“You know what to look for? I thought I was giving you too much credit.”
He shrugged and put his phone in his pocket. “I was being modest.” Before she could stop him, he was headed to the car with the determined stride of a man about to fix a problem.
She followed, her duty weapon drawn, cursing the cold that turned her breath to fog and stabbed at her lungs.
“Roland, stop,” she ordered, stepping after him as quickly as she could through the snow. He ignored her—typical—and began walking around the car, looking for God knew what. Tracks, disturbances in the force, whatever.
“Roland, get back here,” she demanded, but he ignored her, walking around the perimeter of the vehicle, phone in hand.
“Are you crazy? He could blow it up from anywhere,” she said, imagining Keenan watching from some remote location, cell phone in hand, ready to call the phone strapped to a brick of C-4.
“Relax, Maura,” he said, holding up the phone again. “Signal jammer.”
Signal jammer? He was making that shit up. Maura let out a frustrated breath, but didn’t offer any more protests. Relaxing wasn’t an option while he was standing so close to the vehicle without so much as a bomb vest or a helmet.
“It’s clear,” he said.
Maura let out a breath slowly as he came back to where she was waiting, her gun drawn, looking out for anyone who might approach. Her Glock wouldn’t do much good if Keenan had brought a sniper, but even she knew that it was difficult to task a sniper at the drop of a hat.
He didn’t say anything. He was staring at her, his eyes hot enough to melt more than the snow that surrounded them.
Maura stared back.
He stepped forward, slid a hand beneath her jaw, and took her mouth in a deep, open-mouthed kiss.
Maura let herself be pulled into a tempest of sensation, her head tilting back as their tongues tangled, hot breath fogging the air around them. Their own mini-weather pattern made of breath and heat and the taste of coffee.
He shifted his hold so that he had her in a bear hug, her arms pinned between their bodies as she continued to keep her weapon ready and pointed toward the ground. He ignored the awkward hold and pulled her even closer, compressing her down coat until she could feel his hands against her skin, hard and hungry.
She hadn’t considered that Roland Chandler would kiss like this, all that cool reserve tossed aside, his tongue thrusting and tangling with hers eagerly. She wanted more.
Turning her head aside, she asked, “Are you sure there’s no bomb?”
“Yes.”
The man radiated confidence and certainty. Didn’t mean he wasn’t full of shit. “Okay.” She straightened and stepped away from him, trying to hide that she was out of breath. “Then let’s get the hell out of here.” She slid her weapon back into its holster.
“I couldn’t agree more.” He held his hand out to her; his fingers were reddened from the cold air.
She looked at it, puzzled. She was already standing. Maybe he wanted to escort her to the car? Taking his hand, she pulled him toward the unmarked sedan.
Behind her, she felt his low chuckle in her whole body. “I was asking for the car keys.”
Maura snorted and kept walking on the salt-and-ice-crusted sidewalk. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. “You’re crazy if you think I’d let you drive, even if it wasn’t a police vehicle.”
“Like to be in charge, don’t you?”
She’d be the first to admit that her nerves were a little shot from adrenaline, lack of sleep, and the sheer challenge of being in the presence of one Roland Chandler, but she thought that his tone carried more than a hint of salacious curiosity.
“You’re about to find out,” she replied, stopping abruptly and letting him bump into the back of her. “If you want.” What am I doing?
He caught her against him, close enough that she could feel his honesty in spite of the bulky garments they were wearing. “You know I do.” His voice was a low growl in her ear.
“Good,” she said breathlessly. “Then let’s go to your place. But I have to be back at the station at seven.”
“I don’t like to rush.” His hand wandered over her hip and between her legs, rubbing her through her jeans. “But in your case I’ll make an exception.”
“Why, thank you.” Maura intended the remark to sound sarcastic, but it came out breathless and sincere instead. He chuckled and held her keys up in front of her face.
“You’re going to need these.”
