“Santos.” His eyes stayed on her as he listened. He turned and tossed his keys onto the table by the door. “Yeah.” He turned back to Mia. “I have to take this.” He hesitated, and something flickered across his face. Uncertainty? Concern? “If you’re hungry, I can order us some dinner or something.”
It was his way of answering the motel comment.
“I’m fine. I had a bite after work.” She nodded at his phone. “Take your call.”
He took the phone into the living room, where he switched on a lamp.
Mia looked around again, absorbing more details this time. On the hallway table was a heap of unopened mail. Several fliers lay on the floor and looked as though they’d been slipped under the front door. Mia picked them up. Pizza coupons, a notice about an upcoming visit from a pest-control company. She tucked the fliers under the stack of mail.
Ric stood at the bar now. He had his sleeves rolled up and one hand braced against the bar as he spoke to someone in low tones. In the yellow lamplight, the lines of his face were sharp, and she could see the tension there as he talked. Was it his brother? Jonah? She didn’t know everything that had happened tonight, but apparently, the investigation was in disarray. She got the sense that Ric and Jonah were being set up to take the fall if the case fell apart, which seemed increasingly likely. The DNA results that afternoon might have been the final nail in the coffin.
Mia scooped up her duffel. She felt nervous, jittery. Her instinct was to organize something or maybe cook, but she couldn’t do that now. The very last thing she wanted to do was show up at this man’s home for the first time and start acting like his mother.
She forced herself to move from her spot and cautiously began exploring. The first door on the right was a bathroom, where she saw a pink toothbrush in a cup beside the sink. She peeked into the room across the hall and flipped on the light. An entire wall was papered with posters of teenage boys, which confirmed her guess about the owner of the toothbrush. A turquoise bedspread covered the twin bed. Beside it was a desk that seemed to have been converted to a makeup table. Mia’s gaze scanned the row of lipsticks and nail polishes before she turned off the light and continued down the hallway.
The master suite looked much more like Ric. King-size bed, black bedspread, a dresser topped with loose change, deodorant, a box of bullets. On the corner was a framed photograph of Ric and a beautiful young girl in a green soccer uniform. He had his arm hooked playfully around her neck as they both smiled out at the camera. The girl had smooth olive skin and thick black lashes and looked so much like her father that Mia’s heart turned over. Her gaze went back to Ric, who appeared more relaxed and happy than she’d ever seen him. Look how much he loves her, she thought, and felt a pang of yearning.
She turned away from the picture and surveyed the rest of the room. In the corner was a weight bench and a stack of impossible-looking disks and barbells. She walked over and ran her fingertips over the cool metal bar. She pictured him lying back on the bench, straining as he pressed up the weight. A memory of their night together came back to her, and her legs went weak.
She sank onto the bench and closed her eyes. Okay, honesty time. She could no longer lie to herself about what she felt for this man. She was in love with him. Not a crush, not infatuation—as she’d felt so often in the past—this was love.
But what did he feel?
You think that wouldn’t ruin my fucking life?
If something happened to her, it would ruin his life. He’d said that. But did he mean that as a cop—as in if he couldn’t protect her, he’d feel like a failure professionally? Or did he mean it as a man—if something happened to her, it would take away his chance to be happy?
She had so little to go on with him. But she did have her instincts. And her instincts told her that this man wasn’t going to be at all like what she’d pictured when she’d pictured being in love. This man wasn’t going to give her wine and roses and pretty words. He was a cop, and his hardened, streetwise attitude affected everything he did. He didn’t use words much, and when he did, they weren’t often pretty. And he sure as hell didn’t walk around with his heart on his sleeve.
But she loved him anyway. And she thought that maybe, just maybe, it was possible that he loved her, too. All of that hostility could have more to do with him not knowing what to do about his feelings than about him not having feelings.
