"Yeah. How did you know I was following you last week? And don't give me a bunch of crap about feeling my vibes."
"I don't feel vibes. What if I told you it was your black aura?" she asked, although truthfully, she hadn't noticed his aura until after he'd arrested her.
From within the shadow of his cap, his eyes narrowed, and Gabrielle decided to let him off the hook. "It was easy. You smoke. I don't know of any joggers who have a nice healthy cigarette before they set off on a run. Wheat grass, yes. A Marlboro, no."
"I'll be damned."
"The first time I noticed you, you were standing under a tree, smoke surrounding your head like a mushroom cloud."
Joe crossed his arms over his chest, and his mouth settled into a grim line. "Do me a favor, will you? If anyone asks how you detected your surveillance, stick to that black aura thing."
"Why? Don't you want the other cops to know a cigarette blew your cover?"
"Not if I can help it."
She tilted her head to one side and gave him a smile she hoped made him nervous. "Okay, I'll help you out, but you owe me."
"What do you want?"
"I don't know yet. I'll think about it and get back to you."
"My other informants always knew what they wanted."
"What did they want?"
"Usually something illegal." His eyes stared into hers as he said, "Like for me to make their criminal record disappear or look the other way while they smoked a doobie."
"You'd do that?"
"No, but you can ask. It would give me a reason to frisk you." Now it was his turn to smile. And he did. A lazy turn of his lips that made her stomach flutter. He lowered his gaze to her mouth, then let it slide right on down the front of her blouse. "Maybe even force me to strip-search you."
The breath caught in her lungs. "You wouldn't do that."
"Of course I would." His gaze slipped down the row of buttons, lingered on her navel, then lowered to her skirt and the split riding up her left thigh. "I took a solemn oath. I've a sworn duty to protect and serve and strip-search. It's my job."
The flutter in her stomach turned hot. She'd never been a good flirt, but she couldn't help asking, "And are you good at your job?"
"Very."
"You sound pretty confident."
"Let's just say I stay at it until business is taken care of."
She could feel herself melt, and it had nothing to do with the temperature outside the booth. "What business?"
He leaned toward her and said in a low voice that poured across her skin and raised her tern-perature a few more degrees, "Whatever blows your hair back, honey."
She quickly stood and smoothed the crinkles in her skirt. "I have to…" She pointed to the front of her booth, confused. Her body was at war with her mind and spirit. Her physical desire was fighting for dominance over reason. Anarchy. "I'll just-" She moved to a table of massage oil and straightened a neat little row of blue bottles. She didn't want anarchy. One emotion ruling the others wasn't good. No, it was bad. Real bad. She didn't want to feel her skin tingle, her stomach flutter, and her breath catch. Not now. Not in the middle of the park. Not with him.
Several college-aged girls approached the table and asked Gabrielle questions about her oils. She answered and explained and tried to pretend she didn't feel Joe's presence as strongly as if he were touching her. She sold two bottles of jasmine and felt, rather than saw, him come to stand behind her."Do you want me to leave your cheesecake?"
She shook her head.
"I'll put it in the refrigerator at your shop."
She thought he would leave then, but he didn't. Instead, he slid one hand around her waist to her bare stomach and pulled her back against his chest. Gabrielle froze.
He turned his face into her hair and spoke next to her ear. "See that guy in the red tank top and green shorts?"
She glanced across the walkway to Mother Soul's booth. The man in question looked like a lot of the other men at the festival. Clean. Normal. "Yes."
"That's Ray Klotz. He has a pawn shop off Main. I arrested him last year for receiving and selling stolen VCRs." He spread his fingers wide over her abdomen, and his thumb brushed the knot in her blouse just below her breasts. "Ray and I go back a long way, and it might be better if he doesn't see me with you."
She tried to think past the brush of his fingers on her bare flesh but found it difficult. "Why? Do you think he knows Kevin?"
"Probably."
She turned, and without her shoes, the top of her head fit just beneath the bill of his cap. His arms slid to her back and held her so close that his nose touched hers and her breasts brushed his chest. "Are you sure he'd remember you?"
His free hand slipped up her arm to just past her elbow. "When I worked narcotics, I popped him on a drug charge. I had to shove my fingers down his throat and make him puke up the cocaine-filled condoms he'd swallowed," he said, his fingers brushing up and down her spine.
"Oh," she whispered. "That's disgusting."
"It was evidence," he spoke just above her mouth. "Couldn't let a guy get away with my evidence."
Standing so close to him, smelling his skin, the rich timbre of his voice filling her head, he sounded so reasonable, like making a guy throw up was normal. Like his hot palm on her bare skin had no effect on him. "Is he gone?"
"No."
She stared into his eyes and asked, "What are you going to do?"
Instead of answering, he took a few steps backward into the shadow of the booth, pulling her with him. He raised his gaze to her hair. "What am I going to do about what?"
"About Ray."
"He'll move on." He looked into her eyes, and his fingers stroked the small of her back. "If I kiss you, are you going to take it personal?"
"Yes. Won't you?"
"No." He shook his head, and his lips brushed across hers. "It's part of my job."
She held herself still to keep from melting into the warm, solid wall of his chest. "Kissing me is your job?"
"Yes."
"Like strip searches?"
"Uh-huh."
"Won't that draw Ray's attention to you?"
"Depends," he said against her mouth. "Are you going to moan?"
"No." His heart beat heavy against her breasts, and she placed her hands on his shoulders and felt the hard muscles beneath her palms. Her spiritual balance teetered in favor of falling headfirst into the desire robbing her of self-control and making her weak. "Are you going to moan?"
"I just might." He softly kissed her mouth, then said, "You taste good, Gabrielle Breedlove."
She had to remind herself that the man holding her within his strong embrace was as enlightened as a pet rock. He wasn't her soul's mate. He wasn't even close. But he tasted good.
His mouth opened over hers, and he slipped his tongue inside. She didn't moan, but she wanted to. Her fingers curled into T-shirt and flesh, and she held on to him. He tilted his head to one side and delved deeper into her mouth. His palm slid to her side, and he stroked her bare ribs and sunk his thumb into her navel. And just as she was about to sink into the kiss and stay there awhile, he pulled back and dropped his hands to his sides.
"Ah shit," he whispered next to her left ear.
"Joey, is that you?"
"What are you doing, Joey?" a female voice asked from somewhere behind Gabrielle.
"Looks like he's making out with a girl."
"Who?"
"I didn't know he had a girlfriend. Did you, Ma?"
"No. He never said anything to me."
Joe whispered next to Gabrielle's ear. "Just go along with whatever I say, and maybe we'll survive without them picking out china and making our wedding plans."
Gabrielle turned and looked into five pairs of brown eyes staring back at her with obvious interest. The women were surrounded by a group of smiling, giggling children, and she didn't know whether to laugh or hide.
"Who's your girlfriend, Joey?"