SHE DROVE LIKE a maniac, Roland decided, gripping the armrest on the door. Even for a cop, her disregard for the law was impressive.
“Should I be flattered, or are you always in this big a hurry?” he asked, his voice deliberately calm and unruffled.
She snorted.
Roland realized that not one of the women he’d ever dated would make such an inelegant noise. He liked it. He liked the look of her slim fingers gripping the wheel, the nails short and unpolished. He liked her fierce concentration and bulldog stubbornness. He liked Maura O’Halloran. And he was about to sleep with her. Usually those two factors didn’t mix. He made sure they didn’t.
“You need to turn here.” He directed her down the street of his apartment building in Back Bay. He stayed there most nights when he was working, having purchased the top two floors several years ago. It was far from his only residence, but it was the most convenient.
“See that building?”
Maura knew he owned the top two floors of a tower, but she hadn’t realized that it was the glass-and-steel spire that now dominated the Back Bay landscape. “You live here?”
He ignored the incredulity in her tone. It was just an apartment. “Go past the main entrance one block and turn right. There’s a private entrance.”
“You have a private entrance?”
He decided to tease her a little, just for the fun of it. “Don’t you?” He reached out and touched a lock of fiery red hair that tumbled from beneath her cap, letting it slide between his fingers.
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Not quite the same.”
She pulled into the drive and came to a stop in front of a metal gate. There was a post with a small display next to the driver’s-side window. She sat back against the seat and lifted an eyebrow inquiringly.
“Identification?” a man’s voice said.
Roland leaned over, deliberately letting his upper arm brush her breasts. He heard her sharp intake of breath and smelled the smoky spice of her perfume. He wanted to catch and hold all that smooth skin against his, feel her writhing against him.
“It’s me, Grover. Buzz us in.” He gave Grover the passcode and the gate began to open.
“Why the passcode?”
“To show that I’m entering of my own free will.”
Pressing her lips together, she nodded. “One code if all is well. One if you’re under duress.”
“Right.”
“You do this all the time?”
He looked at her through lowered lids, still half leaning over her. “Yes.”
She used her forearm to push him away. “Stop with the sexy eyes. I’m driving.”
“Are you entering of your own free will, Maura O’Halloran?” he asked, leaning back against the seat with a smile.
He felt her glance at him out of the corner of her eye as she started down the ramp to his parking area. He returned the glance, memorizing the pert lines of her nose—as perfect as a Disney character, but not nearly as nice.
“Entering into what, exactly?” she asked carefully, mistrust coloring her tone.
He chuckled. God, she really did think he was a perv. A rich pervy asshat who spent his time dicking around with computers and spending money. He knew her father had told her not to trust him, but this was ridiculous.
“Nothing you can’t handle,” he said waspishly. He had something she was going to handle, all right. She’d handle it just fine. He just had to remember the real goal here. Getting her cooperation with finding Ke
enan. Not the hot, hot sex they were about to have.
“Just park in any of the empty spaces.” There were several guest parking spaces along with spaces for his Rolls-Royce Wraith, the Range Rover, and, sadly, his now-charred Mercedes.
“No one person needs this many vehicles. And no one needs a Rolls,” she said petulantly, pulling into an empty space near the elevator and turning off the engine.
Roland eyed her. He knew lust when he heard it, only at the moment it didn’t seem to be for him. “Would you like to sit in it?”
He made sure to put just a touch of “I dare you” into his tone. She was a good girl, but he’d bet anything that after a life spent taking care of the people she loved, a little misbehavior was in order.
Biting that soft pink lip, she nodded and walked over to the emerald-green machine until she was standing by the driver’s-side door, her fingers running along the shiny surface. Her eyes looked drugged with pleasure, like she had a man between her legs, pleasuring her, right at that very moment.
I want my mouth on her, Roland decided, watching her fondle his car. Sooner rather than later.
