Free Explosive by Beth Kery Page B

known Mannero, Inc., was about to explode into flames. And Fisk had been there, as well. Thomas couldn’t help but draw the lines between the unexpected bystanders at the crime scene.
    Was Sophie somehow connected to the FBI investigation of his father?
    The thought unsettled him for several reasons, some of which he could put into words, and some which were unformed, but caused an uneasy feeling in his gut.
    The main reason he didn’t want to be suspicious of Sophie was selfish. He wanted her more than he ever recalled wanting a woman. The realization didn’t diminish his slightly queasy feeling.
    He noticed a storm brewing as they pulled off the interstate. Gold light flickered in the western sky, briefly illuminating the outline of ominous-looking thunderheads.
    Thirty minutes later, Thomas followed Sophie down a pitch-black, tree-lined lane. He admitted to himself that there could hardly be a better place than the secluded Haven Lake to get his footing after everything that had happened lately—Rick’s and Abel’s deaths, the soul-scarring funeral, the FBI’s investigation of his father. . . the exploding warehouse.
    Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to feel out the lovely Sophie even further, to spend an uninterrupted weekend with her . . . to plumb the depths of her secrets and her soft, inviting body as well.
    Fortunately, the sharp lust he felt for her would only help him in getting closer. If the elusive Dr. Gable was keeping something from him, Thomas vowed she wouldn’t keep her secrets for long.

    Sophie felt as if the entire scenario from the previous evening— had it really just been a little over twenty-four hours ago that Thomas had wandered, shell-shocked and dazed into her life?— had been reversed after they’d entered the lake house kitchen. The long drive to Haven Lake had kept her from dwelling on the explosion, but nothing prevented it now.
    She stood next to the sink, glancing up when she felt the glasses she’d been holding slide out of her gripping hands. Thomas touched her upper arm, capturing her attention. It took her a few seconds to realize she’d been standing at the sink, holding onto two empty glasses, staring at the faucet and all the while seeing that silent, expanding bright orange ball of flame and then hearing that boom rip through the night.
    She said nothing, just watched him numbly as he set down the glasses and opened a few cabinets.
    “There’s wine in the pantry,” she said, sensing he was searching for something stronger than the water she’d been about to get them.
    His purposeful, confident stride across the kitchen struck her as being the polar opposite of his appearance last night. He came out of her small pantry holding a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. She recognized the label and suspected Thomas knew his wine. That particular bottle was the most full-bodied, potent spirit she had here at the lake house. She’d been saving it for visitors and steaks on the grill.
    He didn’t fumble through the cabinets this time, but walked directly to the drawer that held her wine opener. He uncorked the wine with a brisk efficiency of movement that she admired, even in her muddled state.
    “Drink,” he said firmly when she accepted the filled glass he handed her.
    She tipped the red wine between her lips, her gaze never leaving Thomas’s stare as he did the same.
    “Sophie, what were you doing there . . . at Mannero, Inc.?”
    She shivered at the impact of his low, hoarse voice. She experienced a nearly overwhelming desire to ask him to hold her. But she needed to accept, here and now, that their potent physical attraction to one another didn’t give her the right to run for reassurance into Thomas’s arms.
    Especially when he didn’t even recall some of that volatile lovemaking; especially when he was the one who suffered so greatly.
    “I don’t know, Thomas. I just . . . I had a feeling you were in danger. I didn’t want you to go to that place. Not after what