by Ana Leigh
Heat and lust and incomprehensible need overtook her and she convulsed with a suddenness that shocked her. Feeling him pulse deep inside made her own release lengthen and when the storm was over, a strange tenderness overtook her that she did not understand. The hand she smoothed over the nape of his neck shook, and she bit her lip, hoping he would not notice.
She tensed when he stirred, half-afraid he would make some sarcastic comment and ruin what for her had been a wonderful, terrifying experience.
He raised his head and stared at her for a long moment. The candles flickered in his eyes, making her wonder if she saw confusion there, too, or nothing but the dancing flames. Then he bent forward and kissed her temple in a tender gesture that did not seem like McGuire at all.
"Hi," he said. She smiled. "You want to adjourn to the bedroom?"
Silly and schoolgirlish as it was, she blushed. She was lying naked on the floor of her apartment, having just had mad passionate sex all over the room with the man who she could still feel against her; yet she blushed when he asked if she'd like to go another round on the bed.
"Uh … sure," she said, then gritted her teeth at her lack of social grace. Was there an etiquette to this? She hadn't a clue. Her experiences in the land of slap and tickle did not include how to get from the floor to the bed with grace and class. Probably because once you'd done it on the floor you'd pretty much killed any hope of being classy again.
McGuire didn't seem embarrassed though. He probably did this all the time. That thought made Jessica narrow her eyes at his back as he stood. Then he turned and reached for her, lifting her to her feet with ease, and pulling her against him for a long, mind-numbing kiss. After that, when he led her down the hall, she went, and she didn't think anymore.
At least not until she drifted toward sleep in his arms, the scent of him – of them – all around her and wondered just what in the name of common sense she had done.
The sound of a cell phone going off in the distance dragged her from a deep and satisfying sleep. Blinking she looked around the bedroom. The grayish cast revealed they'd slept the rest of the night, which hadn't been much after they'd played a repeat performance – make that a double feature – on Jessica's bed.
Doug got up cursing and walked down the hall toward the living room. She heard him thrashing around, bumping into furniture and continuing to curse, presumably trying to find his pants – and his phone. Then the ringing stopped and a few seconds later she heard the low, somehow comforting murmur of him talking on the phone.
She drifted in a pleasant half awake, half asleep state until he touched her shoulder. Jessica opened her eyes to find him fully dressed, gun and all, staring down at her with a bemused smile as the light of the rising sun tinted the window behind him an orange, yellow and pink.
"Hi." Jessica shoved her hair out of her face, grimacing as she felt the tangles a night rolling around had caused.
Doug sat down on the bed and she rolled against him, the bump of their hips making her body kick into lust overdrive. She put her hand on his thigh to steady herself, and his leg clenched.
"I have to go."
She frowned at the distance in his voice and his eyes. "I understand."
"Call you later?"
Jessica nodded. Every woman's nightmare – I'll call. Yeah right!
"Sure," she answered and took her hand from his leg. He kissed her, but she could tell his mind was already somewhere else. The next time she saw Doug McGuire, it would be in a courtroom.
* * *
A night spent on the couch, and the floor, and the bed – and hadn't there been a wall in there somewhere – made Jessica fall back asleep, even when she should have gotten up as soon as the door closed behind Doug McGuire.
Instead, the phone shrilling in her ear brought her awake with a gasp to bright sunlight across the bed. Her pounding heart leaped at the sight of her clock reading 8:15 a.m.
Using some of the colorful curses she'd heard McGuire use that morning, she found the phone amidst a tower of law books on her nightstand.
"So how was your night with the real man?" Her father's voice boomed in her ear.
"What?"
For a moment she thought her father knew everything, and even though he was her best friend, and she was an adult, well, everything that had happened here last night was for no one's ears but her own. Not even Liz's this time.
"What happened with that cop who dragged you away the other night?"
"Nothing, Dad," she lied as her gaze took in the state of her room. She was certain her living room looked even worse than her bedroom. Thank God her father hadn't come over, as she had wished last night.
"Nothing! I'm disappointed. A man like that … a woman like you? In my day—"
"Dad! I'm sorry but I'm late. Where have you been anyway? All I get is your machine these days."
"Just busy, sweet cheeks. You know how it is." The teasing lilt to his voice disappeared, and Jessica frowned. Was he working too hard? Should she push him about selling Water Street Bistro and moving on to something new? It wasn't like him to keep a place so long, to be late for dinner, or to—
"That's why I called this morning. I can't go with you to the Bar Association Ball."
—not take your loving daughter to important dates like the Bar Association Ball, Jessica thought, but said, instead, "What? Dad, you can't back out on me now. The blasted thing is tonight."
"I know. And I'm really, really sorry, honey, but this is unavoidable."
"What is?"
Jessica frowned when her question was followed by a long silence. Finally, she asked, "Dad?"
"Why don't you ask Detective McGuire?"
"To the ball? Oh, that would really work. I can see McGuire at a formal event for lawyers. He hates lawyers."
"I don't think so. I read a lot into his body language the other night."
"I think you need glasses."
"What's the harm in asking him? It would be worth it just to see Wolcott's face when you show up with a real man."
