Grace gripped her hands tighter. Exactly why had she thought this conversation would be a good idea? She should have texted Tess or Annabelle first. They would have told her to keep her mouth shut, that she was making way too big a deal about a little tongue flick.
"Sort of?" Ramos opened his eyes after briefly closing them and mumbling something in Spanish. He looked almost angry as he stared at Grace.
"Well, not sort of. Definitely. I definitely licked you." Who knew semantics would be so important to him.
"Okay." He nodded as if that was all he needed to hear. He turned away from her and looked toward the booth where his date was talking with Baxter.
"You don't want to know why?" she asked after several moments.
He turned back to her, his expression grim. "No. I don't want to know why."
"Oh." She bit her lip, not sure where to go with that. "Should I apologize?"
"No, just stop talking about it." His voice was tight, not at all Ramos-like. "What did you want to consult about? I'm hungry and want to order some dinner."
The idiot. Did he really think she'd wanted a consult? She'd wanted to talk about the now off-limits lick and, hopefully, their mutual attraction which--it was now painfully obvious--was not mutual.
Right. She needed to salvage this situation and keep them on a friendly footing. "I just said that about the consult so I could talk to you privately," she said with an easy smile.
Ramos stiffened and his eyes darkened.
"Uh, but I do need some career advice," she added quickly.
He looked at her in silence for a full ten seconds. "Career advice." He seemed to say the words very carefully. "You're asking me for career advice."
"Well, yes. Yes, I am. You've been around here for a couple of years and I'm still relatively new on the squad. Here's the thing. Michael has asked me to be part of his new task force. What do you think? Is it a good idea?" She'd had no intention of discussing Michael's offer yet, not until she'd had time to consider it first. But it was all she could think of, spur of the moment, and it was a heck of lot better than a pathetic "I wanted to tell you I like you. Do you like me?"
Especially since he was telegraphing the answer to that question, loud and clear.
"It's the opportunity of a lifetime." His voice was flat, matter-of-fact.
"Of course." She widened her smile. "You certainly helped me put the offer in perspective. I'm glad we had this little talk." She slapped the table with her hand, prepared to stand and get the hell out of Dodge.
His hand snapped out and circled her wrist. "Devine."
Her heart stuttered in her chest and she slowly sank back into her chair. She cleared her tight throat. "Yes?" Shadows seemed to pool in his dark eyes.
"You and I. We wouldn't work. I don't do long-term romantic relationships."
"You don't do long-term relationships? Ever?" Grace found it easier to focus on the last part of his statement.
"Ever."
His assurance rankled. "So how does that work? What's the tipping point? How many times can you date a person before they move from short-term to long-term?"
He shrugged. "There's no exact number."
"Ballpark figure, then."
His eyes narrowed. "I don't date a woman longer than a month."
Grace nodded over toward the booth. "What week is she on?"
"Three." The word came out sharp and short.
"That has got to be the most asinine rule I've ever heard. What if you really like a woman and think she's the greatest thing since..." Grace waved her free hand, "hot fudge sundaes? You would stop seeing her after four weeks simply so the relationship doesn't cross your line into long term? How does that make any sense?"
"I've never met a woman equal to a hot fudge sundae, so I can't say." The shadows in his eyes gave way to amusement.
"And the women are all okay with this?"
He shrugged. "They all think they'll be the dessert that destroys my diet."
She regarded him with a bit of awe. "I see the brilliance of this. You only date successful, driven women. Setting a time limit on the relationship taps into their competitive spirit. You're the ultimate challenge. Women probably line up for a chance to make it to week number five."
He gave her an odd look. "Not one woman has considered this brilliant, Devine. Most often I'm called a jerk."
"Well, that goes without saying. You're emotionally stunted and in serious need of psychological help."
"Tell me something new." His tone was dry. "And just so you know...I have another rule."
"I feel like I'm in school again." And she hadn't particularly liked most of those rules, either.
"I don't date women from the field office. Not special agents, not support staff, no one."
"Why is that?"
His fingers, still circled around her wrist, tightened. He could probably feel the rapid beat of her pulse. "Doesn't matter. I just don't."
She thought it mattered very much, but didn't pursue his reasons.
"One more thing."
She gave an exaggerated sigh and gazed around the bar as if none of this really concerned her and she was getting a bit bored. "Yes?"
He tugged hard on her wrist. Startled, she looked at his face. Emotions she couldn't begin to name sharpened his features. His lips twisted and his dimples briefly flashed, but not in a smile. He slowly lifted her wrist and pulled her arm toward him. Grace watched, not resisting, as if her hand had a will of its own.
His eyes didn't leave hers until her hand was cradled, palm up, in his larger one. One finger slid along the pad of her thumb tracing the lines of her palm, easing open her fingers. Then he lowered his head, black silky hair falling across his forehead, and his tongue swiped across the pulse in her wrist. Not a quick swipe, but a slow, flat-tongued lick.
She couldn't speak. She wasn't sure she could move. He set her hand down gently on the table.
