The P.I.. Cara Summers

breasts against his chest. He wanted more.

      It would be so easy to drop his hands down to her waist—to lift her onto the narrow counter and shove her skirt up. Whatever she was wearing beneath the suit, it wouldn’t prove much of a barrier. Before either of them could think, he could be inside of her. And that’s where he wanted to be. Inside of her. That’s where he needed to be.

      As need clawed through him, Kit dragged himself free and took a quick step back. They were both breathing hard, and it wouldn’t have surprised him a bit if the expression on his face was as dazed as the one on hers. No one had ever made him feel like this. So desperate, so unsure of his control. So absolutely wonderful.

      “What are we going to do about this?” she asked.

      If grinning hadn’t been beyond his present capabilities, he was sure he would have. “I think we both know the answer to that. But unless you want it to happen right now, right here, we’re getting out of the bathroom.” Since he didn’t trust himself to touch her anywhere else, he placed his hand on the small of her back and urged her toward the client chairs. Then he circled behind his desk, putting it between them.

      “We can’t—” she glanced back at the bathroom, then at him “—we can’t do that again.”

      Now he did grin. “The one thing I can be certain of is that we’re going to kiss again. And more.”

      “But it’s…crazy.”

      “I agree.”

      “We don’t even know each other. We don’t know who I am.”

      “I’m with you there, too.”

      She began to pace. “I don’t know if I feel this way about every man I meet. Or if it’s just you.”

      He didn’t like the idea of her kissing other men any more than he’d liked the idea of her being a bride. “No one else has ever made me feel quite this way.”

      “Oh.”

      Yes—oh, thought Kit as he watched her return to the chair and sink into it.

      “Then, surely, you’ll agree we can’t kiss again. At least, until you know that I’m not a killer or a thief.”

      Because he wanted very much to go to her, he leaned back in his chair. “Sugar, I can’t give you any guarantees on that one. Number one, I don’t believe you’re either a killer or a thief. And I’m not sure it would make any difference if you were Lizzie Borden. I wanted to kiss you from the moment you walked in the office. And I still want to kiss you. I want to make love to you very slowly in a cool, dark room on a big soft bed.”

      She didn’t say anything, but what he saw in her eyes made it almost impossible for him to stay seated behind his desk. This is not helping. Stick to business, Kit. “However, you are a client. And you’re paying me to help you. You have a right to complain if I don’t do that. So, for now, we’ll stick to that. How does that sound?”

      She met his eyes and nodded.

      “Good.” Picking up his pencil, he tapped it on his notepad and forced himself to focus. “In any case, it always comes back to the evidence. You walked in here with the wedding dress, a gun, the money and my card.” He reached for it and studied it. “I wonder where and how you came by it.”

      “I don’t know.”

      “Since I don’t leave these lying around town, someone had to give it to you. Perhaps a satisfied client. I do have a few of those. I could go through my files, toss out some names and see if anything clicks for you. But first let’s try this.” Reaching into his bottom drawer, he pulled out a phone book and began to leaf through it.

      “You’re not going to just read off names from that, are you?”

      Kit shot her a grin. “Have some faith. The taxi driver said he picked you up on Bellevue. You’re carrying a wedding dress in that bag, so I’m going to check for churches on that street.”

      Her eyes brightened as she rose and came around the desk to peer over his shoulder. “I hadn’t thought of doing that.”

      “That’s why you’re paying me the big bucks, sugar.” He flipped to the Yellow Pages and they began to scan the church listings together. They might have found it sooner if she hadn’t laid a hand on his shoulder and leaned just a little closer. Though her palm rested only lightly on him, heat radiated from that contact point.

      He caught her scent just as he eliminated St. Alban’s Church. She smelled fresh like soap and water, and a man would have to get close to learn that. He was just past the Church of Latter Day Saints and moving on to St. Patrick’s when she reached around him and began to trace one finger down the column. Her arm brushed against his, and his gaze shifted to her hand. It was delicate-looking, the fingers long and slender. Perfect French manicure aside, her nails were short. She worked with her hands. He’d lay odds on it. And he wondered—no, he had to know what they would feel like moving over his skin.

      Focus, he reminded himself. And he might have if he could have stopped breathing—or if she hadn’t chosen that moment to lean just a little bit closer. So close that if they both turned at the same time, his mouth would brush hers. The image filled his mind and he could no longer see the words on the page.

      “Move your hand,” she said.

      “Hmm?”

      They turned at the same time, and their lips did indeed brush before each of them drew back a little. He didn’t have to wonder if she’d felt the same flash of heat that he had. He could see it in the darkening of her eyes, her parted lips and her quickened breathing.

      “You need to…move your hand.”

      He knew exactly where he wanted to move it, but he was a professional, Kit reminded himself. He reined his thoughts in from the little detour they were once more taking and glanced down to where her hand was nudging his.

      “It’s blocking half the page.”

      “Right.” That was when he saw the bracelet, and it instantly cleared the sensual fog out of his brain. He hadn’t noticed before, probably because it had been hidden beneath the sleeve of her suit. The bracelet was made of small, flat gold squares, four of which were engraved with letters. “What have we here?” Lifting her wrist, he spelled out the letters. “D-R-E-W. Drew.” He met her eyes. “Odds are it’s your name. Does it ring a bell?”

      She stared down at the letters and repeated the word, testing it on her tongue. “Drew.” Something flickered in her mind. The sound of someone calling her that? “Drew, run! This way!” She tried to capture the memory, but it faded.

      “You’ve remembered something else,” Kit said.

      “I think someone was calling me that, telling me to run. The name seems…familiar. I just don’t—I can’t be positive.” She glanced down at the bracelet. If she remembered someone calling her that, and she was wearing a bracelet with that name engraved on it…logic told her that the name was hers. “Drew,” she said again. For a moment, as the word lingered in the air, she allowed herself to hope. Shouldn’t the simple sound bring more memories flooding back?

      Seconds ticked by. Her hope dwindled.

      “Nothing,” she finally said. “Nothing.”

      “You’re wrong.” He was still holding her wrist, and with his free hand, he tipped her chin so that she had to meet his eyes. “It’s definitely something. I’m betting it’s your name. So that’s a start. From now on, that’s what I’ll call you, and you start to think of yourself as Drew. Soon you’ll have more. It’s all going to come back to you, Drew.”

      There was something in the intent way he looked at her, in the sound of the name, her name, when he said it that made her want to believe him—to believe that he could make it all happen.

      But it wasn’t merely his kindness that she wanted. She wanted more than