In Close Quarters

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Since the day Reese and Jade had married, she’d known that standing this close to this man’s dark eyes and sensual lips would be her downfall—and that was before she’d had his naked chest to contend with. She was so close she could feel the heat radiating off him, the desire.

She was not going to look.

“Karin?”

Dammit, she looked—and she was lost.

Somehow she’d known Tomаs would kiss like this. He wasn’t even touching her. Not with his mouth, anyway. But he was kissing her. With his eyes. He stared at her lips, searing them with that smoldering gaze, sliding the fire slowly across, then over the curve of her jaw and down her throat. She could feel his eyes igniting the pulse at the base of her neck until it throbbed. Until she throbbed.

But still, he didn’t move.

He refused to douse the inferno he’d just lit. Six bloody inches of air between them, and he just stared.

Burning. Searing.

“Tomаs?” Her voice was hoarse, clipped, and to her utter humiliation, there was no mistaking her own desire.

“Shhh.”

He released her hands and brought his fingers to her face, gently cupping her cheeks. He drew her face down slowly, so smoothly she hadn’t even realized she was holding her breath. Until his mouth grazed hers—and she exhaled softly. He caught the puff between his lips and she swore she felt him smile as he gave it right back, wrapped in his slow deep sigh.

The tip of his tongue followed closely behind.

Just barely enough to drive her insane as he traced first her bottom lip, then the top. Then again…and again. Slowly, lightly, steadily, until her lips were damp and hungry. Until she was hungry. And not just for this light caress of flesh, this whisper of heat. She wanted more.

She wanted him.

The realization slammed into her like an ambulance screaming down the freeway at full code. She jerked her head back and stared into his smoldering gaze.

What the hell was she doing?

How could she stand here and kiss this man? This was the same man who’d admitted to his own blasted reputation. Hell, even his best friend had confirmed it before he’d clammed up and told her to discuss it with TJ himself.

Why should she?

In addition to his reputation, TJ had proven himself a liar as well—and that, she’d seen on her own.

The reception.

She tore her mind from the memory and fused it to the gaping laceration on his chest. At least the bleeding hadn’t worsened.

“Cari?o?”

She took a deep breath and dragged her gaze up, only to stare into the one emotion she never thought she’d see in this man’s eyes. Uncertainty.

Stick with what works.

She took another breath. “Karin. Sorry, Agent Vаsquez, this time, you’ve been busted. I just heard you say it right.” She pinned a brisk professional smile to her lips and nudged him down until he was lying on the bed. “Now, unless you plan on waking up the thoracic surgeon in apartment 506, you’d better get comfortable—and find something to hold on to, because this is going to hurt.”

Hurt?

TJ stared at the cool smile that did not quite reach Karin’s eyes. He clenched his fists and locked them to his sides to keep from reaching out and dragging her back as she rounded the bed to retrieve her supplies. Hurt? This lady did not know the meaning of the word. If she thought a couple of needle pricks could hurt him, she was wrong. This puny scratch did not hurt.

Not like that distant smile.

But that smile would be cutting much deeper if he had not just discovered what was behind it. He had thought his past had finally rendered her immune to him. But he now knew differently. Her facade was just that—una ilusiоn. Smoke. Somewhere over the past two days he had begun to suspect it. But that kiss had just convinced him.

That kiss.

No. Now was not the time to dwell on that.

Nor was now the time to touch those glorious sleep-tousled curls. It had taken nearly every restraint he possessed to resist digging his fingers into that mass of spun gold. And then it had taken every one of the rest not to tug the straps of that slip of blue silk right off her soft shoulders and down her hips.

He ripped his gaze from that same silk as the fabric skirted the upper reaches of her thighs and fused his stare to her busy hands. If she caught him looking, she would no doubt realize precisely what she was wearing—or rather, what she was not—and then, stitches or no, he could guarantee she would stop her ministrations long enough to find a robe to cover those enchanting curves.

Though how she would find a robe, he knew not.

He swept his gaze about the room as she squirted something cold and clear into his wound, only to soak it up again. He was not sure which surprised him more—the absolute mess surrounding them or the color.

The room was exploding with it.

Pink, green, yellow. From the flowers on her bedcovers to the brass bed and the light-blue walls, somehow she had managed to incorporate every shade of the rainbow. It did not make sense. Indeed, compared to the winter wonderland of the rest of the apartment, this was most baffling. When had this woman decided to suck the color from her life?

