“Do you think I’m a con artist or a victim?”
“I think you’re a woman who has been hurt.” No denying
that. “One of my team members, Wade Monroe, is contacting
the Montgomery family. We’ll get DNA from them and find
out—”
“If I’m Jessica.” There was hope in the words. Enough
hope to break his heart.
Gabe nodded.
“When will we know?”
It would take a few days, even with the strings that he
could pull. “As soon as possible,” he said, not wanting
to give her a specific timetable.
“Thank you.” Then, just like that, she was across the
car, giving him a tight hug. “Thank you.”
His arms wrapped around her, an instinctive response. She
smelled faintly of flowers, a sweet scent that teased his
nose, and her body was soft against his.
She tried to pull away, as if realizing what she’d just
done.
For an instant he was tempted to hold her, to keep her
close.
She’s a client. Focus.
He let her go, but his body ached.
“I … um … I should get inside.”
Yes, she should. While he was still clutching tight to
his control. The control that said he shouldn’t push her.
Shouldn’t want her so much. Not when she’d already been
hurt so badly.
Her fingers reached for the door.
“Let me,” he said, voice rumbling, and Gabe climbed from
the Jag. In seconds he was on the passenger side, opening
her door for her. She rose, and her body brushed against
his.
He stepped back. Distance. He seriously needed to put
some distance between then. But even with some fast steps
back, he could still smell that light and sexy scent that
clung to her body. And he still wanted her.
“Your shrink asked me a lot of questions about you,” Eve
told him as she stood temptingly close.
Gabe inclined his head. “I’m sure—”
“I think she wanted to know why I respond so much to
you.”
Oh, hell, she’d just said … He cleared his throat even as
part of his body surged in quick response to her. “It’s a
tense situation, you’re—”
“You don’t look at me as if I’m a victim.”
He stopped talking.
“I mean, you know what I am, but you still look at me and
seem to just see me … as a woman.”
“Others see you the same way.” Doc Tyler sure did.
Bastard.
“It’s different with you,” she murmured as she stepped
even closer to him. Her head had tilted back so she could
look into his eyes. “I don’t know what I’ve felt for
other men before.”
Why did the idea of others have his body knotting with
tension?
“But I know that when I see you, I want.” A hushed
confession. “I just … I needed to tell you that.”
And he needed to make his self-control a hell of a lot
stronger. Her lips were just inches from his, and he
wanted her mouth beneath his. Wanted her lips open.
Needed to taste her.
“You’re the first man I’ve wanted since I opened my eyes
in that hospital.”
He could actually feel his control splintering. Client.
Cli—
“You probably don’t want me. I—I might not be your type.”
Now her gaze had fallen, as if in embarrassment. Had she
really just asked if she was his type? She was probably
every damn man’s type.
“But you make me feel normal again, so I had to tell you
—”
His fingers curved under her chin. “Eve …”
Her smile was a little too big. Too bright. “I don’t
think I can handle anything else right now, I’m …” She
pulled away. Stumbled onto the sidewalk. “I just wanted
to tell you how I felt,” she told him again.
Then she walked into the shelter, her steps hurried. As
if she were running.
From him.
He stared after her. She wanted him.
And she was so beyond his reach.
