused to let him off so easily. “You were saying?”

  Nick took his time chewing. When he finished, he washed it down with the remaining tea from his small white cup and looked up to meet her gaze. Tight lines of exasperation bracketed his mouth. “Why do women always insist on defining and categorizing every aspect of a relationship?”

  “We like to know where we stand. Are you saying we have a relationship?”

  His lips tightened in frustration. “Now who’s being dense? Of course we do. We’re colleagues, and I thought we’d become friends.”

  She teased the bits of chicken, rice, and brightly colored vegetables in her bowl with the tip of her spoon. “I think we have, in a way. But I wonder what will happen when this job ends.”

  “Who knows?”

  She stared into his fathomless, coffee-colored eyes, wishing she could read his thoughts. “What would you like to have happen?”

  “I thought we might get to know each other better—on a more personal level—and see where it takes us.” He reached across the table and covered her hand to still its motion. “What would you like to have happen?”

  The dark intensity of his gaze sent tiny flutters zipping through her stomach. “I suppose I might be willing to set aside my feminine need to—what did you call it, ‘define and categorize’—for a while.”

  He dropped her hand abruptly. “Finish your dinner.”

  “What?”

  “The kids are starting to talk.” He tipped his head toward a table of four giggly female undergraduates to his left.

  Zoë met the gaze of a pretty Asian girl with a wide purple stripe in her straight black hair who mouthed, “Go for it” then grinned. She turned back to Nick. “I agree. We should continue this conversation someplace more private.”

  The heat in his gaze flared again. “Your apartment’s practically around the corner.”

  “Yes…it is.”

  Gulp.

  They finished quickly, and he motioned for the check. The snow had picked up by the time they left the restaurant, making the walk back to Zoë’s apartment more of a challenge. She kept an eye on the growing patches of white on the pavement while maintaining a firm grip on Nick’s elbow. As they neared her building, wet strands of hair stuck to her cheeks, and she chastised herself for giving in to vanity by leaving her hat in the car. Hat hair might not be flattering, but it beat the drowned-cat look any day.

  She almost lost her footing when Nick stopped suddenly.

  He scanned the façade. “Isn’t this your building?”

  “Yes.” She’d been so annoyed about her hair she’d nearly passed it. “Come on.” They hurried up the granite steps, and she used her key to let them into the small lobby.

  Nick pulled off his cap and slapped it against his thigh, knocking clumps of snow onto the tile floor. “If this keeps up, the roads are going to get ugly.”

  Zoë brushed snow off her shoulders and resisted the temptation to shake her wet hair like a dog. “I’m glad I don’t have to go out again.”

  He glanced back through the beveled glass panes at the fat white clumps plummeting through the cone of light cast by the fixture above the door. “I’m not looking forward to driving all the way back in this.”

  She started up the stairs but paused on the second step. Nick was hard to read sometimes, but that almost sounded like he was hoping to wrangle an invitation to spend the night, which was way outside her comfort zone for a relationship he’d just described as being in the “pre-date” stage.

  She turned and almost bumped into him. “Don’t get any big ideas. This invitation is for talk and maybe a cup of coffee. Period.”

  Her favorite dimple appeared in his cheek, and he raised his hands in surrender. “No ideas here. No, ma’am. Not a one.”

  “Good.”

  When they passed the third floor landing, he slowed and glanced up the stairwell. “You’re on the top floor?”

  “Yep.”

  “That must be what keeps your legs in such great shape.”

  Her insides kicked into a mindless little victory dance until her brain shut the music down. Over the past fifteen years or so, she’d received more than her share of easy compliments and knew better than to put much store in them. “I don’t mind the exercise…and thanks, but you’re still not spending the night.”

  His expression was all innocence as he stood beside her in the hall outside her door. “It was just a simple observation.”

  She rolled her eyes and stuck the key in her lock. “Yeah, and I’m Julia Child.”

  He laughed and followed her into her apartment.

  She flipped on the lights and pointed to the small dining set in one corner. “You can hang your coat over one of those chairs. It should dry pretty quickly. I’m going to deal with my hair.”

  A few minutes later she returned—fluffed, smoothed, and ready. Well, maybe not completely ready. She found Nick standing in the living room, studying her collection of framed travel photographs.

  He turned. “Did you take these?”

  “Um, hm.”

  He leaned closer to examine her favorite picture of a Parisian street market. “I’ve always wanted to see Europe. When did you go?”

  “While I was stationed in Germany, I spent every free weekend traveling.”

  He straightened and regarded her with a mixture of surprise and respect. “You never told me you were in the service.”

  She nodded. “Army Military Police. Eight years.”