Walking up behind her, he slid his hands over the cheeks of her ass and squeezed gently. “I have a better idea. Tomorrow evening, if we can have a few minutes, when you leave the station, I’ll take you for a ride if you want.”
She leaned her head back over his shoulder, her eyes finding his in the dim light of the parking garage. “Tomorrow’s Monday.”
“Yeah?”
“I haven’t seen Maddie all weekend. I need to go home tomorrow.”
“Ahh.” Roland realized again that he’d never had this problem. He’d never once dated a woman with children, hadn’t ever really been around children. “Another time, then,” he said against her lips, while lower down he used his grip on her hips to press her pubic bone against the exterior of the car. “We can drive around the parking garage and have sex in the back.”
“Sounds good to me,” she agreed.
He bit her lower lip, not hard, just enough to get her attention before pulling away. He held out a hand to her. “Come on, then. Tasting you sounds good to me, and we’re running out of time.”
Maura was not surprised that he had a private entrance to the parking garage for one of the most expensive luxury apartment buildings in the city. But knowing and seeing were two different things. Maura shook her head. Unreal. And just when she’d been starting to see him as a human being.
On top of that, he owned a Rolls-Royce Wraith. Hands down one of the most beautiful damn machines she’d ever seen, a monstrous over-the-top beast of a car.
She would have hesitated at that point, but he had a strong grip on her hand.
“Detectives first,” he said when they reached the elevator door, his eyes gleaming.
“Ha-ha.” She rolled her eyes and stalked past him, uncomfortable with such luxury but not wanting to show it. She was a normal woman with few aspirations beyond catching her brother’s killer, making sure Maddie didn’t end up dancing on a pole, and doing her job the best she could. She didn’t need or want Ferraris and private elevators.
She was aware of every move they made as they stood together in the small elevator with a marble floor and high-gloss wood paneling on the walls. He pressed a button for the lobby.
A blast of heated air hit her as she left the elevator. She unzipped her coat. Underneath, she was wearing the same clothes she’d put on that morning—jeans and a sweater. Nothing sexy here, but Roland was looking at her like he wanted to feast on her while she grew increasingly uncomfortable. What the hell am I doing?
The lobby itself seemed more like that of a five-star hotel than a residential building. A common area with modern furniture surrounded an enormous fountain constantly churned by a waterfall cascading from the ceiling. A lounge area with chrome stools and a long black walnut bar took up most of the backside of the room.
“This is the owner’s lounge,” Roland explained. “The double doors on the other side of the bar lead to a retail section. There’s a grocery store, shopping, if you’re interested.”
Maura sent him a look. “Do I look like I spend a lot of time shopping?”
“As you pointed out earlier, I don’t know you.” His eyes had dropped to her mouth, heavy-lidded and full of purpose.
A heady mix of adrenaline and tiredness filled her mind and made her feel almost drunk. “Adds a nice bit of spice to it, doesn’t it?”
“Indeed,” he replied in complete seriousness. “Come on, the elevators are this way.”
He led the way this time, leaving her to follow. Since he wasn’t looking at her, she let her eyes trace his broad shoulders and the long, tapered length of him. He had a tight, taut ass, and a grace that spoke of constant and dedicated effort. She had no doubt that he worked out regularly. She’d felt the strength in his arms when he’d held her. Felt it, and known that he could overpower her if he wished.
When they reached the elevators, a neatly hirsute older gentleman with impressive muttonchops stood from a small stool and greeted Roland by name.
“How are you, Jim?” Roland replied. “Leg acting up?”
“No mor’n usual,” Jim replied, rubbing his leg as if to contradict what he said. He had a strong Boston accent. He eyed Maura boldly, thick eyebrows going up almost to his hairline.
Maura met his twinkling gaze with a direct and suspicious stare. This man was nothing like the crisp professional she would have expected for a place like this.
For a moment the old man matched her stare for stare, but then he chuckled suddenly, holding his belly. “I never thought I’d see the day. She’s a cop.”
