Without thinking—he certainly had a way of making her stop thinking—she tilted her head to give him more access to her skin. “I’ve been busy.”

“I don’t doubt you’ve been busy.” He moved up to nip at her earlobe. “But you’ve been stubborn. I like that about you, Rachel. Right now I can’t think of a damn thing I don’t like about you.”

This was a mistake. Any minute she’d remember why it was a mistake. She was sure of it. “You just want to talk me into bed.”

His lips curved before they came down on hers. “Oh, yeah…” He fisted his hands in her hair, and a deep sound of pleasure came from his throat when she arched against him. “How’m I doing?”

“You’re making things very difficult for me.”

“Good. That’s good.” He was very close to pressing her back on the desk and doing all the things he’d fantasized about during those long, dark nights he’d lain alone in bed, thinking of her. And she sighed. The soft, broken sound of it seemed to rip something inside his gut. Grinding out an oath, he buried his face in her hair. “I sure pick my spots,” he muttered. “On the sidewalk with a mugger, in my office with a barful of customers outside the door. Every time I’m around you I start acting like a kid in the back seat of a parked car.”

She had to concentrate just to breathe. As he continued to hold her, just hold her, she found herself stroking his hair, counting his heartbeats, warming toward him in a way that was entirely different from the flash heat of a moment before.

She’d been right about the quicksand, she realized. And she’d been right about not sinking alone. “We’re not kids,” she murmured.

“No, we’re not.” Not quite sure he could trust himself, he drew back, taking both her hands in his. “I know it’s moving fast, and I know it’s complicated, but I want you. There’s no getting around it.”

“I knew this would happen if I came here tonight. I came anyway.” Muddled, she shook her head. “I don’t know what that says about me, or about us. I do know it’s not smart, and I’m usually smart. The best thing for me to do is walk out the door and go home.”

He tugged on her hands, bringing her off the desk and close to him again. “What are you going to do?”

She wavered, caught on the thin edge between temptation and common sense. Images of what could be swam giddily through her head and left her throat dry. Repercussions…she couldn’t quite see them clearly, but she knew they existed. And she was afraid they would be severe indeed.

“I’m going to walk out the door and go home.” She let out an unsteady breath when he said nothing. “For now.”

She grabbed up her jacket, her purse. When she reached the door, his hand closed over hers on the knob. A quick thrill of panicked excitement raced through her at the thought that he would simply turn the lock.

She wouldn’t permit it. Of course she wouldn’t permit it.

Would she?

“Sunday” was all he said.

Her scattered thoughts scrambled to make sense of the word. “Sunday?”

“I can shift things around and take the day off. Spend it with me.”

Relief. Confusion. Pleasure. She had no idea which emotion was uppermost. “You want to spend Sunday with me.”

“Yeah. You know, take in a couple of museums, maybe an art gallery, a walk in the park, have a fancy lunch somewhere. I figure most of the time we’ve spent together so far’s been after dark.”

Odd…that hadn’t occurred to her before. “I guess it has.”

“Why don’t we try a Sunday afternoon?”

“I…” She couldn’t think of a single reason why not. “All right. Why don’t you come by around eleven?”

“I’ll be there.”

She turned the knob, then glanced back at him. “Museums?” she said on a laugh. “Is this on the level, Muldoon?”

“I happen to appreciate art,” he told her, leaning forward to touch his lips to hers in a quiet kiss that rocked her back on her heels. “And beauty.”

She slipped out quickly. As she walked up to the corner to hail a cab, it occurred to her she hadn’t yet decided how best to handle Nick. And she sure as hell hadn’t figured out how to handle Nick’s big brother.

CHAPTER SIX

Rachel was cursing when her buzzer sounded promptly at eleven o’clock Sunday morning. Securing an earring, she pressed the intercom. “Muldoon?”

“You sound out of breath, sugar. Should I take that as a compliment?”

“Come on up,” she said shortly. “And don’t call me sugar.”

After snapping off the intercom, she flipped off her three security locks, then gave herself one last look in the mirror. She’d forgotten her second earring. Grumbling, she went on a quick search until she found it lying on the kitchen counter beside her empty coffee cup.

It was her day off, damn it. And she resented having it interrupted for work. Not because she’d been looking forward to spending it with Zack. Particularly. It was just that it had been a long time since she’d had a day to wander through museums and galleries, and— She broke off her silent complaining at the knock on the door.

“Come in, it’s open.”

“Anxious?” Zack commented as he walked in. Then he lifted a brow and took one long look. She was standing in the center of the room, slim and lovely in a bronze-toned suede jacket and short skirt set off by a slightly mannish silk blouse in a flashy blue. She was barefoot, and he found his mouth watering as he watched her perform the feminine and oddly intimate task of securing a shiny gold knot to her ear. “You look nice.”

“Thanks. You, too.” No, what he looked was sexy, she thought, damn sexy, in snug black jeans, a midnight-blue sweater, and a bomber jacket in soft black leather. But nice would have to do. “Listen, Zack, I tried to catch you before you left the bar. I’m sorry I missed you.”

“Is there a problem?” He watched as she wiggled one foot into a bronze-colored pump. By the time she’d wiggled into the second, his palms were sweaty and he’d missed what she’d said. “Sorry, what?”

“I said my boss called, about a half hour ago. I’ve got an attempted murder I have to deal with.”