  “That explains a lot.”

  “It was a good way to get out of Iowa and see the world. What about you?”

  “Marines. Two tours. Unfortunately, they didn’t send me anyplace as scenic as Paris.”

  “I bet not. Would you like some coffee?”

  “Sure.” He followed her into the kitchen. “Your first day on the job you said your specialty was German food. Did you do much cooking in Germany?”

  “No, but I did a lot of eating.”

  He laughed. “That sounds like my kind of posting. MREs with a little sand mixed in for texture get old fast.”
r />   “I can imagine.” She’d heard stories from fellow MPs who had served in the Middle East.

  The coffeemaker signaled it was ready, so she took a pair of cheery red mugs from the cupboard and filled them. When she turned to hand one to Nick, the coffee sloshed dangerously close to the rim as she nearly hit him in the chest. He’d snuck up behind her again. It seemed to be one of his favorite moves.

  Without stepping back, he took the mug from her hand. He took one long, appreciative sip then set it on the counter. Resting his hands lightly on her upper arms, he caught her gaze. “I was just teasing, you know. About not wanting to drive home in the snow.”

  A tiny shiver zipped up Zoë’s spine. He might be telling the truth, but she couldn’t be sure. She edged back until her hips pressed against the counter.

  “I guessed that.” She’d meant to sound confident, but the waver in her voice betrayed her nerves. Nick unsettled her. Whenever she thought she understood him, he surprised her.

  He took a half-step forward until only a couple of inches separated them and tightened his hold on her arms almost imperceptibly. “I promised not to get any big ideas, but I might have a smaller one.”

  “And what’s that?” Part of her wanted whatever he was offering, but her inner voice warned her to be careful.

  “Since this is a pre-date, we could try a pre-date kiss, just to make sure we like it.” He bent his head towards hers.

  On cue, the old anxiety tightened her stomach.

  He drew back, keeping his hands in place but loosening his grip. Concern creased his brow. “Are you okay?”

  She hesitated. Was she? As she gazed into his worried dark eyes, the niggling remnant of fear dissolved. She was okay. In fact, she was much better than okay. “Yes.”

  “You’d tell me if you weren’t.”

  “Yes.”

  He reached up and tucked one side of her hair behind her ear. “I know I’m not the smoothest guy in town, but I don’t like to think I could scare a woman, especially you.”

  His fingers brushed her cheek with a touch so gentle she couldn’t be afraid. “It’s not you. It’s something…old.”

  “Zoë, did someone hurt you?”

  She dropped her gaze to the hollow at the base of his throat. “He tried.”

  “But you fought back.”

  Nick made it sound so purposeful. At eighteen, she’d just thrashed out wildly, fueled by anger and fear, and gotten lucky. “Yes, I fought back.”

  “Can you tell me about it?”

  “There isn’t much to tell. The night of my high school graduation, my best friend had a party at her house. Her brother was home from college. He was bigger, stronger, and very determined.” She couldn’t suppress a shudder at the memory of bruising hands and crushing weight.

  “Did you manage to subdue him?”

  “I’d like to say yes, but the truth wasn’t nearly that neat and pretty. I was terrified. I screamed and hit and kicked. I might have even bitten him. I guess I surprised him because he backed off long enough for me to get away.”

  “Is that part of what made you join the Army?”

  She nodded. “I wanted to get as far away as I could, as fast as I could.” She dropped her voice to a near-whisper. “My mother never understood.”

  “Did you tell her?”

  “No, I couldn’t. I’ve never told anyone…until now.”

  “I hope I don’t remind you of him.”

  She lifted her head and met his gaze. “No. You don’t use your strength to restrain and overpower.” She shuddered and glanced away again. “He was like a wild animal.”

  Nick hesitated, as if weighing what she’d told him, then dropped his hands. “I should go.”

  She knew then she didn’t want him to leave. He was so big and solid. So safe. “No, stay.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded and reached for his hands, placing them on her waist.

  His touch remained light, almost reluctant. “I guess we could go into the living room and watch TV if you want.”

  “I don’t want to watch TV.” She leaned forward and lifted her face.

  “No?”

  “No.”

  His hands slid behind her back and pulled her against his chest as his mouth descended. Gone was the tentative, gentle lover who’d touched her cheek so softly only moments before. In his place was a powerful, hungry man, eager to taste all she was willing to give.

  Zoë could do little more than hold on while his lips forged a hot trail down the side of her face, past her ear, and along her jaw before settling firmly on her mouth. Her brain switched to auto-pilot, and sensation took over. Like a match to kindling, tiny flames of desire spread until they threatened to envelop her. After a few minutes—or hours—Nick ended the kiss with a series of seductive little nips that did nothing to cool her off.