Roland nodded. “She is indeed.”
Maura studied the old man more carefully. In her experience, the only people who recognized cops on sight were other cops or criminals. The old man had arthritis, his hands gnarled and curled, but there was an awareness to his stance that made her think of a team of pickpockets she’d witnessed once.
“Old friends?” she guessed, looking from Roland to the old man. Her father would undoubtedly recognize the elevator operator; she’d have to ask him.
“Yes,” Roland said with a nod. “Jim, this is Detective Maura O’Halloran.”
Jim stopped grinning and rubbed his chin. “O’Halloran?”
Roland nodded.
“Hmm,” the old man grunted, studying her again.
The doors of the elevator opened and Roland stepped inside. Maura followed quickly, feeling Jim’s gaze between her shoulder blades.
“ ’Night, Jim,” Roland called as the doors closed.
The elevator rose quickly—too quickly—making her stomach drop as they rocketed toward the top of the building. The back of the elevator was glass, overlooking the sparkling lights of the city, which dropped quickly beneath them as they climbed higher and higher.
Beautiful . . . and ominous. She felt rather like she was going to the lair of some dangerous beast.
The elevator doors dinged, opening not into a den of iniquity but into a black-and-white marble entryway reminiscent of the 1920s. An Art Deco chandelier dripped crystal extravagance overhead while two enormous flower arrangements erupted from Chinese vases atop matching ornately carved side tables inlaid with obsidian.
Real people did not live like this.
“Pretty,” Maura muttered, casting him a glance. The entryway of her house had been modified to accommodate her father’s wheelchair, so theirs held no furniture of any kind, and the ancient floral wallpaper was peeling and faded from the sunlight coming in through the windows on either side of the door. What would Mr. Billionaire think if he ever saw my house? Not that he will.
“My mother has a fondness for Art Deco,” he said as he strolled away from her.
Maura followed him, ignoring the nervous flutters in her belly. She was doing this, goddamn it.
“You let your mother decorate your house?” She knew he had a mother, but it was difficult to wrap her head around it. Sh
e’d sort of assumed he’d sprung, fully formed, from a crack in a glacier or something.
He chuckled, a rich, warm sound. “No one lets my mother do anything. She is a force of nature.”
Frowning, Maura followed him through a living area dominated by massive windows and a set of French doors that opened onto a balcony. Here was another stunning view of the city.
She stood still for a moment, taking it in. The living room looked like it belonged in an Italian palace, rich fabrics, antiques, and large mirrors. Shades of warm cream, gold, and soft blue dominated. The walls appeared to be a creamy Italian plaster. Still, despite the opulence, the overall effect managed to be inviting and comfortable. Tricky. Still, she felt like she should be wearing a long gown, white gloves, and diamonds. It was a heady feeling.
Baffled at her reaction, she shoved her hands in her pockets and followed in the direction Roland had gone. She wandered through an enormous archway into a kitchen that could have graced the interior of a Martha Stewart magazine. It was a pleasant combination of rustic and modern, mostly white, with fresh herbs in boxes beneath the windows. A large island held an enormous gas stove in the center, but there was still plenty of counter space for people to sit on the opposite side. So far not one room in his house had been consistently decorated. Even weirder, if someone had asked her what she thought Roland Chandler’s house would be like, she would have guessed something minimalist and modern. Cold. Expensive. Untouchable. Like the man.
She pulled her hands out of her pockets, watching him. He’d removed his coat and pushed up the sleeves of his shirt. He was watching her as he uncorked a bottle of wine, looking impossibly gorgeous against the backdrop of a Martha Stewart–perfect kitchen.
Maura met his gaze and managed to keep from shifting her feet with an effort of will.
The bottle made a soft click as he set it on the island counter to the right of the stove. The smell of wine and fresh herbs teased her nose. Countertops gleamed brilliant white. She could hear her own breath in the charged silence.
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