by Ana Leigh
He stripped off his tie and shirt. "Feel free to do the same," he said, and sat down on the edge of the bed.
Mesmerized, Jess watched the ripple of his shoulder muscles as he removed his shoes and socks. It was turning her on. Her hands itched to trace her fingertips along the wide breadth of those powerful shoulders. Or was it just being in a bedroom with him? His bedroom. His bed. That was even a greater turn-on.
They needed some time to cool off and wind down before even thinking about having sex. So why are you thinking about having sex?
Jess took a gulp of the beer and turned away. She focused her thoughts on a blue and gold Marquette Warriors pennant on the wall.
"Marquette Warriors? I thought they're the Golden Eagles."
"They are now, but fifteen years ago when I graduated, we were called Marquette Warriors."
"So Marquette University is your alma mater."
"Yeah."
"Were you into athletics?"
"I warmed the basketball bench," he said, stripping down to his shorts. "My roommate was the real jock. That pennant's his. He left it behind."
"So the two of you roomed together after you graduated."
"Not after. We lived here while we went to school."
"You mean literally? In this very apartment?"
"Yep. Since I didn't intend to return to Illinois, I figured this apartment was as good of a place as any."
Jess almost choked on the beer she was sipping. "Doug, are you saying you've lived in this same apartment for almost twenty years?"
"Yeah. What's wrong with that?"
She glanced around at the furnishings. The room was as austere as the other room. "When are you planning to unpack?"
"What kind of crack is that?"
Doug McGuire with hands on hips would be quite a formidable challenge to any red-blooded, thirty-four-year-old woman such as herself, but facing her with hands on hips, dressed in boxer shorts, and his long powerful legs parted in an intimidating stance made concentration near to impossible. Jess swallowed hard. How could one man be so darn sexy!
"The place could use some dressing up, Doug. Other than your suits in the closet, there's nothing much here that says Doug McGuire lives here. Everything is so stark. Don't you sometimes have the urge to look at something pretty?"
His grin was irresistible. "When I do, I look at you."
Damn him, he was the most reticent man she'd ever known, but when he wanted to be charming, he was lethal.
"I have everything I need. Why hold on to something useless?"
"You're right, McGuire. No one can ever accuse you of being a pack rat."
"Material things don't mean anything to me, Jess. I have a car and a Harley. What else does a man need?"
She would like to suggest a wife, children and a home in the country, but that wouldn't make them any more desirable to him.
"What are you saving your money for? I understand you homicide detectives make big bucks because of all the overtime you have to put in. You know you can't take it with you, Doug."
"I haven't thought about it. Retirement, I guess. If I don't make it to retirement, I've made the Peterson kids the beneficiaries of my savings account and life insurance. It'll come in handy for college."
He grabbed a clean pair of shorts out of a bureau drawer. "This won't take long."
Jess kicked off her pumps and tossed her purse and jacket on the bed, then she walked over to check out her appearance in a mirror that hung above the bureau. Shoved into one side of the mirror frame was a newspaper clipping. She gasped in surprise when she recognized it at once. It originally had been of her and Dennis taken two years earlier when they had announced their engagement, only Dennis's face had been carefully cut out of the picture so that only hers remained.
She tried unsuccessfully to conjure up a vision of Detective Doug McGuire clipping the picture out of the newspaper, unless at the time he intended to throw darts at it. Or could it be he'd been as attracted to her back then as much as she'd been to him. That thought pleased her considerably more.
Jess strolled back into the living room and studied the book titles on the shelf. Most of them were reference books relating to crime solving, forensic science or analyzing the criminal mind. His taste in fiction ran to Clancy, Grisham, James Patterson and William Diehl. She glanced at his video selections. He hadn't exaggerated about liking old movies. There must have been over a hundred videos. John Wayne, Randolph Scott and Humphrey Bogart made up the majority of them. There wasn't a Star Wars or Jurassic Park among the lot. At least he wasn't a Walter Mitty dreamer.
