Erin felt herself falling. Tumbling, she thought dazedly, into nothing. Into everything. As she searched his mouth for safety, she found only danger. A stunning, seductive danger that called out to her. Demanded she join. Heat suffused her, and she could only reach out for anchor. Unable to not, she stroked her hands along the chest that loomed over her, across the broad back that tempted her. When the feel of cloth tormented, she searched for more.

Her hands skimmed along beneath his shirt, and Gabriel arched with pleasure. He rewarded the discovery with tender kisses pressed to her temple, gentle nibbles along her throat. Tracing the collar of her shirt, he pushed the wide band aside and traced the bared flesh with warm licks of fire. Down, over her shoulder, the shirt fell, and he followed, unwilling to miss even a taste.

Not to be outdone, she shoved buttons from plackets, eager to feel. To know. When the white cotton fell open, it draped them both, cocooning her from the outside world. Shrouded in the scent of him, Erin tested corded muscle at his neck. Unsatisfied, she nipped at his chest, soothing small wounds with delicate flicks of tongue. He tasted mysterious and familiar. She feasted.

“I don’t care who you are,” he admitted. “I need you.”

Echoing Gabriel, she pledged, “You have me.” As they tangled together, though, Erin surfaced, hearing her promise as another lie. Reluctantly, she broke off their kiss and cupped his cheek. “We can’t do this now, Gabriel. I can’t—”

Breathing heavily, Gabriel sat back against the opposite arm of the sofa. Now, she’d said. Not ever. His blood still beat hotly in his veins, but he kept his unsteady hands to himself. “Fair enough.”

The simple agreement threw her. “Thank you.” She fumbled buttons into place. “You’re okay?”

With a harsh laugh, he reached out and gently rearranged her collar. “Contrary to the evidence, I can be patient.” Retreat won more wars than people realized, Gabriel thought. Rather than beg, he adjusted his shirt, then lifted his file and hers. “Have you made any progress on the profile?”

Erin inhaled sharply. Her pulse might be pounding, but she could be clinical. Detached. She’d explain the profile and the desire would go away. It had to. She lifted the photograph of Julian, the implications suddenly clear. “Julian’s murder was the trigger.” When Gabriel frowned in confusion, she explained. “The first murder was emotional, but it gave him the rationale he needed. He wanted vengeance, and he found satisfaction in hurting Julian. But his ego needed more. It had to be complicated. He had to convince himself that it was part of a larger plan.”

Gabriel picked up the thread. “So he researches his victim and finds out he’s an architect. He has asphyxiated an architect. Straightforward. Simple, really. This one was the one that determined what became his calling card.”