Christmas Male(20)

“We can’t talk about them, posit some theories, develop a plan of attack,” D.C. continued. “We can even come up with a to-do list.”

“Exactly.”

“And we can do all those things just as easily on the dance floor as we can at your office. At least I can.” There was a question and a challenge in his eyes as he snagged her hand.

“I work best when it’s quiet.”

“And I don’t. C’mon, Lieutenant, look at it as an opportunity to get to know your new partner. Sometimes I get my best ideas when I’m concentrating on something else. We can always go back to your office and try it your way later.”

“One dance.” Fiona let D.C. lead her toward the stairs to the lower level. “But I’m going to figure out how you do that.”

“What?” He hooked his cane over his arm and grabbed the rail as they descended.

“Talk me into things I don’t want to do.”

“It’s my charm.”

Fiona snorted. She noticed how easily he cut a path for them through the crowd in the lobby. It wasn’t just his size, she decided. Nor was it merely the effect of the uniform. The man projected an air of authority that encouraged others to do what he wanted.

When a waitress accidentally jostled them, then quickly apologized, D.C.’s smile had the young woman blushing. On top of the charm, he had a very potent smile.

But neither accounted fully for the intense effect he had on her senses. She’d never experienced anything like it before. Every time he was close, every time she looked into his eyes, she felt as if she were being swept under in a kind of riptide. And each time it happened, she seemed to have less power to prevent it.

As he drew her onto the dance floor, the band segued into a ballad. D.C.’s grip on her hand remained light, but she was aware that his palms were hard, his fingers calloused. And she couldn’t prevent herself from wondering what they would feel like on her skin when he really touched her. He hadn’t yet. But she’d wanted him to—desperately.

When he reached the center of the dance floor, she turned to face him. Dancers moved past them, around them, but he didn’t take her into his arms, and she didn’t step forward.

“It’s not going to continue this way. We agreed you’re not always going to call the shots,” she said.

D.C. brows shot up. “Did I order you to dance?”

“No. But you manipulated me onto the dance floor.”

“Okay. I can plead guilty to that. So you can lead if you want.”

“I’m not talking just about this.” Keeping her eyes steady on his, she said, “One dance. Then we’ll go to my office and we’ll see which venue allows us to make the most progress.”

He smiled. “You’re cute when you start spouting procedure.”

She was stalling. But she wasn’t the only one, Fiona realized. The dancers moved around them, but they remained still. It gave her some satisfaction to know that they both were a bit wary of what they might be getting into. Hell, it was only a dance. She moved first, placing a hand on his shoulder and stepping closer.

D.C. took her other hand, put his free one on the small of her back and guided her into the music. To her surprise, he didn’t immediately pull her close. Using only the slightest pressure, he eased her into the rhythm of the music. Still, by the time they’d circled the floor once, every nerve in her body had begun to throb. And when his thigh brushed against hers, the shock of the contact nearly had her stumbling.

“Easy,” he murmured.

They were closer now, and the heat that had exploded between them when they’d kissed was building again. She wanted nothing more than to melt into him, to give in to that sense of powerlessness. She’d felt the same way when they were standing shoulder to shoulder in that small office while the gemologist examined the stone. A little flutter of panic steadied her, and she tilted her head back to meet his eyes. “I don’t understand what’s happening here.”

“Do you have to?”

“I like to understand things. It’s absolutely ridiculous to think that it has anything to do with that diamond.”

As the rhythm of the dance changed, D.C. eased her out so that she could turn in a circle before he drew her back.

“If you don’t believe in legends, what do you believe in?”

“Facts.”

“Me, too. It’s what drew me into the military police. I like to uncover them, examine them and see how they fit together.”

“Yes. Exactly. That’s why I entered the police academy, too. So you agree that the legend surrounding the Rubinov is ridiculous.”