"Dad!"
Her father started laughing, sounding more like himself at least, and Jessica smiled. "See you Thursday," he said and hung up.
As she lowered the phone to her lap, she realized he had never explained what was so unavoidable.
* * *
Doug hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. Another dead end. Ninety percent of murder investigations were spent on the telephone following up worthless leads.
Earlier that morning, he and Vic had checked Gilbert's old rooming house and the landlord had told them Gilbert hadn't even shown up to claim his belongings. They got the same story at his favorite bar. Nothing. No one. So they'd returned to the station to start making calls. He glanced over at Vic, who'd been working the phone, too, in time to see him slam it down and shake his head.
"No luck," he said.
"So what else is new?" Doug grumbled.
In most cases, the murdered victims are killed by someone they know – a family member or a friend. It appeared that LeRoy Gilbert had neither.
As if Vic had read his mind, he said, "Guess when Gilbert killed his girlfriend he knocked off the only friend he had. You have any luck?"
"Nothing. Nobody claimed they saw him."
"I'm having the same luck finding anyone connected to Cindy Fires. The girls she worked with all claim she never spoke of any family – but they're threatening to start a defense fund for whoever did whack Gilbert. What about the autopsy report?"
"Couple days, but the M.E. said there's no sign of a head contusion or any skin abrasions. And no neck bruises to indicate he was strangled."
"Well, it's for sure Gilbert didn't tie that plastic bag around his head himself."
"Maybe he wanted to keep his hair dry when he went swimming."
"This job's making you jaded, partner," Vic said.
Yawning, Doug shoved back his chair. After the last few hours spent on the phone, he had begun to feel the effects of last nig
ht's missed sleep. He walked over and refilled his cup. He sipped the hot brew as he stared out the window and thought about Jess.
Lord, what a night! In the twenty years he'd been having sex, he'd never gotten into it like he had with her. The two of them couldn't get enough of each other.
Jess. His body responded to just the thought of her name. He'd never known a woman like her. She gave as much as she took. The thought of her flooded every one of his senses: the image of that long hair of hers fanned against the pillow as she reached for him, her eyes full with passion. He could still taste her, hear her throaty groans of pleasure and feel the satin and heat of her. And he could smell that hundred-dollar perfume she wore.
Sweat tickled his palms. He wanted more of her. God, he was screwing himself up royally. He had no business messing with a woman like her – she was no one-nighter. What had he gotten himself into?
Spinning on his heel, he tossed the paper cup into the waste can. "Let's get out of here, Vic."
"You forget we're due in Judge Kirkland's court in a couple of hours?"
Doug stifled a groan. He had forgotten. Just what he needed – to face her in court after last night. The way things were going, he'd get hard on the witness stand. He had to stop thinking about her.
"We've got time to go back to that dive where Gilbert hung out. Someone had to have seen him the day he died."
"Yeah," Vic said, slipping on his jacket. "The killer."
* * *
Jessica saw Doug the moment he and Peterson entered the courtroom and sat down. She had to concentrate hard to keep her mind on what the assistant D.A. was saying, and fight the temptation to glance Doug's way. He was watching her; she could feel the intensity of his blue-eyed stare. She had always felt it, from the first time he'd ever entered her court, and after last night, she wondered what was going through his mind.
"Objection, Your Honor!"
The sudden outburst jolted her back to the business at hand. She had lost her concentration. Rushed with embarrassment, she said, "Excuse me. Mr. Haley, will you read back the question?"
The young court reporter, Stanley Haley, looked up surprised, as did the testifying witness, and both the prosecuting and defense attorneys. Jessica never asked for a read-back.
"Mr. Haley?" she reiterated.
"Objection sustained," she declared, after Stanley had read back the transcript. "You're leading the witness, Counselor."
The attorney continued, and Jessica leaned back with a silent sigh of relief that she hadn't made a bigger mistake. She was reacting like an awestruck Doug McGuire groupie! She dared not even glance his way now. If she saw that knowing grin of his, she'd crawl beneath her bench and die.
Finally, the witness was excused and the prosecuting attorney called the first of the arresting officers – Detective Douglas McGuire – to the stand. Now free to assess him boldly, her steady gaze never wavered from his tall figure as he took the oath and sat down. He looked as good to her now as he had last night … and the day before … and the week before that.
As usual, his testimony was methodical and concise. He always came to court with every fact clear in his mind. That was one of the first things she'd noticed about him – that and those sensuous blue eyes … the broad shoulders … the tight buns. Damn! Her mind was wandering down dangerous channels again!
The evidence of the case was clear: the weapon had been found in the suspect's house with his prints on it. The suspect had been found with powder residue on his hand and the victim's blood on his shoes. And then there was the little matter of an eyewitness.
This time McGuire and Peterson had played by the rules and followed the proper procedure to the letter of the law. This murderer was not going to evade sentencing through a technicality. Justice would be served.
As McGuire was excused, he stepped down and paused in front of the bench. "You figure out yet how to let this perp go, Judge?" he said in a soft murmur.