Jess continued to sip the beer while she moved on and studied two framed pictures – the only decoration on either of the four walls.
One was Doug in a cap and gown standing between what clearly appeared to be his parents. His mother had dark hair and blue eyes. She looked diminutive beside the two tall men. Father and son were similar in height and features. The same trio was on the other picture, with the exception that this time his mother was dwarfed between Doug and his father, who was wearing a police chief's uniform.
"That was taken when my father was promoted to Chief," Doug said, suddenly behind her. He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her back against him. He smelled wonderful – the seductive combination of bay and man.
"They're a very handsome couple. You and your father are real look-alikes."
"Yeah." He nuzzled her neck, planted a provocative kiss in its hollow that sent a shock up her spine, bounced off her brain and sped directly to the source of her sex. Then he went into the kitchen and popped a can of beer.
Was he toying with her, or just playing house? Either one, she liked it.
"So what about dinner?" he asked, returning to the room. "In or out?"
"How about in?"
"You've got it." He picked up the telephone. "Pizza or Chinese?"
"I meant I'd cook it."
He replaced the phone on the hook. "You cook?"
"Wipe that skeptical look off your face, McGuire. Of course I cook. My father owns a restaurant, doesn't he?" Like her dad had ever let her even boil water in it.
"Does he?"
"Oh, didn't I mention that?"
"No. Where is it?"
"The Water Street
Bistro."
He looked at her astounded. "Your father owns that fancy place? No, Jessica, you didn't mention it."
"What's in the fridge?" she asked, quickly changing the subject before he could say more.
Jess opened the refrigerator door. Other than cans of Miller Beer, there were a half dozen eggs, an unopened package of bacon, an opened jar of pickles and another jar containing a single hot pepper floating in the brine. There was also a hunk of mold-covered cheese wrapped in waxed paper. What there wasn't was a single piece of fresh fruit or vegetable. Bacon and eggs would have to do.
Jess pulled out the egg carton. "Doug, when was the last time you ate one of these eggs?"
He was leaning against the doorjamb with his arms folded across his chest. "I can't remember. Seems like a while ago."
"I hope so, because they expired three months ago." She dumped the eggs down the garbage disposal, and tossed the carton into the trashcan. A closer inspection of the unopened package of bacon revealed that mold had started to form on the bacon strips. The package met the same fate as the egg carton. So much for bacon and eggs.
"Pizza or Chinese?" he repeated, with a cocky smile.
Jess gave him a disgusted look, and checked out the freezer. "Aha!" she exclaimed, at the sight of several frozen dinners. She handed him the trashcan. "Get rid of this before it starts smelling up the kitchen, then sit down and watch television, or whatever you do. Dinner will be ready shortly." She shoved him out of the kitchen.
As soon as the oven preheated, Jess popped in two chicken potpies and set the timer. While she waited for them to bake, she checked out the cupboards. She couldn't find a tablecloth, but much to her amazement there were two candles and h
olders in the back of one of the kitchen drawers. At least they would add a feminine touch.
Surprisingly enough she found a set of china in one of the cabinets, and in another she found a box of Wheaties. What value they were to him, since there was no milk, was a mystery to her.
The cabinet also contained a can of coffee, packages of microwave popcorn, several cans of Campbell's tomato soup, and a box of Triscuits. Every little bit helped.
By the time she had finished setting the table, heating a can of tomato soup and letting Mr. Coffee do its thing, the potpies were almost through baking and Doug had not returned from taking out the garbage.
Just as the timer went off, he came in and handed her a paper bag. "This is the best I could do at the neighborhood store." The bag contained a bottle of wine and a box of Oreo cookies.
"This is wonderful!" she exclaimed. He raised the arm he'd been holding behind him and handed her a small bunch of violets.
"I picked them from Mrs. Murphy's garden."
