My hands fly up to his broad chest, the fabric of his flannel rough against my palms. His fingers wrap around my wrists, tugging my arms until they’re above my head, his grip locking me in place.
Warmth pools deep in my abdomen as he restrains me. My mind flashes back to when he disarmed me so easily, and butterflies erupt in my stomach at the thought of him having so much effortless control.
I suck his bottom lip into my mouth, my teeth biting down, causing him to jerk away. He doesn’t go far, just enough for our breaths to mingle in the small space between us. For our eyes to meet; acknowledgment of what’s happening whispering through the air, although neither one of us will admit to it out loud.
His free hand glides up my torso, and his touch is like fire, sending blood blazing through my veins. Molten pools of lava swirl through the center of his gaze, reflecting the heat that’s torching every nerve in my body. His fingers graze against the side of my breast, and my nipples harden, my mouth opening on a gasp.
He touches me like he knows me. Like I’m his.
Dipping back down, his lips slide against mine, and my head spins.
His grip on my wrists tightens, his hips pressing flush to mine. My insides clench as the outline of his hard length rests against my stomach, and my thighs tremble from the ache of wanting him to sink between them. His mouth skims down the side of my neck, and my head bangs against the metal, the slight twinge of pain adding to the pleasure.
He cups my breast, and the way he massages the tissue has sparks skittering through me, my brain going foggy with a need so visceral it makes my entire body shake.
“Wait, maybe we should—” I start.
His lips come back to mine. “Please,” he rasps. “Shut the fuck up.”
Anger swirls in my chest at the same moment he kisses me, but instead of trying to break free from his hold, I give in, channeling my irritation into every swipe of my tongue.
He groans, his grasp on my wrists growing slack as his free hand glides down my body, sending tingles down my spine. His thick fingers grab the meat of my ass and pull me farther into him, my stomach flipping at the motion, my back bowing from where my arms are still restrained against the door.
Our teeth clack together as he hoists me up, my legs wrapping around his waist, his thickness nestling perfectly between my legs, making my clit throb for attention.
I should stop this. I know I should stop this, but he just tastes so good, and when I’m in his arms and drowning in his essence, I’m not thinking of the case, or my nightmares, or my… anything.
And I like the way it feels.
The ridge of his erection rubs against my core and I moan, pleasure cascading through my insides. I push farther into him, starting a slow grind of my hips, wanting to chase the feeling until it makes me explode.
“Fuck.” His lips break away and he gazes down, watching me work myself against his dick.
My thighs tighten around his hips as I move, my wrists burning from where he’s holding them tight, but I don’t complain. I’m too lost in the sensations.
His free hand slips underneath the hem of my shirt as he holds me up, sending goose bumps sprouting along my body. The feel of him on my skin shoots a flash of heat through me, my heart stuttering in its rhythm. His fingers are calloused, their rough edges creating friction that has my insides coiling tight.
I’m completely at his mercy.
He could bend me a thousand different ways, and there would be nothing I could do but thank him for not letting me break.
The thought of that combined with the feel of him—even through our clothes—is enough to teeter me right on the edge of bliss, my mind going hazy with the need to come.
I exhale a shaky breath, my middle wound so tight one touch will make me explode. I’m so close.
“Goddamn, Sloane,” he whispers. “You drive me fucking crazy.”
“Call me—”
A sharp sound pierces through the night air, muffled and far away, but enough to penetrate the moment, and I swallow down the words I was about to say.
Lincoln rips himself from my arms, his face dropping as logic filters back in, his hand sliding over his mouth as if he’s trying to wipe away the remnants of my kiss.
My eyes narrow as I try to catch my breath. And my sanity. “You don’t have to look so disgusted.”
His jaw locks as he adjusts himself, then bends to pick up his notebook. “That will never happen again.”
The sharp sting of his rejection slaps against my face, and my defenses rise, locking back into place; reinforced and stronger.
“Fine by me.” I cross my arms.