And why?

Because it had happened in that order. He had finally placed the faint odor still lingering in her living room.

Paint.

“Tomаs?”

He returned his attention to her. He was fairly certain she had not realized she had used his given name again. Though oddly enough, on her lips the cursed name did not carry its customary sting. Progress on all fronts.

He smiled. “?S??”

“This may hurt.”

He flicked his gaze to the needle and syringe she was holding and nodded. “Begin.”

She bit down on her bottom lip and bent her head. Several pricks later her gaze returned to his and she eased out her breath. “Okay?”

He nodded again.

“Good.” She smiled softly and this time it reached her eyes, beautiful blue eyes that were still tinged with concern.

Most definite progress.

“I just need to give the lidocaine a chance to numb the skin, and then I can start.” She placed the empty syringe on the nightstand and reached into her bag again, this time removing a suture kit not unlike the one the paramedic had waved beneath his nose as the man yelled at him. The paramedic had ceased arguing once TJ had sworn he would stop by the hospital and see a doctor.

True, he had not made it to the hospital. But he was seeing a doctor, was he not? A competent and stunningly beautiful doctor at that. As Karin readied the supplies, he caught her glance stealing across his chest—and the softening in her gaze.

His breath stopped. She wanted him still.

Why, then, had they returned to this distant dance?

And why had she started it?

Not that first time at his home, but the second. Why had she accepted his invitation to dinner at the wedding only to reject it—and him—once and for all at the reception? The question had driven him nearly insane these past six months. And now he would finally get his answer. All he needed to do was bide his time until she was well and truly distracted. He settled back to do just that.

He waited as she took the first stitch in silence, and then the second. The third and the fourth followed. Still he waited. Again and again, stitch after stitch. Until finally she was three-quarters of the way through sealing his cut, and then—

“Why did you change your mind?”

She froze, for perhaps no more than a second. And then she resumed her stitching. She did not glance up as she tied that stitch and started in on the next, but neither did she ignore him. Nor did she pretend ignorance.

“The wedding.”

Somehow he managed not to flinch at the sudden, but not thoroughly unexpected, fist of chill that gripped his heart.

Surely she did not mean—

No.

Had he not already considered this? And many times. He had even thought to ask. But why? It was never wise to borrow more trouble than one already owned. And given his past, he owned more than enough with this woman. Besides, Consuela had cornered him in the unlikeliest of places. Nor had Karin behaved differently following his escape and return to the wedding dinner. True, he and Karin had been seated on opposite sides of the bride and groom, but he had most definitely been watching. Waiting. Praying.

Nothing.

She had even agreed to dance with him after the meal.

But she had been reluctant, had she not?

Again, the fist of dread.

Best he tread carefully. He cleared his throat. “The wedding?”

A sigh rife with exasperation filled the room as she tied off her stitch and moved on to yet another. “Yes, the wedding. Surely you haven’t forgotten your date so quickly?”

“My date?” Carajо, this did concern Consuela.

Another cold fist.

And another stitch. But no words.

Yet another prayer as he prompted her again. “Did my cousin say something to offend?” Please to God, let this be all it was.

A long pause as Karin took the next two stitches and tied them off. Through both, she still refused to raise her head and meet his gaze. And then a sigh. Heavy. Rife with pain, with certainty. “Your cousin didn’t have to say anything.”

Madre de Dios, she had seen them.

Worse, she had taken the sight, unexplained, aboard her ship and on to her deployment. For six months.

He reached for her cheek. “Cari?o, I am sorry you saw. But you must know I did not kiss Consuela. It was she who—” He closed his hand as she jerked from his touch.

At least her gaze had found his.

Unfortunately fire had consumed the blue. “Hogwash. I was there. So was the champagne, but you weren’t. Silly me, I assumed you’d gone to squirt shaving cream on the car, or whatever it is best men do, so I slipped out of the reception hall to warn you that it was time for the toasts. But you weren’t in the parking lot, either. Or back at the church. And when I saw the door to the minister’s office ajar…”

Her brows lifted sharply.

The fire had cooled. But the hurt that replaced it burned him regardless. More painfully than the knife he had taken to his chest an hour before. “Querida, I swear to you—”