No Remorse (Manhunters 2)
“What are you thinking?” Roman’s voice startled her. Not because she’d forgotten about him, but because it came from right behind her.
She spun and found him less than a foot away. “You could scare a girl if you’re not careful.”
He smiled. “I think I scare girls even when I am.”
Gianna laughed, pushing the thought of Roman with other women from her mind. “That was less illuminating than I’d hoped.”
“Can we talk it over with a steak in front of us?” he asked. “I’m starving, and I can smell Ruth’s Chris from here.”
He pulled off his scarf and looped it behind her neck, then doubled it and tossed the ends back over her shoulders. The gesture was so sweet, it shook her barriers. The soft wool carried his heat and his scent. Gianna’s eyes slid closed as she took a deep breath and snuggled into it. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He offered his elbow, and Gianna slid her arm around his.
“Ruth’s Chris, huh?” She smiled up at his handsome profile, and memories stirred.
If she closed her eyes, she could still bring up the brush of his stubble beneath her lips, the rich taste of his skin on her tongue. And that was all it took to light Gianna on fire. She wished their chemistry wasn’t so off-the-charts. Wished she didn’t like him as a person so much. Wished he was a jackass or a player or a user or an idiot—anything to block the attraction that hijacked her every time they were together.
“Aren’t you living high in the private sector?” she teased.
“The water’s fine. You’re welcome to join me any time.”
Her belly jumped at the implication. But even if her body reacted, her heart was on lockdown. She’d lost one love to a dangerous profession, and it had taken her a decade to recover. She wouldn’t live through another loss like that. And Roman Steele had all the makings of a hardcore heartbreak.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she told him on a sigh. “You never know when you might need allies around this town.”
His hand slipped over hers, and they fell into a comfortable stride through the capitol and onto the narrow streets of downtown. At least it would have been comfortable if the sight of his hand over hers didn’t bring back memories of the way he’d threaded their fingers above her head that night while his body pressed her into the mattress. Memories of the way his fingers flexed and clenched with each thrust of his hips. Of those intense gray eyes drinking in every flicker of her pleasure.
Damn. She was suddenly sweating.
She loosened the scarf, letting the chilled spring air reach her skin.
At the restaurant, Roman was the perfect gentleman, opening the door for her, helping her with her jacket, holding her chair.
They settled in and ordered wine. And when the waiter was gone, Roman turned those sexy eyes on her with the kind of focus that set her nerve endings on fire.
“So,” he said. “Seaver.”
“Yes.” She sighed and relaxed into her chair, turning her mind to business, but struggled with her automatic inclination to protect the woman. “Seaver.”
“I never asked,” he said, his whole demeanor shifting from warm and open to something more conservative, “but did you ever meet Mirabella? While you were seeing Steven?”
Oh, right. That whole “seeing Steven” thing. Instead of setting the record straight and potentially opening a door she wasn’t sure she had the willpower to shut again, she neither confirmed nor denied. In fact, she skipped right over Steven and answered Roman’s direct question. “No, I never met Mirabella. I only had dinner with the Seavers a few times, and we always went out. Paige doesn’t cook.”
“That would be difficult when you work eighteen-hour days.”
“I really don’t want to spend dinner arguing with you over who the better parent would be in this situation,” she told him.
“Good. Neither do I.”
The waiter brought and poured their wine, and Gianna took a greedy drink.
“Instead,” he said with a mischievous little smile, “let’s debate the information we have.”
“Oh my God, no.” The man could debate to the death, which, when he was on his game, usually came swiftly to his opponent. “I know I could never win a debate against you. Besides, the bottom line is the law. It’s not about what you or I think, or what Everly thinks. It doesn’t even matter why Paige is fighting to get Mirabella back. She very well could be hoping to gain sympathy and approval by raising Mirabella. Maybe even enough to get her name on the VP ticket. But in the end, the only thing that matters is the law.”
“Spoken like a true patriot.”
“And,” she continued, ignoring his tease, “a court in the District of Columbia of the United States has ruled, giving the Seavers legal custody.” She set her wine down and made a cutting motion with her hands. “The end.”