On The Way To A Wedding

by Ingrid Weaver

  A muffled giggle filtered through the swinging door. Lauren stacked coffee cups on a tray and paused to listen to an off-color joke that made her cheeks burn.

  Sure, it was possible to have a happy and fulfilling life without sex.

  And once this hoax was over and she was no longer hiding a tall, good-looking hunk in her apartment, maybe she wouldn’t be thinking about it every other minute.

  The cane Lauren had found for him was a nice touch, Nick decided, hooking it over his arm as he unlocked the door to Lauren’s car. So was the gray beard and the baggy overcoat. If only the beard didn’t itch so much, he thought, raising his hand to scratch carefully at the angle of his jaw.

  But he wasn’t complaining. Oh, no. After what had almost happened last night, he was damn lucky she was still cooperating. Instead of tossing him out on his ear, she had made it possible for him to move around the city more easily than he could have hoped.

  He slid behind the wheel and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the rearview mirror. The disguise Lauren had helped him create was exactly what he’d needed, allowing him to blend in with the derelicts and winos he’d been questioning. Tonight he’d been wandering around the small park and loitering in the alleys near the intersection where Joey had died, hoping to find a witness his initial investigation had overlooked.

  No one had seen Duxbury, but someone had remembered seeing his car.

  He allowed himself a smile as he backed Lauren’s white compact out from its concealed spot behind a darkened grocery store. Duxbury’s arrogance might be his undoing. That silver Jag of his was too unique to go unnoticed forever. And one just like it had pulled into a parking garage in this area only three days ago.

  What was the man doing? Returning to the scene of the crime? Nick knew in his gut it was more than that. No, whatever had brought Duxbury here the day Joey died had brought him here again.

  So all he needed to do was to find out what it was and work backward from there. Lauren had said she’d work on the real estate angle....

  Lauren again. For someone who didn’t want to get involved, she was becoming a vital part of his investigation. A week ago, if someone had told him he’d not only be working with her but living with her, he would have told them they were crazy. Yet here he was, driving her car, wearing the clothes she’d found for him and eagerly wanting to tell her about his progress when he got home.

  His smile disappeared and he deliberately eased back on the accelerator. He was doing it again, feeling just a little too pleased about the prospect of seeing her, spending too much of his time thinking about her. He had other priorities here, and so did she.

  Yeah, right. Maybe if he told himself that enough times, he’d eventually listen.

  It was past two in the morning when he let himself into Lauren’s apartment. A single lamp had been left burning, its soft glow giving the plain furniture a warm, rosy hue. Nick paused, holding his breath to listen carefully, but obviously Lauren’s guests were long gone.

  He shrugged out of his overcoat and hung it from the closet doorknob, then scratched his cheek and headed for the bathroom where he peeled off the beard. Ten minutes later, yawning as he unbuttoned his shirt, he walked back to the living room.

  It was just like Lauren to leave a light on for him. That was another one of the things he found so intriguing about her. She was so cool and businesslike on the surface, but now and then she slipped up and let him see the sympathetic, compassionate woman beneath the facade.

  Then again, it wasn’t her personality alone that he found himself dwelling on. No, it wasn’t her sympathy he wanted to run his hands over, and it wasn’t her compassion he wanted to see naked—

  He froze in midyawn, his eyes widening when he rounded the corner of the couch. He’d been wrong. Lauren hadn’t merely left a light on for him, she had waited up. Or at least, she had tried to.

  His jaw snapped shut as he looked at the woman snuggled sound asleep against the cushions. Her legs were curled up underneath her long flowered skirt, one bare foot peeking out from beneath the hem. She was still wearing the same pale cotton sweater she’d had on when he’d left, yet now the wide neckline had drooped, revealing a creamy shoulder and a thin, ivory-colored bra strap. Long, blond softly curling strands of hair that had escaped from the twist at the back of her head lay gently across her throat. Her lips were parted, her cheeks faintly flushed.

  And she was undoubtedly the most tempting sight he had seen in years.

  He should either wake her up now or put the beard back on and leave. Instead, he moved to the chair across from her and sat down. Propping his left leg on the coffee table to ease his aching knee, he laced his fingers together and rested his chin on his hands. For a few short, stolen minutes, he decided to indulge himself and watch her sleep.

  She sighed, flexing her hand against the cushion in a vague stroking gesture. What was she dreaming about? he wondered as he saw her eyes move beneath her lids. Another story? Another job? Her lips moved into a sleepy pout—or could it be a pucker? He lowered his gaze to her breasts, noting the increasingly rapid rhythm of her breathing. If he didn’t know better, he’d have to guess that her dream involved something far more interesting than her job.

  It was two in the morning, and he was alone with a beautiful, barefoot woman. If their situation had been different, if she was someone else, he knew what he would be doing. He’d be waking her up. Slowly. Quietly. He’d ease that sweater farther down, run his fingers over the skin of her shoulder, brush back those silky blond strands and...

  What would she do if he took up the invitation of those moist, parted lips, if he pressed his mouth to hers while she was still sleep-warm and vulnerable? Would she taste as good as she looked?

