The Dark Gate. Pamela Palmer

Larsen Vale ever gave in to such base desires, but a guy could dream.

      He carried the dishes to the sink. The soundtrack from a Friends rerun and the sweet sound of Larsen’s laughter kept him company as he did the dishes. He could do this. Every night for the rest of his life. A woman’s company over dinner. Soft, feminine laughter filling his house. Larsen’s laughter. Hell, yeah.

      The sudden jolt of longing startled him. Longing for an honest-to-god life and future with the beautiful woman whose touch could keep the madness at bay.

      If he didn’t blow it with her first. And he would, if he pressed her too hard about this case. Yet if he didn’t…how many more would die?

      Larsen rose as the final scene of the James Bond movie slid into the fifteenth car commercial of the evening. She’d paid little attention to the flick, too aware of the cop watching her from the sofa.

      “I need a bath,” she told him.

      He visibly started. “Can’t you wait until…tomorrow?”

      “No, I feel gross. I’ll sleep better after a hot soak.” She still had flakes of dried blood on her shoulder and arm. “Can I borrow something to sleep in?”

      Jack’s eyelids sank over those blue eyes, sending tendrils of warmth snaking down her limbs. “Lady, you can have anything of mine you want. You sure you want clothes?”

      “Yes.”

      “Are you certain you’re up for this?”

      “I feel fine.” And, amazingly, she did. Her brows pulled together. “My shoulder doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

      Jack set his Coke on the coffee table, his gaze skimming leisurely down her bare legs. “Don’t get dressed afterward.”

      She jerked her head to face him. “Jack…”

      His smile dawned sexy and playful. “Relax, Larsen. I just need to change your bandage. Wrap your top half in a towel so you don’t have to take your shirt off.”

      She stared at him, scrambling to gather the wits he’d scattered to the wind with his suggestive comments. “Right,” she said at last, and spun on her heel toward the bathroom, wondering if she should forego the hot bath and opt for a cold shower instead.

      Steamy moisture hung in the air, clinging to the mirror in a wet fog. Standing on the terry bath mat, Larsen slipped into the borrowed pajama pants she’d brought in with her, then wrapped a dry bath towel tight around her breasts, tucking the end under her arm. Clutching it tight to her chest with one hand, she fluffed her wet hair with the other and called to her host.

      “Jack, I’m ready for you!”

      Larsen groaned as the raw double entendre echoed in her ears, making her cheeks flood with heat, which just flustered her more. She was twenty-eight years old. The Ice Bitch, for heaven’s sake. Ice bitches did not get flustered over hot cops. They weren’t supposed to blush over anything.

      She heard the doorknob twist. As the door opened, she tried to fake a calm disinterest, but the sexy smile Jack leveled on her sent heat of a different kind flooding her system.

      He leaned against the doorframe, teasing lights dancing in his blue eyes. “You’re ready for me, are you?”

      She tried to look haughty, but failed miserably as she met his grin. “You’re impossible.”

      The worst part was that she was ready for him. Never in her life had she been so aware of a man. But he couldn’t know. She couldn’t go there with him.

      “The bandage, Detective,” she said crisply, struggling to hide her reaction to his nearness.

      He made a mock face of disappointment that did nothing to dim the smile in his eyes, but his hands busied themselves with the first-aid supplies.

      His gaze dipped to take in her outfit, lingering a moment too long on her hands…or what they covered…making her feel hot and damp.

      “How was your bath?” he asked, his smile turning friendly.

      An answering smile escaped her mouth. She didn’t want to like him, but he made it so hard not to.

      Larsen tucked the towel in tighter. “The bath felt great. I’m finally clean again.”

      “No trouble with that shoulder?”

      “No. Like I told you, it’s stopped hurting.”

      His eyebrows lifted. “Let’s see how it looks, shall we?” He motioned to the closed toilet lid. “Have a seat.”

      He stood close, his knee brushing her thigh as he carefully pulled at the tape holding the bandage to her shoulder.

      “This might hurt.” He eased the bandage off her skin. His brows pulled together as he stared at the wound.

      “Damn, woman, you heal fast.” His expression registered both surprise and approval. Beneath dark lashes, his blue eyes slid to her face.

      Larsen shrugged. “It must have been a small arrow.”

      Jack stared at her shoulder, frowning. “I don’t care what size it was. This wound looks like it’s been healing for days.” He shook his head. “Amazing. Anyway, I think we can probably switch you to a couple of Band-Aids.”

      “Great. Let me get back in the bath and wash the tape marks off.”

      But he was already reaching for her. His thumb ran along one of the tape lines, the look that entered his eyes warming her to her toes. “I’ll help.”

      “Yeah, I bet.”

      He grinned at her. “As much as I’d enjoy seeing you in that tub, we’ll do it here.” He picked up the washcloth and began to ease the glue from her damp skin.

      She stared at the speckles in the tiled floor while he worked. The subtle scent of his aftershave gave an exotic touch to the steamy, soapy smell of the bathroom, stirring her senses, as if his nearness and the rough pads of his fingers skimming her bare shoulder weren’t doing enough.

      His breathing no longer sounded calm. She glanced up to find him watching her, his eyes hot with wanting. The room turned stifling. Airless.

      “Larsen…” Her name was little more than a whisper on his lips. He slid his palm along the side of her neck, sending shivers rippling through her. His gaze held hers captive. Tension built and coiled within her as she waited, breathless. Wanting.

      Slowly he slid his thumb beneath her jaw and lifted her face, bending toward her. Even as part of her begged to push him away, she reached for him, lifting her hand in turn to slide along his stubbled jaw.

      A low growl escaped Jack’s throat a second before he covered her mouth with his own. The kiss started out gentle, then turned harder, more insistent, stirring feelings in her that quickly turned raw. Hungry.

      How long had it been since she let a man get this close? She’d forgotten how good it felt to be touched, to be filled with passion and life. And need.

      Larsen wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, opening her mouth on his. A growl rumbled deep in Jack’s chest as his tongue swept inside to claim hers. He tasted like heaven, like warm, sinful fantasies.

      His hands gripped her waist and he rose, lifting her to her feet and into his arms. She forgot the towel, forgot everything but her need for this man. She lifted both hands to his face, holding him just where she wanted him, that wonderful mouth fused with hers. He pushed her gently backward, against the sink cabinet, pressing against her. He was hard. Aroused.

      Reason wormed its way into her passion-fogged mind. Sex. Too much. Too close.

      She pulled back from the kiss. “Jack…”

      He dragged in short ragged breaths as he watched her, his passion-drugged eyes brimming with impatience, an impatience that slowly turned