Lisa Desrochers - A Little Too Hot

He pauses, swallowing hard, and I can’t even bring myself to ask if he’s alive, or if he was killed.

“I joined the DEA right after his funeral,” he says, answering my unasked question. “This is all I’ve been able to think about . . . taking down the guy who killed my father.” He turns and rests his back against the pool edge, his shoulder pressing against mine. “I can’t bring Caroline or Dad back, but it just felt like something I had to do . . . taking up his cause.” He closes his eyes against whatever’s rising there and rubs them.

I step in front of him, and he shudders as I stroke my fingertips down his cheek. “I’m so sorry, Blake.”

His wounded eyes open and he holds me in his gaze. His breathing is shaky from emotion as he says, “I should have never involved you in this. I just got so caught up in getting Arroyo, I—”

I stop him with my fingertips on his lips. They’re as soft and strong as I remember when they were pressed against mine. “It’s not your fault.”

My eyes trace the lines of his perfect mouth, along the angle of his jaw, past his Adam’s apple to the hollow of his throat. When they lift back to his face, his eyes are smoldering.

He lifts his hand and trails a fingertip along the scar on my cheek. His touch is electric, and my breath stalls as he leans slowly toward me. He threads his fingers through my hair, but then pauses, his lips just inches from mine.

There’s a long second where he holds me hypnotized by his proximity, by his scent, by the delicious taste of his breath. My heart strains against my rib cage, trying to break free. The fire in my soul burns in his eyes as he gazes into mine.

But then his jaw flexes and he closes his eyes. When he opens them, the fire is still there, but there’s a hint of pain. He turns and stalks up the stairs to the house, leaving me breathless and aching, but with a new understanding of Blake Montgomery.

WHEN BLAKE COMES up in the morning, showered and dressed after his workout, I’m at the counter eating a banana. His gaze trails down the opening of my robe as he makes his way to the elevator. “I have to go into the office and I’m not sure how long I’ll be. Cooper is coming in.”

I slip off my stool. “Why are you going in? Is it about Jonathan?”

He looks at me for several seconds, as if he’s struggling with what to say.

My heart chokes up my throat and a flash of cold envelops me. “Oh God.”

His eyes widen and he moves quickly across the room toward me. “No! No, Sam. It’s . . . I wasn’t going to say anything, because everything’s sketchy right now, but Jonathan’s girlfriend heard from him last night.”

Hope springs up inside me. “Ginger?”

He nods, laying a hand on my arm. “He didn’t say much, so we’re not sure where he is or if he’s in danger, but . . .” His brow creases. “He’s alive, Sam.”

I’m in his arms before I even realize I’ve moved. Relieved tears streak my cheeks and soak into his blue button-down. “Jesus,” I whisper.

His hands rub over my back, as if there’s nothing remotely awkward about me crying into his shoulder. “It’s good news. We can use what information we got from the call to track him down. It’s going to be okay.”

When my tears slow, I lift my face off his shoulder and look up at him. “Thank you.”

His glacial gaze melts, the ice in his eyes swirling into warm pools. “I promised you I’d find him, and I will.”

His hand is still in my hair, and I feel his fingers tighten as we stand here, so close I can see the silver flecks swirling in the ice blue of his eyes. He pulls me closer with his hand on my back, obliterating the fraction of space between us. Before I even realize what’s happening, my bare feet leave the floor and I’m on the counter with Blake pressed between my open knees. I wrap my legs around him, digging my heels into his back and pulling him closer.

He tips his forehead into mine and closes his eyes, then blows out a shaky breath. His biceps strain the fabric of his shirt under my hands, and his whole body is taut as he fights for control.

I’m so wrapped up in Blake that I barely register the hum of the elevator, but the next second he lowers me to the floor and backs away, just as the door glides open.

Cooper steps into the room and his eyes flash between us. I pull my robe closed as Blake scoops his messenger bag from the sofa, looping it over his shoulder.

“I’ll be a few hours,” he says to Cooper.

Cooper’s eyes catch on the wet spot on Blake’s shirt. “You gonna change?”

Blake glances down at his shirt, and there’s a hint of chagrin in his expression as his eyes flick to me. “Oh . . . yeah. I’ll be right back.” He lowers his bag to the floor and turns for the stairs.