  And what would he see in her eyes when those long, lush lashes swept upward? Would there be an answering glow, a spark of the same mindless pull that he felt?

  Or would she stiffen the way she had last night?

  Nick shifted, the chair springs whispering a mocking echo. This was stupid, sitting here and fantasizing about Lauren the ice princess. It was only going to make things worse. Tipping back his head, he exhaled harshly. It was a good thing he’d found a lead tonight. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. He pulled his leg off the table and rocked forward.

  With a murmured sigh, Lauren opened her eyes. She blinked once, then focused on his face. “Nick?”

  Her voice was low and raspy, not quite aware. And it was sexy as hell. What had she been dreaming about? Nick curled his fingers into his palms. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  She pushed herself up. Her nostrils flared delicately as she suppressed a yawn. “No, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. What time is it?”

  “After two.”

  “That late?”

  “And getting later by the minute,” he muttered, feeling his self-control slip a notch.

  “Are you all right? Did anyone recognize you?”

  She’d been worried about him. Or had she been worried about her link to the story? “Everything’s fine. No problems.”

  Her gaze roamed over him, lingering on his open shirt. “Did you learn anything useful?”

  He looked at her bare shoulder, noticing the shadows at the edge of her neckline, trying not to imagine where the shadows led. “Could be. How did the party go?”

  “Fine. Angela liked her, uh...” She hesitated, curling her legs beneath her as she tucked her skirt over her bare feet. “She liked her gifts.”

  Nick knew he should move away. Considering the hour, and the intimate mood the hushed shadows were creating, he’d be crazy to prolong this conversation. He was only asking for trouble.

  But since when did he ever like to play things safe? Rounding the table, he sat on the couch beside her. “What kind of gifts? You mean dish towels and things like that?”

  “Not exactly.”

  He stretched his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers inches from the lock of h
air that teased her nape. “What’s that mean?”

  “Angela’s friends are a lively bunch.”

  Was that a blush on her cheeks? he wondered. “What did they do? Hire a male stripper?”

  Beneath her sweater, her breasts rose and fell in a rhythm almost identical to the one of her dream. “Of course not. They gave her some offbeat things, that’s all.”

  He watched her blush deepen, and understanding came quickly. “Ah. I think they’re called marital aids.”

  “It was all in good fun.”

  “Any honey or chocolate sauce?”

  She hesitated. “Honey?”

  “Maybe you should do a story on it sometime.”

  “Maybe.” Her gaze darted toward his open shirt again, lingering for a long, delicious moment. “Let’s talk about what you learned tonight.”

  “I learned you don’t snore.”

  “I’m referring to your case. Duxbury. Did you make any progress?”

  Nick felt her gaze on his body like a physical touch. Her words might be all business, but that wasn’t the message in her eyes. “It’s not much, but it’s a starting point. Duxbury’s been back to the area several times. I have an address of a parking garage he uses.”

  “That sounds promising,” she said, her voice dropping.

  “Uh-huh. Things are definitely looking up.”

  “I’ll check the parking garage against our files.”

  “I figured you would.”

  “Yes. First thing in the morning.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Then we might as well say good-night.”

  “Lauren?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Why are you staring at my chest?”

  “I—” She raised her eyes to his face. “I’m not.”

  He lifted his hand, stroking the ends of her hair. “Go ahead. I’ll take my shirt off if you like.”

  “Nick, I...” She sighed, tilting her head as his fingers reached her neck. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “Your pulse is racing,” he murmured, pressing a fingertip to the delicate skin beneath her ear. “You can’t expect me to believe it’s because we’re making progress with the case.”

  “It’s late, that’s all. And you startled me when I woke up.”

  He moved closer until he could feel the warmth of her body soak through their clothes like sunshine. Awareness surged over him. He shouldn’t be torturing himself like this. He shouldn’t forget the frustration he’d felt the last time.

  That was the problem. He couldn’t forget the last time. Yet she still had the power to ruin everything...

  But she wouldn’t, would she?

  The realization made him inhale sharply. When had he started to trust her?

  Probably about the same time she’d started to believe him.

  “Don’t you think we’d better admit what’s going on here, Lauren?” he said, dropping his hand to her shoulder. He slid his palm over her bare skin, and a delicate tremor followed his touch.

  She glanced down at his hand, her breathing growing more rapid. “I’m not naive, Nick. This is only a natural reaction. Perfectly understandable.”

  “You’ve got that right. Not many things more natural than this,” he said, hooking his thumb into the edge of her sweater’s drooping neckline.

  “We’re both adults. Considering the forced intimacy of our circumstances, there’s bound to be a certain amount of awareness....”

  “Oh, there’s that, all right.” With the back of his fingers, he rubbed the shadowed dip between her breasts.

  “We both know it would be best if we don’t—”

  “I’m not so sure about that anymore, Lauren.”

  “What...” Her breath hitched. “What do you mean?”

  “Why don’t I show you?”

  “Nick, what are you doing?”

  “When I figure it out, I’ll let you know,” he said, lowering his head.

  Chapter 8

  At the first touch of his lips on hers, Lauren sighed with pleasure. At last. At long last. Who cared if it was wrong, or reckless, or doomed to end? This had been building for days, and it was a relief to finally let go.