  If that was a pre-date kiss, she might incinerate if they ever went on an official date.

  When he loosened his grip, she eased back until she could see his face. A pair of deep lines creased his brow and disappeared beneath his bandage. He looked worried. Or angry. Not exactly the reaction a woman wanted from a man who had just singed every nerve ending in her body.

  She crossed her arms in front of her chest, putting a few more inches between them. “Don’t tell me how we’re not going to do this again. That line’s getting old.”

  He pulled her back into his arms and dropped a quick kiss on her forehead. “I wasn’t going to. I was going to say we’d better wrap this case up fast, because I don’t know how I’m going to survive until we do.”

  “Good.” Her voice was muffled against his chest.

  His laugh rumbled in her ear. “You want to see me suffer?”

  “Yes.”

  “I should have known. Bloodthirsty as well as beautiful.” When he shook his head, his chin brushed the top of her hair. Keeping one arm around her shoulders, he turned and steered her to the living room sofa.

  He sat far enough away to look her square in the face. “Since you’re so quick to jump to conclusions, I’ll spell it out. I enjoy kissing you. I’d like to kiss you again. I’d like to do a whole lot more than just kiss you. Is that clear enough?”

  Heat rose in Zoë’s face. She appreciated plain speaking, but his blunt words merely served to underline her own desires. “Perfectly.”

  He settled back against a pile of blue and white striped throw pillows in the corner of the sofa. “Good. I’m glad we understand each other. That being said, I still think we should hold off taking our relationship any further while we’re working together.”

  While she considered her response, one of Terry’s comments at the hockey game about Nick’s former partner elbowed its way to the front of her mind. She wasn’t sure how he would react to being questioned, but since he’d dragged out one of her most difficult memories, turnabout was fair play. “Does your decision have anything to do with Maureen?”

  He stiffened. “How do you know about Maureen?”

  “Your mother mentioned her earlier tonight.”

  “I should have known.” He shook his head. “What did she say?” He managed to sound both defensive and aggressive in the same breath.

  Zoë refused to be put off. “Not much. Just that Maureen was your partner in Detroit and had something to do with you leaving the force and moving back to Chicago.”

  He huffed out a breath and absently rubbed his forehead. But the second his fingers touched the stitches, he winced and dropped them.

  She reached over to gently smooth the bandage, as if the gesture could take away his pain. “I’m not trying to pry—well, I am, but only because I want to understand. You kiss me like a starving man who’s been given a nice, juicy porterhouse steak and then tell me you’ll only take one bite.” When an indecipherable look shadowed his eyes, she hesitated. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not looking to hop into bed with you this minute, but I’d like to know what’s going on in your head.”

  He grimac
ed. “No, you wouldn’t.”

  “Yes, I really would.”

  He stared into her eyes for a long moment. “Okay, since it affects you, I guess you have a right to know.”

  She turned slightly, tucked her legs up under her, and waited for him to continue.

  “What Mom told you was true. Maureen was my partner, and she’s part of the reason I left the department and the city. But Mom doesn’t know the whole story. ”

  “I want to know.”

  “You told me you’d read some of the newspaper stories your company researcher turned up, so you know the basics.”

  She nodded. “You were involved in a shootout with a drug dealer, and an innocent bystander ended up dead.”

  He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, as if replaying the whole scene in his mind.

  When he didn’t speak, she reached for his hand. “You don’t have to tell me if it’s too painful.”

  “No, I’m okay. Except for the department investigator, I’ve never told anyone the whole story. I want you to hear it.”

  Zoë’s heart swelled. She hardly knew what to say in response to his trust. “Thank you.”

  “Maureen and I were more than partners. We were lovers. We’d even talked about getting married. But we had to keep the relationship completely under wraps.”

  Not a surprise, but not exactly what she wanted to hear, either. “That must have been difficult, especially since you worked out of the same precinct house.”

  “I’m sure some of our co-workers guessed, but no one said anything. At any rate, one night about a year ago, we were investigating a shooting at a rundown apartment complex that resulted from a dope deal gone bad. While Maureen and I were questioning the suspect’s mother about his whereabouts, the guy jumped out a second story window and tried to make a run for it. We chased him down an alley then split up. While I continued the pursuit, Maureen circled the block and came up behind him.” He paused and closed his eyes, his throat working.

  Zoë gave his knee a short, reassuring squeeze. “Why don’t I freshen the coffee and bring the cups in here?”

  By the time she returned with the pair of steaming mugs, Nick appeared back in control.

  “Sorry,” he said.