Page 57 of Burning Justice

Sergeant Anderson stood just outside the front door. “We’re heading out,” she said to Brett. “Bring her by tomorrow to sign a statement. Negative on the white Yukon, by the way. He could have parked on another street and walked over.”

Brett went to the door and shook hands with the sergeant. “Thanks, Penny.”

“That would be my cue to leave, too.” Bonnie gave Gemma a quick hug. “Something tells me you’re going to be in especially good hands tonight.”

She doubted that. Safe hands, perhaps. Brett was probably only staying because they were colleagues, and he knew her windows had no locks. Okay, so they’d kissed and rolled around on a bed for a few minutes. Despite what she thought she’d interpreted as beyond partnerly concern, that didn’t mean his offer to babysit went past a professional obligation. More importantly, did she want it to?

Maybe. Kind of. Um. It might be a mistake, but yeah. She did.

Brett helped Bonnie to stand, then escorted her to the door. “Blaze, stay,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll walk her home, then be right back.”

Aside from her and Blaze, her house was empty and quiet. Shortly, she and Brett would be alone. In her house. At night. The realization left her edgy, and she couldn’t sit still. Slowly, she stood, then went into the bedroom and looked at the mirror. “Schmear.” An appropriate description. Her hair really was a rat’s nest, sticking out in more directions than she thought possible. Her eyes were red and with dark circles blooming like caterpillars beneath them. Worse were the bruises on her neck.

The pain wasn’t too bad, just a steady throbbing. She leaned in, turning her head to look closer. As Brett had said, there was some kind of symbol, an emblem, that must have been sewn into the fingertips of the gloves, but she couldn’t quite make out what it was. She splashed cold water on her face.

It occurred to her that she hadn’t had a man stay over at her place in years. For any reason. She closed the bathroom door, then undressed and slipped on the nightshirt she’d draped on a hook. It wasn’t much, just an oversize cotton T-shirt. Silk, satin, and lace had never been her thing.

She opened the door in time to see Blaze trotting into the bedroom, going directly to the mattress and circling twice before lying down smack dab in the middle. In the living room, she heard the front door close and the deadbolt being thrown.

When she came from the bathroom, Brett stood just outside her bedroom, holding a bag of dog food. He hitched his head. “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“It’s covered in sawdust.” Could she sound any more stupid? Of course, he knew it was covered in sawdust.

“I’ll wipe it off. C’mon, Blaze. Let’s go.”

Blaze lifted his head, uttering a snort but making no move to get up.

The next words from her mouth were more shocking than if someone had said she’d just won the Home Renovation Channel sweepstakes. “Sleep with me.”

Chapter Sixteen

“What?” The bag of kibble crinkled as Brett gripped it tighter. It was either that or he would have dropped it. He had to have misheard Gemma but could swear she’d just invited him into her bed.

“Sleep with me,” she repeated. “In my bed. I mean, my, uh, mattress, since I don’t technically have a bed. Just to sleep,” she added quickly.

“Uh.” Christ, what else did a guy say to that?

Since the day he’d lost his virginity at the ripe old age of sixteen, he couldn’t recall just sleeping in any woman’s bed. There’d always been other activities that had taken place before the sleeping part.

“Please?” she asked softly, hanging her head for a moment and calling attention to the fact that all she had on was a white T-shirt. “I just…” She seemed to be struggling to find the words, but he understood.

She’d been attacked and injured in her own home. That would be enough to cut anyone’s balance off at the knees. Speaking of knees, hers and the rest of her legs, straight up to her thighs, were bare. Suddenly, the room felt hot. Blistering hot. The same way it had that night in Leadville, when her body had been plastered against his.

“Okay.” The word had come out rough, scratchy, forcing him to clear his throat. “Just let me feed Blaze and get him some water. Dinnertime, buddy.”

All he had to do was give the bag a little shake, and Blaze scrambled to his feet, trotting after Brett as he headed for the kitchen.

Was he really up for this? He’d never slept with his partner before. Work partner, that was. Then again, he’d never had a partner that looked like Gemma.

Or one who looks so hot wearing nothing but a T-shirt.

In the kitchen, he poured kibble into a metal bowl he’d brought in, added some water, then watched Blaze chow down.

In his experience, most women liked to wear frilly, silky lingerie to bed. Gemma didn’t wear fancy lingerie, nor did she need to. To him, even with her hair sticking out, her throat bruised, and white bandages on her forehead, she was stunning.

On Gemma, that T-shirt was a thousand times sexier than any silky lingerie, but it was more than that. He liked her unexpected sense of humor and her smarts. They were a total turn-on, more than any lingerie ever could be.

He’d always thought of himself as being a strong man, physically and mentally, but every man had his limits. Getting into her bed—for any reason—might be more than he could handle.