His nostrils flare. “Fine.”
“Great,” I bite back.
He tilts his head to the ceiling. “Christ. Do you always need to have the last word?”
I inhale, annoyance lancing beneath my skin like needles. “Why do you insi—”
Another sharp cry pierces the air, both of us spinning toward the stairs.
“What the hell was that?” I ask.
Lincoln’s back straightens and he glances at me, his fingers rubbing at the scruff of his jaw. “I don’t know.”
“Sounded like a scream.”
He huffs. “No shit, Detective.”
“Can you just not right now, please?” I blow out a heavy breath, running my hand through my hair before straightening my clothes. “I’m going to check things out.”
Lincoln’s brows draw in, and I spin to leave, but before my foot can move to step down, his strong grip pulls me back, my body flying against him.
My stomach tightens, the heat of him wrapping around me like a blanket.
“If you think I’m letting you go out there alone, you really are fucking crazy.”
“Fine,” I say. “You can come.”
He scoffs. “I wasn’t asking your permission.”
I rip myself out of his arms, turning to give him a wide grin. “Just make sure to stay out of my way.”
Walking down the lighthouse steps, my heart pounds in my ears, adrenaline rushing through my veins. But there’s a twinge of something else. Something foreign and dark. It makes me feel like I’m forgetting something important.
Something vital.
I brush off the feeling, rushing through the main room at the bottom and hurrying out the door, an anxious energy propelling me forward into the cold night air.
“Sloane, wait up.” Lincoln’s voice cuts through the silence, his footsteps loud on the gravel as he jogs behind me, but I ignore him, picking up the pace when I see something at the edge of the drive right next to my car.
My heart thumps erratically against my ribs, my stomach tensing in knots as I make my way closer, and I squint my eyes trying to make out the object in the dark of the night.
“I said to—” Lincoln stops short, his hand reaching out and gripping my arm, physically stopping me from being able to move forward. But it doesn’t matter.
I’m frozen in place. There’s definitely something next to my car.
Exhaling a shaky breath, I swallow down the nerves, my hand going to my holster and pulling my gun as I shrug out of his grasp and make my way forward. “Lincoln,” I say slowly. “Do you see anything? Anyone?”
My eyes glance around at the surrounding area, but the darkness is thick, and the clouds are too, making even the stars seem dim in the night sky.
“No, just…” he trails off as we approach the body.
Because that’s what it is.
A body.
With a ripped shirt and a bloody phrase carved through her middle.
Signasti fatum tuum.
Chapter 13
Gabe makes a face as he uses his flashlight to peek under the plastic tarp, then leans back on his heels to jot something down in his notepad.
He’d been just down the road, sipping pumpkin cider at the diner his wife works at, when we called in the body. After hearing the location on the scanner, he got back here as quickly as he could, figuring
I’d still be around.
Technically, that should mean we’re close to finishing up with the preliminary investigation, and yet as he takes another swig from his to-go cup, it doesn’t feel like there’s an end in sight.
“I took French in high school,” he says after a beat, glancing up at us from where he’s crouched beside Sloane’s car. “Remind me of Latin’s significance?”
“It’s only the entire basis for our country’s legal jargon,” Sloane says, crossing her arms over her chest. “Not like that’s pertinent to your job or anything.” She arches a brow, eyeing his badge. “Officer.”
“Also.” I point a finger at him. “You did take Latin. Private tutoring with Preacher Cartwright, remember?”
“Ah, yes. So we could ‘properly annotate ancient scripture.’ Must have repressed that horrible experience.”
Grinning lazily, Gabe pushes to his feet, flipping his notepad closed. He purses his lips, looking between us, and sets his cup on the roof of Sloane’s car.
After a prolonged silence, he clears his throat and extends his free hand. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Gabe. And you’re...”
Sloane stares down at his hand for a beat, not lifting hers in return. His smile widens, two rows of perfect teeth gleaming against his skin.
