focus. But that didn’t mean he wanted her hurt.
Wallace’s daughter or not, Detective Jessica Clark possessed a core of courage he wasn’t used to seeing.
He stood, took her offered hand and gently helped her to her feet. When she reached her full height, he held her waist to make sure she didn’t sway. “Okay?”
She drew a shaky breath. “Okay.”
Because he didn’t quite believe her, because her smile was too tight, he didn’t release her. “Let’s get you out of here, see if it’s true what they say about fresh air.” He reached out and secured the sash of her long leather coat. Didn’t the woman realize how she looked in the damn thing? Not the least bit like a cop, but chic and mysterious.
Focus, he reminded himself. Just because Detective Jessica Clark took a punch for him didn’t change what he knew about her. Neither did her intelligent but strangely vulnerable eyes, her curves. They only made her more dangerous.
He needed to remember his investigator’s report, the cutting sense of reality. He hadn’t realized how badly he wanted to believe her claim to be on his side until he learned she wasn’t. That she couldn’t be. That she was no different than anyone else.
She glanced toward the dance floor, where people of all ages gyrated to the sounds of classic rock.
“Where’s Braxton?” she asked. “I need to question him.”
He kept a hand at the small of her back, kept her close. So she could hear him above the blaring music, he told himself. That was all. “That coward doesn’t have her.”
“How do you know?”
“Father’s intuition. Something I saw in his eyes. The enjoyment, but not the guilt. Not the fear.”
The question slipped from her gaze, replaced by something dangerously close to compassion. “I’m sorry, Liam.”
“So am I.”
She held his gaze a moment longer, then started pushing her way toward the door. “Let’s go look for him.”
He didn’t know whether to laugh or lecture her. He doubted either would do any good. “I don’t think you’re in any shape to go after anybody,” he said as he caught her arm.
She tossed a cocksure glance over her shoulder. “I’m fine.”
Liam stepped in front of her and parted the matted hair concealing her wound. He touched it lightly. “This hurt?”
“Yes, but—” When his fingers left her hair and found her mouth, she stiffened. “W-what are you doing?”
“Either you’re concussed after all, Detective, or you don’t have the sense God gave a goose.”
She stepped back from his touch. “Trust me, I don’t have a concussion.”
“Then apparently you don’t have any common sense, either. What—” He took her arm and pulled her toward him before a lumbering giant spilled his beer all over her. “What were you trying to prove back there, anyway? Don’t they teach you better than that at the academy?”
She squared her shoulders. “I’m a cop. I was doing my job.”
“But you’re also a woman, and you inserted that lush body of yours between two angry men.” The memory of her fearlessness made his blood run cold. “Didn’t you realize what could happen?”
She cut him an overly sweet smile. “I didn’t know you cared.”
“My concern has nothing to do with me caring.” He bit the words out quickly. Too quickly. “You’re a cop, you’re hurt. I have no desire to be charged with assaulting an officer because you don’t know when to back off.”
He didn’t know where the blunt accusation came f rom, but for the first time since she’d broken in on him and Braxton, he stood on familiar territory.
She looked at him like he was stark raving mad. “Why would I levy charges against you?”
“You’re Wallace Clark’s daughter, aren’t you?”
From her, even aggravation sounded sexy. “You have to quit dwelling in the past. I’m my own woman. I was simply doing my job. If I bring charges against anyone, it’s Adam Braxton, not you.” Without giving him a chance to respond,
Wallace’s daughter or not, Detective Jessica Clark possessed a core of courage he wasn’t used to seeing.
He stood, took her offered hand and gently helped her to her feet. When she reached her full height, he held her waist to make sure she didn’t sway. “Okay?”
She drew a shaky breath. “Okay.”
Because he didn’t quite believe her, because her smile was too tight, he didn’t release her. “Let’s get you out of here, see if it’s true what they say about fresh air.” He reached out and secured the sash of her long leather coat. Didn’t the woman realize how she looked in the damn thing? Not the least bit like a cop, but chic and mysterious.
Focus, he reminded himself. Just because Detective Jessica Clark took a punch for him didn’t change what he knew about her. Neither did her intelligent but strangely vulnerable eyes, her curves. They only made her more dangerous.
He needed to remember his investigator’s report, the cutting sense of reality. He hadn’t realized how badly he wanted to believe her claim to be on his side until he learned she wasn’t. That she couldn’t be. That she was no different than anyone else.
She glanced toward the dance floor, where people of all ages gyrated to the sounds of classic rock.
“Where’s Braxton?” she asked. “I need to question him.”
He kept a hand at the small of her back, kept her close. So she could hear him above the blaring music, he told himself. That was all. “That coward doesn’t have her.”
“How do you know?”
“Father’s intuition. Something I saw in his eyes. The enjoyment, but not the guilt. Not the fear.”
The question slipped from her gaze, replaced by something dangerously close to compassion. “I’m sorry, Liam.”
“So am I.”
She held his gaze a moment longer, then started pushing her way toward the door. “Let’s go look for him.”
He didn’t know whether to laugh or lecture her. He doubted either would do any good. “I don’t think you’re in any shape to go after anybody,” he said as he caught her arm.
She tossed a cocksure glance over her shoulder. “I’m fine.”
Liam stepped in front of her and parted the matted hair concealing her wound. He touched it lightly. “This hurt?”
“Yes, but—” When his fingers left her hair and found her mouth, she stiffened. “W-what are you doing?”
“Either you’re concussed after all, Detective, or you don’t have the sense God gave a goose.”
She stepped back from his touch. “Trust me, I don’t have a concussion.”
“Then apparently you don’t have any common sense, either. What—” He took her arm and pulled her toward him before a lumbering giant spilled his beer all over her. “What were you trying to prove back there, anyway? Don’t they teach you better than that at the academy?”
She squared her shoulders. “I’m a cop. I was doing my job.”
“But you’re also a woman, and you inserted that lush body of yours between two angry men.” The memory of her fearlessness made his blood run cold. “Didn’t you realize what could happen?”
She cut him an overly sweet smile. “I didn’t know you cared.”
“My concern has nothing to do with me caring.” He bit the words out quickly. Too quickly. “You’re a cop, you’re hurt. I have no desire to be charged with assaulting an officer because you don’t know when to back off.”
He didn’t know where the blunt accusation came f rom, but for the first time since she’d broken in on him and Braxton, he stood on familiar territory.
She looked at him like he was stark raving mad. “Why would I levy charges against you?”
“You’re Wallace Clark’s daughter, aren’t you?”
From her, even aggravation sounded sexy. “You have to quit dwelling in the past. I’m my own woman. I was simply doing my job. If I bring charges against anyone, it’s Adam Braxton, not you.” Without giving him a chance to respond,
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