Hard To Handle. Kylie Brant

fraction, lingered a moment, then eased away.

      She stared at him, stunned. “Just what was that supposed to convince me of?” Her voice was threadier than she would have wished, but at least it was steady.

      Gabe reached for the glass he’d set down, and brought it to his lips for a long swallow. His eyes avoided hers. “Just proving my point. Neither of us is attracted to the other. That kiss left you cold, right? Me, too.”

      Cold? Numb, maybe. Achy, certainly. But cold? A sheerly feminine ire fueled her next words. “The next time you try conducting a little experiment like that you’d better be wearing protection.” She left no doubt that she wasn’t referring to his gun. “The only point you convinced me of is that I’m no better off with you than with Wadrell.”

      He looked impatient at her words. “Use your head.” Holding up his fingers, he enumerated, “One, I’m not the detective you hold indirectly responsible for your sister’s death. Two, I outrank Wadrell and I’m better liked. I’ve got guys who’ll be willing to do me favors when I poke into the accident investigation. I doubt Wadrell can get his own mother to invite him to Sunday dinner. And three, we’ve just shown that physically we don’t do a thing for each other.”

      She crossed her arms over her chest to keep from strangling him.

      “You won’t have to worry about me making moves on you, because I like women with more obvious…uh…charms.” He cocked his head, pretending not to see the simmer of latent temper in her eyes. “Unless…you can’t do that little tassel trick I’ve seen, can you? You know—” his index fingers circled in the air in front of his chest “—the one where you get them going in opposite directions?” When she didn’t respond, couldn’t, he shook his head. “I didn’t think so. So as near as I can tell, us matching up would be perfect. There’ll be no personal interest on my side, and if you can promise the same there won’t be any complications at all.”

      The deep-breathing exercises learned at Miss Devain’s School of Deportment had never been more necessary. The actual physical effort of filling her lungs with oxygen almost took Meghan’s mind off the shockingly primal urge to knock that complacent expression off Connally’s face. The strength of the temptation was shocking. Civility was a quality not only valued by her family, but demanded. Tremaynes didn’t indulge in spectacles. There had been no public displays of temper or of affection. Every conversation, every cutting remark, was made in the same chillingly dispassionate tone. The genuine lack of emotion displayed by her mother and grandparents had confused and saddened Meghan by turns.

      However, it wasn’t a lack of emotion that was bothering Meghan right now, but the imminent volcanic eruption that this man was close to eliciting. Her gaze narrowed at his bland expression. He was goading her; he had to be. Surely no one could be that irritating, unless by design. What he was suggesting was out of the question. There was no way she was going to shackle herself to Connally willingly, no matter what he promised to do for her.