"Oh, Doug, how sweet. Thank you." It was too good an opportunity to let pass; she gave him a long, drugging kiss that came close to canceling out the dinner plans. Breathless, she broke it off.
"You open the wine while I put dinner on."
Jess put the flowers in a water glass and set it in the center of the table. She lit the candles, and as soon as Doug opened the wine and filled their glasses they sat down and ate their meal of canned tomato soup served with Triscuits, frozen chicken potpies and a dessert of Oreo cookies served with cups of black coffee.
It was the most romantic meal she had ever eaten.
Later as he dried the dishes beside her, Jess's curiosity got the better of her. "Who gave you the candles? I know you didn't buy them because they're white, not beige."
"A couple of years ago I was laid up and my mom came and nursed me for a week. Mom bought the candles and some plants to dress up the place."
"What ever happened to the plants?"
"They died a couple weeks after she left. I guess they missed her talking to them."
"I suspect it was more likely from lack of watering."
"You've got that right." He chuckled. "You've really got my number, don't you, Judge Jess?"
Laughing, she looked at him. "And you've got that right, Detective."
Gee, it felt good to be in love.
* * *
Chapter 12
«^»
After dinner, Jess rejected Doug's idea that they go out to a movie, and suggested instead that they stay there and watch one of his.
"Fine with me," he said. "Any one in particular?"
"No, just as long as it's not cowboys and Indians." She was in too mellow a mood for a lot of shooting and yelping.
"How about Casablanca? That's my favorite."
Jess hadn't seen it in years, so she agreed. Halfway through the movie, Doug put a package of popcorn in the microwave, and they munched popcorn and finished the bottle of wine as they watched the rest of the video.
"So that's one of your favorite movies," she said when it was over.
Doug nodded. "All-time favorite."
"I'm surprised."
"Why does that surprise you?" He stretched out on the couch and put his head in her lap.
"Because it's a romantic movie," she said, and began to gently brush his hair with her fingers. "I would have thought you'd prefer something more action-filled."
"Romantic? How do you figure? Bogart doesn't even get Bergman in the end. The movie's about how war affects people's lives. Different characters with different agendas are all brought together in Rick's Café."
"So what's your favorite scene?"
"The one in Rick's Café when he tells Sam to play his and Ilsa's favorite song. And as he's slugging down straight shots, he mumbles that classic line, 'Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.' There was a man in real torment. No one could have played that scene like Bogie."
"'As Time Goes By,'" Jess said. "That's the name of the song that Sam sang."
"Yeah, I know. Great song. My favorite."
"I suppose you're going to try and tell me the song isn't romantic, either."
He sat up. "Just because the song's romantic, doesn't mean the movie is." He quickly shifted gears. "So what scene do you like the most? I bet it's the one at the airport when Rick says, 'Here's looking at you, kid,'" Doug quoted in a Bogie imitation.
"Wrong, McGuire. I admit I always get goose bumps in the scene where all the French people stand up and sing 'La Marseillaise' in order to drown out the Germans singing their own national anthem, but my favorite part in the movie is the very end scene when Bogart and the French Prefect of Police—"
"Claude Rains," he interjected.
"When Bogart and Claude Rains walk off together and Rick comments to Louie that he thinks it's the beginning of a beautiful friendship. You get the feeling that despite all the trouble they're in, and all the obstacles they'll have to overcome, the two of them will make it." She nibbled at his ear. "So it's your favorite, huh?"
"Yeah. All-time favorite movie."
"I meant the song." She started to croon softly in his ear, "You must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss—"
His mouth cut off her words as he eased her gently back until she was stretched out on the couch. Then he proceeded to demonstrate how a kiss is not just any kiss.
Sensation spiraled to every nerve in her body, and she responded with all the fervor of her own passion when she felt the excitement of arousal surge through her.
He broke the kiss reluctantly. "Dammit!" He started to get up. "I'll be right back. I need a con—"
She grabbed his arm. "I went back on the pill, Doug."
