His gaze raked over her chest before moving lower and suddenly she wanted his hands every place his eyes touched. The tightly leashed aggression simmering inside him didn’t frighten her. If they came together now, if they made love only to quench the desire clawing at her belly, she could have what she wanted without being forced to acknowledge that what she felt might be more than lust.
“Get in the back,” he snapped.
To show him how much she resented him and the effect he had on her, she narrowed her eyes. “Make me.”
His muscles contracted but he didn’t reach for her. Dropping his head against the seat, he filled his lungs with the same air she was breathing—air that smelled of both of them, air they’d warmed with their angry words and the heat of their aroused bodies.
“What’s the matter?” she asked when he made no move. “Don’t tell me Casanova’s lost his touch.”
He swallowed but didn’t open his eyes. “Sorry, I’m not interested.”
Francesca wasn’t sure why he’d changed his mind suddenly. Sexual tension radiated from him, proving the exact opposite of his words. So why was he holding back? What did he have to lose?
Afraid he really would deny her, she took his hand and placed it on her breast. “What’s the matter? Sex no fun unless you’re cheating on someone? Why not pretend you’ve got a wife at home? That should get you hot.”
The fingers that had started to cup her breast stiffened, and deep furrows formed between his eyebrows. She’d stung him with that barb; she could tell. But she refused to regret it. She wanted him too badly—but she didn’t want to love him.
“If you expect to be treated like a whore, you’re going to have to find someone else,” he said, and got out of the van.
Jonah strode down the dirt road, away from the salvage yard, as quickly as possible. He wasn’t sure what had just happened but whatever it was, it’d felt as if Francesca had carved out his heart and served it up on a platter. He couldn’t catch his breath, slow his racing pulse or feel anything except the overwhelming desire that had prompted him to make a difficult situation even worse.
What if Adriana and I had both gotten pregnant?
Did Francesca really believe he could’ve turned his back on her? He’d felt nothing more than mild friendship for Adriana, yet giving up their baby, giving up Summer, had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He thought of it, went through all the reasons it had to be the way it was, almost every day. But he could never have agreed to the adoption if that’d been his and Francesca’s child.
But there was no point in trying to convince her otherwise. She would never understand that he’d honestly loved her. To her, his actions proved otherwise.
If only it could be that simple, that straightforward. But it wasn’t. And because she didn’t think he had feelings, she didn’t mind stomping all over them every chance she got.
He deserved her revenge. But that didn’t mean he’d let her prove he was the man she thought he was and not the man he’d fought to become. Regardless of the temptation she provided, he’d keep his hands to himself, make sure she was safe and then move on without affecting the world she’d built….
Finally coming to a stop, he rubbed his face. Where was he going? He had a job to do. But if he’d stayed in that van ten more seconds, he would’ve taken Francesca in the back and greedily accepted whatever she’d been willing to give him—even knowing she’d hate him that much more when it was over.
“That’s pretty damned pathetic, Young.”
Maybe he should take her home. He couldn’t work with her around. The fight to overcome his feelings was too constant, too demanding, too tiring.
But he couldn’t leave her unprotected, either. Whoever had cut her telephone line could come back. And maybe the bastard wouldn’t just hang around the pool next time.
The image of April Bonner’s rotting body arose in his mind. The fear that Francesca might be next kept him right where he didn’t want to be—in limbo. He couldn’t act on his feelings or escape them. He had to solve this case, make sure she survived it. Only then could he leave her and try, once again, to forget.
Heart still knocking against his ribs, he headed back to the van. They were here for a reason. He couldn’t lose sight of that. But when he opened the door to climb in, she was gone.
17
What had come over her? Francesca didn’t know. But she’d had to get out of the van in case Jonah returned before she could compose herself. Maybe Butch hadn’t gone inside for the night yet, but at the moment, Jonah seemed like the bigger threat. Somehow, the warmth of his hand, which had settled so briefly on her breast, lingered, still felt hot enough to burn through her shirt. It didn’t make sense. She’d been with other men, men she’d cared about at the time, but there’d been no one like Jonah. How could they continue to work together with such powerful undercurrents tugging at them constantly?
Maybe she’d be better off on her own. With Dean roaming around, showing up at odd places unexpectedly, Jonah would argue with her about that, but she couldn’t expect him to protect her forever. Their relationship was too strained. It had to move in one direction or the other, and she knew what would happen if it went in the direction she wanted. They’d be right back where they’d been before he’d gotten her best friend pregnant.
But she wasn’t the only one who had something at stake this time. What about the women who’d been murdered in Dead Mule Canyon? April? Their families, who were praying for justice?
And what about any future victims Butch or Dean might take?
Francesca had to put her personal life aside, keep herself together until they could solve this case.
At least she could avoid Jonah for the moment.
In this part of the desert, the flat ground hosted more cacti than trees. To compensate for the lack of cover, she moved as quietly as possible. Where had Butch gone? Before the whole drama with Jonah, she’d seen Butch driving his truck. Although that truck was no longer visible, she doubted he’d gone into the house. She guessed he was still around, perhaps in his office. A light glowed through the window. She thought he might be doing paperwork or making calls or whatever else he did in there.
Fortunately, the sinking sun created enough shadows to provide a degree of safety. Any later, and she wouldn’t be able to see without a flashlight. So this wasn’t a bad time to take a look around, especially since the dog, Demon, seemed to be inside the house or office. She couldn’t go onto the property without compromising the admissibility of any evidence she might find, but there was no law against peeking over a fence.