  He kissed the same way he did everything else. Boldly, decisively, with an impatient energy that defied convention. He nibbled, tasted, then angled his head so that his mouth fit perfectly over hers. Lauren didn’t even consider resisting. She could no more stop this than she could have stopped the plane from crashing.

  It was the wine, that’s all. She’d had only three glasses, but it must have gone straight to her head. And then there were those gifts, and the ribald conversation. That could have affected anyone. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep waiting for Nick. And was it any wonder that when she’d awakened from that hazily erotic dream and had looked straight into his face that she would be a little... aroused?

  Nick lifted his head, a slow smile spreading over his face. “Not ice water,” he murmured. “Definitely not.”

  She didn’t even bother trying to make sense out of what he said. Her brain didn’t seem to be functioning. “They do go into dimples.”

  “What?”

  “Those lines beside your mouth.” She blinked, struggling to focus. “Nick, don’t do that.”

  He pressed his thumb to her bottom lip, rubbing lightly across the moisture he’d left. “Do what?”

  Tingles chased along her nerves at his gentle touch and her thoughts scattered.

  “Don’t do what?” he repeated, trailing the tip of his index finger along her jaw. He touched her earlobe, then traced around the pearl earring in the center. His smile grew, transforming his face from rugged to... irresistible.

  She closed her eyes, but she could still feel the power—and the passion—in his gaze. “Please, don’t smile.”

  “Yeah. I can think of better things to do with my mouth.” He lifted his other hand from the neckline of her sweater and framed her face between his palms. “Much better.”

  She drew in an unsteady breath, hoping to find some scrap of her disappearing control. Instead, she inhaled the scent she’d been trying to ignore for seven days. That musky tang. That essence of the man who kept a knife in his boot and who grieved for his family’s tears. And instead of slipping out of his gentle hold, she swayed toward him.

  He kissed her again, but this time he used more than his lips. His hands slid across her cheeks, the friction of his callused palms against her smooth skin making her gloriously aware of the differences between them. He brushed the tips of his fingers over her closed eyelids in a touch that hummed with restraint, wooing her with strength held in check.

  She could still break away. One of them should call a halt to this insanity. But then the tip of his tongue brushed her tingling lips, and she responded instinctively, crumpling the front of his shirt to pull him closer.

  A low groan rumbled from his throat as he deepened the kiss, submerging her reason along with it. She parted her lips, and the taste of him flooded her senses. Fresh. Wild. Blatantly sensual.

  Her fingers slipped inside his shirt to splay across his chest. Sensations burst over her as she felt the masculine textures, the crisp hair and the taut skin. She moved her hand, and his reaction rippled under her fingertips.

  It was a heady feeling, to know she could affect him with her touch. She skimmed her palms upward, tracing his collarbones, spreading her fingers greedily across his shoulders.

  He moved quickly, shrugging out of his shirt and tossing it to the floor behind him. Without breaking off the kiss, he fastened his hands on either side of her waist and leaned back against the corner of the couch, bringing her down on top of him.

  She had been pressed against his naked chest once before, she thought dimly. But that brief, accidental embrace on her bed had been nothing like this. Murmuring her approval, she wriggled closer.

  His hands released her waist and slipped under the hem of her sweater, burning a path upward to the hook fastening at the back of h
er bra. He opened it deftly and brushed the ends aside, then swept his fingers downward to caress the sides of her breasts.

  The boldness of his touch stole her breath. She raised her head, gulping air as she blinked open her eyes.

  His smile was sensual, as straightforward as his touch. Holding her gaze, he slipped his thumbs inside the cups of her loosened bra.

  “Nick!” she gasped.

  “Sh. Fair is fair.”

  “What?”

  “Where are your hands, Lauren?”

  She glanced down at where she had flattened her hands against his chest. Her own thumbs were scant inches away from the flat, brown circles of his nipples. She flexed her fingers, and a jolt of pleasure shot through her. “That’s different.”

  “Yeah.” He moved his thumbs another inch. “You still have too many clothes in the way.”

  “This... we can’t... it’s...”

  His hands stilled. “It’s what?”

  She inhaled shakily. “Too fast. We have to think about this.”

  A flare of heat gleamed in his eyes. “Believe me, I’ve been thinking about this since the first time I saw you.”

  “But...” She moved her hand, hearing the hushed rasp of his chest hair under her palm. Oh, God. What was it she wanted to say? “But we have to work together.”

  “So?”

  “But this... changes everything.”

  The dimples beside his mouth deepened. “Damn right it does.”

  She wished he wouldn’t smile like that. “Then you know this is impossible.”

  “Not anymore,” he said, hooking his good leg over hers. “We’ve worked together just fine for a week, and we’ll keep on working together. The only thing that’s going to change is what we do in our time off.”

  There were arguments, so many of them, but pressed so closely to his body like this, breathing his scent, feeling his warmth and his strength, she couldn’t make her brain latch on to a single one.

  She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, feeling the swollen flesh tingle. A sudden spark came into his gaze as he focused on her gesture. She swallowed hard and looked away.