Mia took a deep breath and gathered up her courage. Before she could change her mind, she strode into his bathroom and stripped off her clothes. She folded them neatly and left them on the counter beside the sink. Then she turned on the water, and when it was scalding, she stepped under the spray. She tipped her head back and let it wash over her, clearing away all of her doubts and confusion. She might not know what he wanted, but she knew what she wanted, and damned if she wasn’t going to try to get it.
Ric inventoried his refrigerator as his brother filled him in on the latest developments in the case. In a nutshell, everything was screwed. Lane’s lawyer was screaming witch hunt and threatening lawsuits. The only good news was that the press hadn’t got wind of the story— a circumstance Ric figured would last about another five minutes—so both sides had an interest in keeping a lid on things. But everyone on the task force was running for cover, and Ric, as Rey had predicted, was being offered up as a scapegoat for today’s fiasco.
“What are you going to do?” his brother asked as Ric grabbed a couple of beers and took them into the living room.
“I’m going to work the case, like always.”
“This isn’t like always. This isn’t anything like always.”
“Yeah, no shit.” Ric sank onto the sofa and twisted off the bottle caps. “But what do you want me to do? I can’t just manufacture evidence against the guy. I’m going to have to keep digging.” He lifted the beer to his lips and paused. Pipes hummed at the back of the apartment, and a vision of Mia in his bathtub flashed through his head.
“You know, you could be off base on this thing,” Rey said. “Maybe Jessup’s right.”
“How’s that?”
“Maybe we should be looking at someone else.”
Ric set down his beer. His brother had a point. Ric’s cop intuition had told him repeatedly that Lane was their man, but the physical evidence didn’t lie. Still, he might just be missing something. Ric figured he had about one more day to salvage the case, or his reputation as a homicide detective was trashed.
“Give me twenty-four hours,” he said.
“What happens in twenty-four hours?”
Ric had no idea, but he needed more time. “I’ve got a couple of leads left. Just don’t let them pull the plug yet, okay?”
“Yeah, sure. Like it’s my call. I’m just an agent. You want any favors, you should be working on Singh, but I hear you fucked that one up from the first day.”
“She still doesn’t like me, huh?”
“She thinks you’re a loose cannon. Plus, she’s political, and she wants to cover her ass. Just a heads up, I wouldn’t be surprised if you and your partner get kicked from the task force by tomorrow morning.”
“Stall them. I need another day.”
“What are these leads, anyway? This is no time to hide the ball.”
Mia walked into the foyer and crouched down beside her purse. Her hair hung in messy wet curls around her shoulders, and he watched her dig around for something. Her feet were bare. Her legs were bare. And she wore a gray hooded sweatshirt that looked familiar.
“Ric?” Rey said.
“What?”
“What’s this evidence?”
“Mia’s working on it,” he improvised, watching her rummage through her purse. “I should know more tomorrow.”
“You need to get real with this thing. He’s the goddamn lieutenant governor. We either have to put up or shut up, and if we don’t do it soon, heads are gonna roll. Starting with yours.”
Mia twisted her hair into a clip and crossed the living room to the kitchen.
He caught her attention and held out a beer for her. She paused and looked at him.
“Ric, are you listening to a damn thing I’m saying?” Rey’s voice came distantly through the phone.
“No.”
She walked over and stood in front of him, all warm and damp and sweet-smelling. All of the blood rushed out of his head. She took the beer and watched him as she brought it to her lips.
“Later, bro.” He clicked off and tossed the phone away. For a few seconds, they stared at each other, and she looked as if she was sizing up an opponent.
“You took a bath.”
“A shower.” She leaned over to set the bottle down, and his sweatshirt rode up on her.
That tight, strangled feeling he’d been battling all week was back again, and all he could think about was having her. He wanted to drag her to the floor and pound himself into her. And then he wanted to haul her into bed with him and do it again. And again, until he finally got this choking lust out of his system.