"We're even now." He placed both his hands against the table and pushed out of his chair. He walked to the booth, to his beautiful date, without once looking back.
Leo didn't go home with Mandy. He didn't go home at all. Instead he went back to the Pit, swiped his security card, and spent forty minutes trying to beat the stuffing out of a leather punching bag. The bastard bag defeated him. His arms felt like spaghetti noodles when he finally tossed the gloves aside, but he still hadn't succeeded in easing the knot in his chest.
"I haven't seen you this wired since right after New York." Roy Baxter's voice caused him to jerk his head around. Baxter was sitting against the wall of the weight room, legs stretched out in a relaxed pose, bottle of beer in hand.
"How long have you been here?" Leo bent to grip his thighs and pulled in a couple of deep breaths. Then he straightened and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the towel he had stuck in the waist of his sweats.
"I came in about fifteen minutes ago. I drove by on my way home from the Pub and saw your car in the lot. You want to tell me what's got your panties in a twist?"
"No." Leo walked over to the water cooler and filled a paper cup full of water.
Roy didn't take the hint and shut up. "Your little consult with Devine didn't have anything to do with vampires did it?"
Leo shot him a frown. "What the fuck are you talking about? How much have you had have to drink?"
Roy grinned. "Not enough to blur my vision. I saw you sucking at her wrist. And she looked a little pale when you walked away."
Devine. That's what this was all about.
"Mandy wasn't too happy with that little performance either, but that won't stop her from saying yes the next time you ask her out." Baxter looked disgusted. "What is it about you, Ramos?" He frowned. "Must be the whole Latin Lover vibe you've got going. Women go for that shit. And Wolfram's got the whole Viking Marauder Vibe. Why the hell is that sexy? I had to wipe the drool off Roberts's chin. Hell, if--God forbid--I tried to toss Roberts over my shoulder to ravish her, she'd cut off my balls, yet the Big Bad has her panting." He shook his head, took another drink. "The real problem is that dudes with German heritage don't have any vibe going for them. Unless it's the whole Anal-Retentive Vibe, which, I gotta tell you, isn't a chick magnet. My degree is in accounting, you know. That got me no mileage in college."
"Jesus, Baxter. Do I have to put a two-beer limit on you? What the fuck are you talking about now?"
"Shit." Baxter looked as if he suddenly had a light-bulb moment. "You've got a thing for Devine, haven't you?" He knocked the heel of his hand against his forehead. "Of course."
"No." Leo said the word forcefully.
"Anal-retentive people are very good at small details." He shot a look at Leo. "Which makes us very good lovers, in case anyone asks."
"Why would anyone ask me how good a lover you are?"
"Well, the least you could do is start the rumor. Shit, tell Roberts. It'll be around the entire Bureau by Christmas."
"Devine." Leo refocused Baxter. "What small details?"
"You were the only one who went to see that romantic comedy with her last month. Even Roberts wouldn't go."
"Devine went to see the Kurosawa retrospective with me. I owed her."
"You know she doesn't like to sit next to Jagger when we play poker so you always take that seat."
"Jagger eats M&Ms all through the game. Devine can't resist them if they're in front of her and then she feels guilty all weekend and only eats lettuce."
"She volunteered to take the field interviews over at the Lakeland Senior Home two weeks ago, even though Carter originally had you going. You told her how difficult going into those places is for you since your grandma's dementia, didn't you?"
"Carter had me down for those interviews?"
"And when she went on the late beer run last Friday, she bought the Bell's Hopslam, your favorite, even though she's a wheat beer girl."
"She said she wanted to expand her palate."
"I've been blind. True love has been blossoming before my very eyes." Baxter put a hand to his heart. "Are those violins I hear playing in the distance?" His blue eyes lost some of their humor. "She's family, Ramos. Treat her like shit and you're a dead man." No idle threat. Baxter was their best man at the firing range.
"There is no Devine and me." If he said it enough, he might believe it. "You know why that isn't going to happen."
Baxter's face went totally sober. "Are you thinking about New York? Dill was totally fucked up. Nothing that happened was your fault."
"She's dead, Baxter."
"So? Death doesn't make her a saint. Didn't Hawk say she had some kind of personality disorder shit? Anyway, that was years ago, man. Move on."
Move on. Hawk's words, too. Accept the past and leave it in the past. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly bone-tired. "Wolfram asked Devine to join his task force."
Baxter whistled. "Devine's good, but she's not tested yet. Has he got a thing for her?"
The knot in Ramos' chest tightened. He'd had no business visualizing Wolfram's face on the punching bag. "I don't know."
"Well, good for her, bad for us. I'll miss her here in Washington." Baxter's gaze was steady. "Sucks for you."
"She hasn't given Wolfram an answer yet." She'd be crazy to turn him down.
Baxter watched him. "You going to give her a reason not to go?"
"There is no reason not to go. I told her to take his offer."
Baxter set his beer aside and lumbered to his feet. "That's that, then." He picked up his jacket. "You didn't eat much dinner. Let's go get some nachos."