"Come on, Gabrielle. Come on, baby."
"Joe?"
"I'm right here."
She closed her eyes. "I'm scared. I don't think I can do this."
"Sure you can. You're the same woman who knocked me on my ass in the park. You can do anything."
She opened her eyes and looked down toward him, but it was dark and he was hidden in the shadows of the house, and she couldn't see anything but a gray outline.
"Just bend down a little and grab the bottom of the rail."
Slowly she slid her hands down the metal bars until she crouched on the edge, her behind hanging out over the city. She didn't think she'd ever been so terrified in her life. "I can do this," she whispered on a cleansing breath. "I am calm."
"Hurry up before your palms sweat."
Geez, she hadn't thought of sweaty palms, but now she did. "I can't see you. Can you see me?"
His soft, low chuckle rose to her "as she crouched with a death grip on the rail. "I have a real nice view of your white panties."
At the moment, Joe Shanahan looking up her skirt was the least of her problems. She slid one foot from the wooden deck.
"Come on, honey," he coaxed from below.
"What if I fall?"
"I'll catch you. I promise, only you have to let go now, before it gets too dark to see those panties."
She slowly slid her other foot from the deck and dangled above the dark ground below. "Joe," she called out just as her foot contacted with something solid.
"Fuck!"
"What was that?"
"The side of my head."
"Oh, sorry." His strong hands grabbed her ankles, then slid up the backs of her calves to her knees.
"I have you."
"Are you sure?"
"Let go."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, let go."
She took a deep breath, counted to three, then released the railing. And she fell, sliding downward within the circle of his big arms. He clasped her to him, and her jumper bunched up around her waist as she slipped down his chest. His hands slid up the backs of her legs, and he held her bare thighs in his grasp. She looked down into his dark face just below hers.
"I did it."
"I know."
"My skirt's up around my waist," she said.
His teeth looked very white when he smiled. "I know." He slowly lowered her until her feet touched the ground, and his palms settled on her behind. "You're not only beautiful, you've got big cojones. I like that in a woman."
Gabrielle could honestly say that no man had ever chosen those exact words to compliment her before. Usually they stuck with more common flattery and commented on her eyes or legs.
"You were afraid, but you went over that railing anyway." His hot hands warmed her flesh through the lace of her underwear. "Do you remember last night when you said I couldn't kiss you anymore?"
"I remember."
"Did you mean on the lips?"
"Of course."
He lowered his mouth and kissed the side of her throat. "That leaves a lot of really interesting spots free," he said as his hands squeezed her bottom.
Gabrielle opened her mouth, then closed it again. What could she possibly say to that?
"Do you want me to find them now or later?"
"Ahh____________________later would probably be better." She tugged at the bottom of her skirt, but Joe's grasp tightened on her behind.
His voice was low and husky when he asked, "You sure?"
Not really. She stood on a terraced mountain-side, her butt hanging out of her dress, and she wasn't sure she wanted to be any other place than exactly where she stood. Wrapped in darkness, shoved against Joe's solid chest. "Yes."
He yanked the hem of her jumper and smoothed it over the curve of her bottom. "Let me know."
"I will." She stepped away from the lure of his voice and the warmth of his embrace. "How's your head?"
"I'll live." He turned and hauled himself up to the next level of the terraced retaining wall. She looked up at his outline, and he reached for her hand and pulled her up after him. He hauled her up three more times and made it all seem so easy.
The night had taken on a discernable chill by the time they made it to his old Chevy, and Gabrielle was looking forward to taking a nice warm soak in the tub when she got home. But fifteen minutes later, she found herself sitting on Joe's beige-and-brown sofa, the beady yellow-and-black eyes of his parrot pinning her to the couch. Across the living room Joe stood with his back to her, the cradle of a telephone dangling from one hand, the receiver in the other. He spoke just low enough not to be heard, then walked into the dining room, the long cord trailing after him.
"You've got to ask yourself one question. Do I feel lucky? Well do ya-punk?"
Gabrielle jumped and turned her full attention to Sam. "Excuse me?"
The parrot flapped his wings twice, then flew to the arm of the couch. He rocked from one foot to the other, then tilted his head to the side and studied her.
"Ahh… Polly want a cracker?"
"Go ahead, make my day,"
She supposed it made perfect sense that Joe's bird would quote Dirty Harry. She sat perfectly still as the bird walked along the back of the couch, a blue metal band around one scaly leg. "Nice parrot" she said softly and glanced in Joe's direction. He still stood in the dining room, his back to her, his weight resting on one foot. He cradled the receiver between his shoulder and ear and massaged his other shoulder with his opposite hand. For a brief second, she wondered if he'd hurt himself helping her over the retaining walls, but then Sam let out a shrill whistle, and she forgot about Joe. The bird swayed back and forth, then hopped on her shoulder.
"You behave."
"Joe," she called out, keeping her gaze on Sam's black beak.
Sam laid his head against her temple and puffed out his chest. "Pretty bird."
Gabrielle had never been around birds before, let alone had one stand on her shoulder. She didn't know what to do or say. She didn't know anything about bird behavior, but she knew she didn't want to make him mad. She'd seen the Alfred Hitchcock classic many times, and the image of Suzanne Pleshette with her eyes pecked out flashed through her head. "Nice parrot," she said and glanced across the room. "Help."
Joe finally looked over his shoulder at her, his now familiar scowl lowering his brows as he spoke a few words into the receiver. After a few terse sentences, he finished the call and walked back into the living room. "Sam, what do you think you're doing?" he asked as he set the telephone on the coffee table. "Get off her."
The bird rubbed his soft head against Gabrielle, but didn't hop from her shoulder.
"Come on now." Joe patted his own shoulder. "Come here." Sam didn't move.
Instead he dipped his head and touched his beak to her cheek. "Pretty bird."
"Well, I'll be damned." Joe put his hands on his hips and cocked his head to one side. "He likes you."
She wasn't convinced. "Really? How can you tell?"
Joe moved to stand directly in front of her. "He kissed you," he said, then he leaned forward and placed his hand just below Sam's feet. "Lately, he's been in the mood for a mate." Joe snapped his fingers, and the side of his hand brushed her chest through her white blouse. "I guess he thinks he's found a girlfriend."
"Me?"
"Uh-huh." His gaze lowered to her mouth, then returned to the parrot. "Step up, Sam. Be a good bird." Finally Sam obeyed and hopped onto Joe's hand.
"You behave."
"Me? I'm not the guy rubbing my head against a pretty girl and kissing her. I am behaving. Well, I am tonight anyway." He flashed her a smile, then walked to the huge cage sitting in front of a big picture window.
Gabrielle stood and watched him run a careful hand over Sam's feathers before he placed him in the cage. The big bad cop wasn't so big and bad after all. "Does he really think I'm a potential girlfriend?"