He wrapped his hands around the backs of her thighs and pulled her closer, watching her face to see if she’d resist. She didn’t, and he slid his hands up and found all that smooth, bare skin beneath his sweatshirt. He leaned his forehead against her stomach and cursed softly.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
He took her perfect hips in his hands and squeezed. God, he’d missed her. He kissed her through the sweatshirt. Then her fingers slid into his hair, and he felt it in every cell of his body. He looked up at her, and there it was again. The look.
A little knife twisted in his chest. He didn’t want to hurt her. Never in his life had he been so determined not to hurt someone, but he couldn’t stay away. He couldn’t leave her alone. He’d tried to be cool and distant, but it hadn’t worked at all. He burned hotter for her than ever, and knowing what she would be like, warm and pliant underneath him, just made everything worse.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“It’s just … this.” Her skin was hot silk under his fingers, and all he could think about was making her come. He filled his hands with her lush, beautiful breasts and watched her eyes glaze over. “Do you know how much I’ve wanted to touch you?”
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “You can show me.”
• • •
His eyes locked on hers as he slid the zipper of the sweatshirt down and pulled her against him. The stubble on his chin rasped against her breast, and she felt a hot jolt of lust. She held his head against her and sighed as he pulled her into his lap. He pushed and tugged at the sweatshirt until it disappeared and she was sitting on his thigh without a stitch of clothing, while he was completely dressed right down to his sidearm.
“Get this off.” She pulled on his belt.
He tipped her back onto the cool leather and jumped to his feet. She smiled at his rush to undo his belt. Seconds later, it, along with his gun and badge, had been tossed onto the coffee table. He started to lower himself over her, then cursed and jerked a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and tossed them to the floor.
She laughed. “In a hurry?”
He planted his knee between hers and leaned forward to kiss her, stroking his hands over her arms as his mouth moved from her lips to her chin to her rib cage, completely bypassing her breasts, and she realized what he was up to.
She sat up. “Ric, wait!”
He shot her a glance. “No.” And then made a dive for her navel, and she squirmed beneath him, but he held her firmly by the hips as he kissed her. And kissed her. And kissed her some more, until she saw stars behind her eyelids, and her entire world was reduced to a tiny blissful pinpoint. She was dimly aware that she should object to this, that she didn’t want to be in this heavenly place all by herself, and she took his head in her hands and moved her leg to force him up.
“Please.” She gasped. “Please, come here.”
He came back to her and kissed her thoroughly, and she was so gone for him that she wanted to weep. She felt his heat through his clothes and started jerking at the buttons of his shirt. He sat back to help her, then stripped the shirt off and threw it onto the floor. She glided her hands beneath his undershirt so she could feel the muscles there. His skin was warm, the roughness of his hair achingly familiar. He pulled the T-shirt over his head and tossed it away, and then he was back again, and she kissed him and smoothed her hands over his strong back.
I missed you so much, she wanted to say, but instead, she just touched him, reveling in his wonderful heat and the weight of him and the way his muscles bunched under her hands. She pressed her hips against him and knew how much he’d missed her, too, even if he’d never say it. But in a way, he was saying it with his long, deep kisses. With his low moans of approval. With the urgent way he clutched her to him, as if he couldn’t get enough.
He sat back, breathless, and stared down at her and she reached up and cupped her hand against his sandpapery cheek.
“What?” she whispered.
He kicked off his shoes and shed the rest of his clothes as she watched him, her pulse thrumming with anticipation. His gaze never left her, and her skin burned from it and felt feverish and much too tight. Finally, he kneeled between her legs again and kissed her breasts and her neck and then her face, and she felt the heavy weight of him pressing against her thigh. Then his breath was hot against her ear.
“You okay with this?” he asked.
She brought his mouth to hers and kissed him. He shifted over her as she braced herself.
“Mia?” He pushed up on one arm and looked down at her. She nodded.