My stomach sinks, an anchor settling on the ocean floor, because I know what he’s noticing.
Her lips, still red and swollen from my assault on them half an hour ago. The wayward strands of hair that make it obvious someone was just dragging their hands through it.
Christ, what I wouldn’t give to be back up in that lightroom with her.
I absolutely shouldn’t have kissed her, but I suppose that doesn’t matter now. The important thing is that it can’t happen again, which means I’ll be spending the rest of eternity trying to forget the way she melted for me.
So willing and pliant the second my hands skimmed her body, as if desperate for my touch.
My dick stirs behind my jeans, the image of her grinding herself on me forever seared into my brain. I could tell she’d been close, and the thought of little miss sunshine coming undone because of me sets my nerve endings on fire.
Blinking away the memory, I stuff my hands in my pockets and let out a low whistle, drawing Gabe and Sloane’s attention.
My eyes lock with hers, freezing in a temporary battle as desire sparks between us, but then she’s turning and severing the connection.
It leaves me feeling hollow.
“Detective Sloane,” she says, finally wrapping her fingers around his. Pumping twice, she straightens her spine as she pulls away from him. “So, you’re the infamous brother-in-law?”
Gabe pouts, walking over and shoving me with his shoulder. “Infamous? Are you still talking shit about me, best friend?”
I roll my eyes, biting down on the inside of my cheek to keep from smirking. “I’m sure Daisy does her fair share. Remember that time she vented to a booth full of customers at the diner, because you stood her up for homecoming?”
He winces. “Told my great-aunt all about my nefarious proclivities, which at the time included only a senior prank where we spray-painted the high school football field pink. Which is why I couldn’t take her to the dance, since I was a little busy scrubbing the turf.”
“You could’ve just... not spray-painted the field.”
“And where would the fun in that have been?”
Sloane frowns as she watches us, tilting her head. She squints like she’s looking at a puzzle she can’t quite figure out, and the perusal makes my throat itch.
Stiffening, I sidestep away from Gabe and try to redirect the conversation. “Can we go yet? I need to feed Monet soon.”
“Don’t act like you don’t have an automatic food bowl,” Gabe says, raising an eyebrow as he turns away and heads back over to the body. He puts his hands on his hips and scans the horizon, staring down the empty street for several minutes in silence.
A lone streetlight is our only direct source of light, and the glow obscures the rest of the property. We can only hear the ocean below.
I glance at Sloane, catching her as she studies me with narrowed eyes; she quickly looks past me, at the lighthouse over my shoulder, and for some reason, the shift sends a shiver down my spine.
“The coroner will be here soon, presumably.” Reaching up to scratch his head, Gabe exhales slowly. “So, you said you were in the lighthouse when you heard a scream?”
Sloane nods. “Correct.”
“What were you doing in there?”
“I...” Her cheeks darken, and she gives a little shake of her head, refusing to spare me a glance. “Looking around. I came up here to investigate Paul Jensen.”
Gabe cocks an eyebrow, smoothing a hand down the front of his uniform. “What’re you looking into Paul for?”
“Because it’s my job,” she says. “And because I’m good at my job, I like to explore every possible avenue when investigating a crime.”
“Does every avenue include the topography of Lincoln’s mouth? ‘Cause judging by the way yours looks like it’s been rubbed raw, I’d say you’re doing a bang-up job.”
My jaw clenches, and I shoot him a dirty look. “Gabe, shut the fuck up.”
“Just making an observation.” He shrugs, and I feel Sloane slide away from me.
She wraps her arms around her middle, staring down at the tarp-covered body.
“All right, I’m gonna call my notes in to the station. Be right back.”
Silence ebbs around us as Gabe stalks over to his cruiser, leaning in through the door to pick up his phone. I rub the back of my neck and step closer to Sloane.
“Don’t apologize for him,” she says, shaking her head without looking at me. Her dark hair falls loose, shielding her profile.