"But what about—"
"Dennis was the only man I was ever with, and we always used protection. Just the same, I had myself tested after our breakup. What about you?"
"Same with me. I know I'm clean."
"Then why—"
"Oh, God, Jess." His hands were warm and caressing as he cupped her cheeks between them. "I've never known a woman like you, Jess." He kissed her with a devouring intensity until breathlessness forced them apart.
For the first time in their relationship, worship gleamed in his eyes as he gazed down at her. Her heart felt near to bursting, she was so filled with love for him.
The moment was so emotional that she knew she had to keep it light or burst into tears. She slipped her arms around his neck and wove her fingers into his hair.
His mouth claimed her again and the kiss deepened, their tongues teased. Slipping her hands under his shirt, she sought the divine feel of his chest at her fingertips. She stroked it, savoring the sensation.
A shiver of anticipation rippled her spine when his fingers worked the buttons on her blouse. Then parting it, he released the front closure of her brassiere and shoved the blouse and bra off her shoulders. They bunched beneath her when he lowered her back down. Sliding his hands under her, he gently nudged her hips up and slid her skirt and panties off her.
She'd been waiting – wanting – this moment from the instant they stepped into his apartment. Now, consumed by her love and desire for him, her body trembled for more of his touch.
The nipples of her breasts hardened to peaks under the sweep of his sensuous gaze, and then he lowered his head and his mouth and tongue played havoc with hers as his hands caressed the length of her and settled against the throbbing core of her sex.
And then he began the sweet massage.
Her body flooded in a tide of sensation, drowning her in the exquisite mindlessness of an arousal that scaled the point of no return. She swirled in an eddy of wanton lust, crying out his name and begging him not to stop.
"'Woman needs man, and man must have his mate,' don't they, Jess?" he murmured.
He stood up and stripped off his clothes, and then the sublime warmth of his body was on hers, his flesh bared to her hands and mouth. Now she could touch him, kiss him, palm the thro
bbing evidence of his need for her – her need for him.
As always their mutual passions exploded in an uninhibited exploration of each other that the limited space permitted, until their minds and bodies combined in that erotic dance of lovers to the music of the rhythm of their pounding hearts and the words of their gasps of pleasure and groans of ecstasy that ended in the divine rapture of release.
And for the first time in her life, Jess felt fulfillment as a woman when the man she loved filled her with the hot nectar of their union.
For a long moment she lay cocooned in the dormant power of Doug's arms and body. The pure male scent of him filled her nostrils, his ragged breaths her ears.
When finally her own breath was restored enough to speak, she asked, "Am I, Doug?"
He raised his head. "Are you what?" His eyes still burned with the passion of their lovemaking.
"Your mate."
"That's what the song says, doesn't it?"
"Forget the song. I'm asking what Doug says."
For the longest moment he stared at her with a tenderness she had never seen in his eyes before. Her heart did flip-flops waiting for him to speak, hoping he'd say the words she longed to hear from him.
Then he stood up, pulled on his clothes, and walked over and shut off the television. When he turned around to face her, the enigmatic expression had returned to his eyes.
"Doug says it's time he takes you home."
Jess sat up and started to dress. "Sounds like you're anxious to get rid of me."
"You know better than that."
"Then what's the hurry? It's not that late."
"You know as well as I that if you stay we'll end up in bed."
"Does that bother you?"
"It does."
He went into the bedroom and came back with her purse, shoes and jacket. He handed them to her and then went to the door and opened it. "Ready?"
Would she ever understand this man? They had just spent an intimate evening together that had ended with incredible sex, and now he was dismissing her like she was a whore he'd rented for the evening. She felt cheap, unclean – and confused. Was this how he really viewed her?
Jess stood up and brushed past him on her way out. They didn't speak again until he pulled into the parking lot of her apartment. Then he shut off the motor and shifted in the seat to face her.