He shifted her hips, and she felt the brutal force of him pushing inside her. He closed his eyes and made a low groan in his chest. He drew back and did it again. She pulled him as close as she could, and tears sprang into her eyes, because she was finally as close to him as she’d wanted to be. He moved above her, powerfully, forcefully, setting that perfect pace again, as if by instinct. As if he knew her, all of her, right down to the very beat of her pulse. His neck corded with tension. She brought his head down and kissed him roughly, with the same reckless abandon she was feeling with every thrust of his hips. She clawed at him, clutched at him, struggling for control as he pushed her and pushed her and pushed her into a place where there was nothing but the two of them, joined, and in a blinding flash, she knew she didn’t need control at all. She didn’t want it. She threw herself into the white-hot flame and let herself go.
Seconds or maybe minutes later, she lay boneless beneath him, her pulse still humming in her ears. He propped his weight on his elbows and stared down at her. His forehead was slick with sweat, and she wanted to reach up and touch his face, but she doubted she could move. His gaze was serious, and he seemed to be asking her something, but she didn’t know what it was. And then she realized.
“I’m on the pill,” she whispered.
“I know.”
He shifted her onto her side, and she gasped as her skin unglued itself from the leather, like a giant Band-Aid being ripped off. Then he wedged himself between her and the back of the couch and pulled her snugly against him. His hand reached over and settled on her breast.
She closed her eyes and let contentment wash over her as their heart rates returned to normal and his thumb stroked her nipple. Then his hand glided over her stomach and found her hip.
“I love this.” He stroked his palm over the curve of it.
Her impossibly wide hips? She turned to look at him over her shoulder as if he was crazy.
“You do?”
He made a sound in his throat, kind of like a growl, and gripped her skin. Then his hand slid around to her rump and squeezed. “Yep. Every inch of you.”
Her already flushed cheeks warmed, and she turned away and settled her head on his biceps as she tried to think of something to say. Actually, I’ve been working half my life to get rid of those particular inches. But she wasn’t about to lie there against his perfectly toned body and start pointing out her flaws.
She closed her eyes and let herself drift, not thinking about anything beyond the contentment spreading through her and her heightened awareness of her own body. The minutes flowed by as he lazily stroked her. She heard footsteps in the hallway. A dog outside. The distant snort of someone’s Harley tearing out of the parking lot. How quickly she’d forgotten what it was like to live right on top of people.
He kissed her beneath her ear, and it was so gentle that her heart melted a little.
“Mia?”
“Hmm.” She held her breath, waiting for whatever he might say.
“I’m starving.”
She turned to look at him as he got up from the couch and went into the bedroom. When he returned a few minutes later in a pair of jeans, she was shrugging back into his sweatshirt. It was fuzzy on the inside, and she loved the feel of it against her newly sensitized skin. She stopped by the bathroom to freshen up and then walked into the kitchen.
“You want some dinner?” He was already rooting around in the refrigerator, and she took a moment to look at him in the brighter light. In only blue jeans and with a day’s worth of beard darkening his jaw, he looked amazingly sexy. She couldn’t believe he found her so attractive—attractive enough to make love to her so fiercely that it left them both sweaty.
Of course, maybe he made love to all women that way. The idea put a sour taste in her mouth.
He switched on his stove and started melting a pat of butter in a pan, and her eyebrows tipped up as she surveyed the ingredients lined up on his counter.
“Grilled cheese?”
“Ham, cheese, and jalapeño. You’ll like it.”
“I’m really not hungry, thanks.”
Thirsty, though. She opened his fridge and peered inside. Beer and condiments dominated the scene. Out of curiosity, she peeked into the freezer. Pizza, TV dinners.
“Ben and Jerry’s?” Not only did he not strike her as the decadent ice cream type, but she never in a million years would have picked him for New York Super Fudge Chunk. He worked on his sandwich as she pulled out the carton. Behind it was a tub of Chunky Monkey, and Mia froze, staring at it. A little lump rose in her throat.
A Tracers Trilogy Page 87