The pound of her gavel reverberated throughout the courtroom. All heads turned in her direction as she bolted to her feet. "There'll be a fifteen minute recess. My chambers, Detective McGuire," she ordered curtly and stormed out of the room.
She was too angry to sit down. Folding her arms across her chest, she stared out the window until the door opened behind her and clicked shut. She turned and faced him. He was lounging against the door.
"I have no control over what you say outside the courtroom, Detective McGuire, but the next time you make a remark like that in my court, I'll hold you in contempt and fine you accordingly. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Your Honor. It was intended for your ears only."
"That's no excuse. I won't tolerate it – no matter what's between us."
"Well, are you?"
"Am I what?" she snapped.
"Going to figure out a way to let this bastard – who shot his wife in cold blood – walk?"
"Not unless the defense comes up with some illegal police misconduct by the investigating officers."
He raised his hand in the three-fingered Boy Scout salute. "On my honor, I promise to do—"
"Don't tell me you were a Boy Scout, McGuire?"
"God and country, ma'am."
Anger forgotten, Jessica laughed. The man was irresistible when he wanted to be. Maybe she should reconsider her father's advice. "Doug, do you own a tux?"
What was she thinking? She regretted the impetuous words the instant she said them. It was insanity to encourage any further relationship with him. Darn you, Dad! Why did you put such a crazy notion into my head?
He blinked at her sudden change of subject, then frowned. "God forbid! Why?"
"Oh, nothing."
"Why'd you ask, Jess?"
She might have known that she couldn't pass an ambiguous reply past Bulldog McGuire. He was too good a detective for that.
"It was stupid of me to ask. You wouldn't enjoy yourself anyway."
This time he didn't blink. "Doing what?"
"I need an escort tonight for the Bar Association Ball at the Pfister."
"What about the old guy?"
For a second she had to think to whom he was referring. "Oh, you mean my … ah, he's busy."
"I see. Well, since I filled in for him last night, I guess I could do it again."
"What do you mean by that crack? McGuire? You're the most irritating man I've ever met."
He grinned. "What time should I pick you up?"
"Cocktails are at seven." Lest he read too much into the invitation, she quickly added, "But I'll meet you there."
He put his hand on the doorknob. "Okay. See you there, then."
"Don't forget. Black tie."
"Right. Ah, Judge, if I have to wear black tie, let's keep it between us."
"You mean literally, Detective?"
Arching a brow at the sexual innuendo, he flashed a grin that almost knocked the legs out from under her. Then winking, he departed.
* * *
Chapter 5
«^»
Doug stood in the hallway outside the Grand Ballroom of the Pfister Hotel and watched the beautiful people mingle. What the devil had he been thinking when he agreed to come here tonight?
He hadn't been thinking, that was the problem. Or he hadn't been thinking with his brain since he showed up at Jess's door last night.
At the very least he should have picked her up at her condo and come to this charade with her. Meeting her here had been another mistake. She was late – just like a woman.
Doug frowned and shifted away from the wall he'd been holding up. She wasn't the type to be late. And despite his efforts to the contrary there was still a murderer on the loose. He doubted whoever had done Gilbert even knew Jessica Kirkland existed. So then why was he suddenly so nervous? Why did he have the urge to go storming out of this joint and find her? Where was she?
As if in answer to his question, an elevator binged, the door slid open and a stream of tuxes and bangles poured out. Amidst the finery, she stood out a
nd for a moment Doug just observed her, dazzled despite himself.
She'd twisted her hair into a fancy knot and secured it with a rhinestone … something. Whatever it was he could see that one little tug would have her hair tumbling over her bare, smooth shoulders. He stuffed his itching fingers into the pockets of his best suit. Black, but not a tux, and he'd worn a black tie. The tie had seemed funny when he put it on. Black tie, he'd been complying with their silly little rules. But now, for just a minute he wished he'd gone and rented a damned monkey suit.
Her dress was white satin, tight in the right places, loose about her knees. The material sparkled beneath the lights, flashy but classy. Her stockings had a sparkle to them, too, drawing his eyes to her calves, which looked even better than usual above silver stiletto heels.
The corner of his mouth lifted. She could take a guy's eye out with one of those things.
She paused, and the others flowed by her, leaving her alone, hovering between the elevator bank and the hall where everyone thronged about having their preboredom cocktails.
Though he would have liked to look at her for a while longer, he approached, stopping a few feet away and tried to think of something quick and smart to say, but she must have sensed him coming and turned. Whatever he'd been going to say stuck in his throat, and he stared like a love-struck schoolboy.
She'd done something different to her face. More color on her lips and cheeks. Shadowed her eyes, darkened her lashes. The stones at her neck and ears were not rhinestones. The clip in her hair probably wasn't, either.
Judge Jessica Kirkland was… Beautiful? Yes. Classy? Definitely. Sexy? Extremely. Out of his league? Damn straight.
"Hi, Doug." She smiled and walked toward him with a scent that was part Jess and part insanity floating before her. His mind went blank and he clenched his hands into fists inside his pockets. He would not grab her. Not here. Not now anyway. "Doug?"
"Huh?" He'd been staring at her neck, wondering if he put his lips to the pulse thudding there if he could taste cinnamon and spice on her skin.