“Wasn’t planning on it.” I rock back on my heels, squeezing my fists where they rest inside of my pants pockets.
“Who’s Daisy?” she asks after a beat, keeping her gaze trained away from me.
“Why? Jealous?”
She snorts, but it’s half-hearted. “Why would I be? Your tongue was just in my throat.”
Blocking out the mental picture of my tongue being anywhere near Daisy’s mouth, I kick at the ground with the toe of my boot. “My sister. Gabe’s wife. A royal pain in the ass. You’d love her.”
A thin smile graces her face, but it doesn’t reach those tantalizing eyes. She seems somewhat deflated, and it bothers me more than it probably should.
“Are you okay? You look a little... off. I find it hard to believe this is your first time seeing a dead body.”
“Maybe you aren’t shaken up enough,” she replies.
I pinch my mouth shut, folding my lips together.
She sighs, dragging a hand through her hair and tucking it behind her ears. “Do you think it’s weird we didn’t see anyone? This person was still warm by the time we got to them, and yet we scoured the area waiting for Gabe, and... nothing.”
My eyes fall to the edge of the tarp, where the toes of Simone Fairchild’s bright blue New Balance sneakers peek out. Another church friend of my mother’s, gutted like a fish and dumped out here like garbage.
Signasti fatum tuum.
The Latin etched into her torso is the same as what had been carved into Alta May, and the repeat MO is what I find more alarming than anything. I’m not sure Skelm Island can survive the scandal of a serial killer.
I blow out a slow breath, tilting my head to look out over the ocean as it laps at the edges of the rocky shore. Trying its best to reach us, desperate to pull souls into its chaotic depths.
The memories of all the nights I spent in this same spot as a child come rushing back with the current, sluicing through my muscles, pulling them tight.
I scrub a hand over my jaw, forcing a shrug. “We were a little occupied.”
Crimson flushes down Sloane’s neck, and I dig my fingernails into my palms to keep from admitting—even to myself—how much I like puttin
g it there. Painting her with the evidence of our attraction.
The artist in me likes the fresh canvas she provides and wants to see what other colors we can create.
But the soldier in me knows better.
Clearing my throat, I nod at the trees across the road from us. “The forest here is thick and easy to get lost in, so unless we’d been outside when they dropped Simone off, the odds of us catching the perp before they disappeared into them were slim, regardless. And at this point, we’d need infrared imaging devices and dogs to search the landscape.”
She purses her lips. “Does your police department have that equipment?”
“They don’t even have their own uniforms,” I say. “Every single one of them is a rental from an academy store out in Camden. If someone dies in the line of duty, the shop gives the station a discount for that quarter.”
Her nose scrunches up, and she’s just about to say something else when Gabe walks back over, interrupting. “Coroner should be here in a few minutes. Apparently, grabbing cider is more important than a dead body. Who knew?”
Sloane arches an eyebrow, glancing at Gabe’s cup as he swipes it from her car and brings it to his lips. “Isn’t that cider?”
He takes a drink, then grins. “Sure is.”
“I need to call my partner,” she says, taking a step away from the two of us. My gut churns violently, even though I know she doesn’t mean anything by partner. “Let him know what’s going on, so he can get back to town.”
Alex left? Pussy. Letting Sloane come up to the island to conduct an investigation on her fucking own.
What if I hadn’t been here? Would she have ended up in Simone’s place?
That thought plays on a frenzied loop in my brain, at odds with the irritation her existence spikes in me, and I try to tamp it down. Try to mask it beneath my hatred for everything she stands for, but even as I do so, the truth bubbles back to the surface, making me nauseous as I’m reminded of how much I enjoyed what we were doing in the lighthouse.
Gabe’s voice breaks through my brain’s haze, light scattering dense fog, his words making my stomach cramp. “You might want to do that later, because Paul Jensen just came out of his house for the first time in a decade.”
Be Still My Heart: A Romantic Suspense Page 9