squarely between the eyes. Now blood scurried to her face.
To his credit, he stood his ground, subjugating himself to her abuse of authority until—
"I'm not well-versed in the arrest process, never having gone through it myself, but aren't you taking a little too much time for the pat down?" he asked.
"You complaining?" The flirtatious retort caught her by surprise.
With the men she worked with, a snappy comeback was a requirement of the job. But with Christian, the remark sounded brash. No doubt, dealing with the scum of Chicago had hardened her. Uncertain how to tap into her femininity, she desperately wished for a softer, feminine side to surface.
Reality check! Frisking a man at gunpoint would tend to inhibit her womanliness. Granted, the move got the guy's attention, breaking the ice of etiquette, but it lacked subtlety. She closed her eyes for an instant, wondering about her sanity. Maybe she could blame Delacorte. Ever since she'd met him, her world had taken a tumble.
Now her cheeks burned. She waited for his reaction to her reckless comeback. You complaining? Her taunt replayed fresh in her mind, making her cringe to think what he'd say-It took him a moment to answer. Then he shook his head and stifled a grin. Looking over his shoulder, he found her eyes.
"No. No, I'm not."
His smile knocked the wind out of her. A sucker punch to the gut, followed by an uppercut inflicted by his dark green eyes. His usually serious expression warmed, softened with humor. Hell, why did he have to smell so damned good? Raven needed to regain control, shift it back to business as usual. Since she'd initiated the detour, it was up to her to get it done.
Stepping back, she wiped the grin from her face. "Now turn around. Slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them."
Tilting his head, he kept his hands raised. "Don't you think this is a little over the top? Even for you?"
Her gun leveled to his chest, she held her position, then slowly dropped her arms, gun at her side. "Is this what you call the spirit of cooperation? I could arrest you, except you'd probably get a perverse enjoyment from the handcuffs."
He lowered his hands. His expression held no remorse for the break-in. Quite the contrary. A hint of amusement spread across his face for an instant, then faded.
"You've caught me red-handed. Nothing to say in my defense. I'm throwing myself on your mercy." With audacity in his eyes, he added, "If you have any."
"Nice apology. You sound like a politician caught with his pants down," she quipped, glaring at him.
"I figure if it works for the Oval Office, no sense completely reinventing the spiel," he replied without hesitation. Leaning against the door jamb of the study, he folded his arms over his chest in defiance. "What? Do I lack sincerity?"
"No, I'd say you're full of it." She stepped closer and raised an eyebrow. "You trying to charm me into forgetting about your little break-in?"
"No, just keeping up my end of the conversation." His interest in the debate waned, his somber expression reappearing. "We could banter all night. Even as entertaining as that might be, I have another idea."
"Oh, this I gotta hear. You know, this isn't the world of high finance with the Dunhill Corporation. You can't just negotiate your way out of—"
He interrupted her. "I'd like to propose a truce. Just for an hour or so. We can cover more ground if we work together. Since neither of us is big on sharing, let's ditch the spirit-of-cooperation bullshit. You're the one who wanted the cards on the table, so here's my compromise."
"You're in no position to negotiate anything, studly."
His eyes never wavered. He stepped toward her and closed the gap of her comfort zone.
"Come on. You came here for a reason. You don't want to hassle with my arrest. That'd just make for a very long evening for both of us." He stared at her, waiting for an acknowledgment she wasn't about to give so easily. So he forged ahead, "If we work together, and you
To his credit, he stood his ground, subjugating himself to her abuse of authority until—
"I'm not well-versed in the arrest process, never having gone through it myself, but aren't you taking a little too much time for the pat down?" he asked.
"You complaining?" The flirtatious retort caught her by surprise.
With the men she worked with, a snappy comeback was a requirement of the job. But with Christian, the remark sounded brash. No doubt, dealing with the scum of Chicago had hardened her. Uncertain how to tap into her femininity, she desperately wished for a softer, feminine side to surface.
Reality check! Frisking a man at gunpoint would tend to inhibit her womanliness. Granted, the move got the guy's attention, breaking the ice of etiquette, but it lacked subtlety. She closed her eyes for an instant, wondering about her sanity. Maybe she could blame Delacorte. Ever since she'd met him, her world had taken a tumble.
Now her cheeks burned. She waited for his reaction to her reckless comeback. You complaining? Her taunt replayed fresh in her mind, making her cringe to think what he'd say-It took him a moment to answer. Then he shook his head and stifled a grin. Looking over his shoulder, he found her eyes.
"No. No, I'm not."
His smile knocked the wind out of her. A sucker punch to the gut, followed by an uppercut inflicted by his dark green eyes. His usually serious expression warmed, softened with humor. Hell, why did he have to smell so damned good? Raven needed to regain control, shift it back to business as usual. Since she'd initiated the detour, it was up to her to get it done.
Stepping back, she wiped the grin from her face. "Now turn around. Slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them."
Tilting his head, he kept his hands raised. "Don't you think this is a little over the top? Even for you?"
Her gun leveled to his chest, she held her position, then slowly dropped her arms, gun at her side. "Is this what you call the spirit of cooperation? I could arrest you, except you'd probably get a perverse enjoyment from the handcuffs."
He lowered his hands. His expression held no remorse for the break-in. Quite the contrary. A hint of amusement spread across his face for an instant, then faded.
"You've caught me red-handed. Nothing to say in my defense. I'm throwing myself on your mercy." With audacity in his eyes, he added, "If you have any."
"Nice apology. You sound like a politician caught with his pants down," she quipped, glaring at him.
"I figure if it works for the Oval Office, no sense completely reinventing the spiel," he replied without hesitation. Leaning against the door jamb of the study, he folded his arms over his chest in defiance. "What? Do I lack sincerity?"
"No, I'd say you're full of it." She stepped closer and raised an eyebrow. "You trying to charm me into forgetting about your little break-in?"
"No, just keeping up my end of the conversation." His interest in the debate waned, his somber expression reappearing. "We could banter all night. Even as entertaining as that might be, I have another idea."
"Oh, this I gotta hear. You know, this isn't the world of high finance with the Dunhill Corporation. You can't just negotiate your way out of—"
He interrupted her. "I'd like to propose a truce. Just for an hour or so. We can cover more ground if we work together. Since neither of us is big on sharing, let's ditch the spirit-of-cooperation bullshit. You're the one who wanted the cards on the table, so here's my compromise."
"You're in no position to negotiate anything, studly."
His eyes never wavered. He stepped toward her and closed the gap of her comfort zone.
"Come on. You came here for a reason. You don't want to hassle with my arrest. That'd just make for a very long evening for both of us." He stared at her, waiting for an acknowledgment she wasn't about to give so easily. So he forged ahead, "If we work together, and you
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