Cooper moves deeper into the room, picking up the remote for the massive-screen TV on his way to the sofa. He clicks past cooking shows, morning shows, and news without saying a word until he finds a channel showing a WWF match. He settles deeper into the cushions, resting his arms on the back of the sofa.

Blake crests the top stair in a fresh white shirt and looks between us, where I’m still standing near the counter, shaking and unsure what’s supposed to happen. “I’ll touch base when I know anything,” he tells me, hiking his bag back onto his shoulder. He pushes the elevator button and gives me a meaningful glance as he disappears into it.

Cooper’s still watching the TV, making no indication he even knows Blake is gone. He doesn’t even look at me.

“I’m going to . . . um . . . shower, I guess.”

All I get is a flick of his eyes and a single tight nod.

Once I’m showered, I think about just hanging in my room for the day, but Cooper might hear something about Jonathan. I dress and make my way out to the living room.

The pantry door is open and I hear Cooper rooting around in there. He comes out empty-handed with a scowl fixed to his face. “What’s to eat around here?”

“Um . . . well . . .” I think about the list of things I asked Blake to buy for me. “Yogurt and fruit,” I say, waving at the basket with bananas and tangerines. “And there’s Doritos,” I add when his scowl deepens at my suggestions. “In the drawer next to the fridge.”

“Now we’re talking.” He fishes them out of the drawer and drops into the armchair, his eyes migrating back to the wrestling match as he pulls the clip off the end of the bag and opens it. “Did our man Montgomery ever tell you he wanted to be an astronaut?”

I bark out a laugh at the image of a five-year-old Blake with a fishbowl over his head.

Cooper’s eyes flick from the TV to me, dead serious.

“You mean, when he was a kid, right?” I ask, the smile fading from my face.

He shakes his head slowly. “I mean for real.”

I feel my eyes widen as I settle onto the sofa. “For real?”

“For real,” he confirms with a slow nod. “He was in Astronaut Candidate training at the Johnson Space Center when his father was shot. Blake is brilliant. He graduated a year early, at the top of his chemical engineering class at UCLA, and got a doctorate in polymer science.” His gaze cuts to me, sharp and hard. “But he doesn’t always think, if you know what I mean.”

I feel a little numb, and wish the sofa would open up and swallow me whole. “How do you know all this?”

“His father was my partner.”

My head spins. “I don’t . . . I’m—” ’

“I like you, Jezebel. Really. But don’t mess with Blake.” The warning in his voice is impossible to miss, and as he turns back to the TV, even though there’s so much more I want to ask, I don’t dare.

Cooper and I don’t talk much for the rest of the day, and after what he said, I’m too self-conscious to change into my suit and work my shoulder in the pool, so I sit and read. It’s nearly dinner and I’ve just finished my book when Blake returns.

I stand from the sofa as he steps out of the elevator with a pizza box. “Jonathan?”

A smile tugs at his mouth. “We’ve got him. He’s fine, Sam.”

I drop into the sofa feeling suddenly dizzy and cover my face with my hands. “Thank God,” I breathe.

Cooper hauls himself out of the chair. “Got to get home to the missus. It’s our anniversary.” He glances at the empty bag of Doritos on the coffee table and pats a hand on his stomach. “Think she’s got something special planned for dinner.”

Blake sets the pizza on the counter and gives him a clap on the back. “Congrats, man. What is it? Your hundredth?”

“How’d you get so goddamn funny, you little shit?” He punches the elevator call button and steps inside, giving me a pointed look as the elevator door closes.

“I don’t think he likes me,” I say, watching after him.

Blake turns from the fridge. “Don’t take it personally. Cooper doesn’t like anybody.”

“Well, I think he likes me less.” I slip onto a stool. “Tell me about Jonathan. He’s okay? Where did you find him?”

“We didn’t,” he says, his eyebrows pulling together. “He just showed up on his doorstep. The dumb shit won’t tell us where he’s been.”

“But he’s okay?”

He grabs salad stuff from the fridge and tosses it on the counter “He seems to be fine.”

“Can I talk to him? He might tell me what’s up.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” he says, dumping lettuce from a bag into a salad bowl. Despite his obvious irritation at Jonathan, his mood seems lighter. He confirms this change in demeanor when the hint of a smile plays over his mouth. “So, how bad do you really want to get out of here?”

I give him my most exasperated stare.

He starts dicing a tomato on the cutting board. “Pack your stuff. You’ve earned yourself a field trip.”