Breathless

by Nancy Warren

  And she never stopped kissing him. He thrust his tongue deep in her mouth as she climaxed, swallowing the loudest of her cries and then groaning into her mouth as she felt the deepest, jerking thrusts and then the gorgeous rush of liquid deep within her body.

  She lay sprawled atop him, her head against his chest, and started to giggle.

  “What?”

  “This reminds me of when we first met.”

  “I had a lot more fun this time.”

  She raised her head to smile down into his face. “Me, too. I thought somebody might pull the fire alarm the way I was screaming.”

  His deep chuckle rumbled beneath her. “You were smart to move into a concrete building. Good soundproofing.”

  “I should have warned you,” she said, dropping her gaze to his chest and plucking softly at the hair there. “I’m kind of noisy.”

  “I like it.”

  “You do?” She raised her head in suspicion. Was he teasing?

  “Sure. A lady in the boardroom, an animal in the bedroom. My ideal woman.”

  She chuckled herself, feeling ridiculously relieved. “You could go deaf. Next time bring earplugs.”

  A shadow crossed his face and she could have smacked herself. What on earth was she doing talking about next time? It wasn’t as if they’d planned this time.

  The atmosphere changed subtly, and she didn’t know how to take it back to the comfort level they both clearly preferred. Fortunately, he did that for her.

  “I think I just proved my point. You and I had sex, while we’re working together.”

  A huge sigh of relief escaped her lips, followed by an uppity look. “No. We didn’t.”

  “I had my cock inside you and we both climaxed.” He nipped her lower lip.

  “That absolutely did not count.”

  His lips quirked. “Why not?”

  “We were standing up. Then we were on the floor. Besides, nobody has sex in the kitchen.”

  “Just for the record, let’s say we were to have carnal relations in your bed. In the—” he scratched the emerging stubble on his chin and glanced at her like a poker player gauging what was in her hand “—missionary position.”

  “That would probably count,” she had to agree. With a little prickle of unease she realized he could slip into her life and heart, just as easily as he could slip her into the missionary position. Or any other position he cared to name.

  What had happened earlier could be put down to reaction from the stress and danger of almost being hit by a car. If they carried on and made love all afternoon in her bed…

  She glanced at the kitchen clock before he did anything that would crumble all her willpower. Something really underhanded. Like kiss her. Or touch her. Or even look at her with that sexy expression in her eyes.

  She was strong, but she had her limits.

  “It’s after one,” she told him. “We should get back to work. Can you wait for me while I change?”

  “You’re not going back to work today.” The bright green eyes were telegraphing “storm warning,” and with a pang she realized their sexy idyll was over.

  “That hit-and-run was no accident. Somebody tried to murder you.”

  Murder. That was a word for grisly novels, TV dramas and sensational newspaper headlines. It wasn’t a word for people like her, ordinary women who worked in banks. “In your line of work, you must see murders all the time. But honestly, it doesn’t happen in my world.”

  11

  “SOPHIE, THIS ISN’T like your sex game, where you can choose whether it counts or not. This is serious. You were almost killed today, deliberately. Take a vacation.”

  “It was a crazy driver, that’s all.” With her free hand, she tightened the purple terry robe she’d put on after they made love. “I know it seems like a bizarre coincidence— I overhear a blackmail conversation, then the blackmailer dies, and now a car almost hits me—but coincidences do happen.”

  “Phil Britten was murdered.” He hated having to tell her now, when she was feeling vulnerable, but he had to make her understand her life was in danger.

  Truth was, he didn’t want Sophie going on vacation and he didn’t want her working in a company he was investigating. He wanted her to be a woman he’d met and liked. A woman he could take to bed for the pure bliss of moving inside her body. Of enjoying her utter enthusiasm for the deed. And going half deaf from her outrageous yells of completion.

  But it wasn’t that simple. He brushed her sex-disordered hair off her forehead, wanting to give her the comfort of his touch. Wanting to feel her, warm and alive.

  Her head jerked up and she stared at him, her rosy cheeks paling before his eyes. “Murdered? But—but you said he overdosed on heroin.”

  He shoved a hand through his hair, wondering how much he could tell her. Enough to get her on the first plane, bus or bicycle out of town, but not enough to put her in more danger. Or compromise the case.

  “He was hot-capped.”

  He saw her puzzled expression and explained. “Britten didn’t self-administer that dose. He was murdered with it. I met with my handlers yesterday—John and another guy you don’t know. The toxicology report came back and there was ten times the normal dose in Britten’s system, and it was the dope the Black Dragons have been peddling. They’d planted some stuff in his place to make it look like he was a user, but he wasn’t.”

  “Oh, my God. So, it wasn’t a coincidence after all? But…” She glared at him, as though realizing he’d been holding out on her. “You’d better tell me everything.”

  He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to. He didn’t want her having information that could endanger her, but now it seemed she was already in grave danger. “The Black Dragons are using your bank to launder money, Sophie. We’ve been interested in the Investment Bank of Vancouver for a while.”

  Once more a flush mounted her cheeks, but this time it was anger, not sexual satisfaction causing the glow. Her eyes sparkled with outrage. “This gang is using our bank to launder money?”

  “Yep.”

  “But that’s—”

  “Hard to believe, I know. We’ve thought for a while they must have someone on the inside. Maybe several someones.”

  She rose, and he stepped back to give her space. She paced the kitchen floor in her bare feet. “So, Phil must have found out who their inside person is. That’s what the blackmail was about. And instead of paying him off, they killed him.”

  He nodded. “And today you were almost killed. Are you convinced now that you need a vacation?”

  She poured two glasses of water and handed him one. He didn’t think she was thirsty so much as stalling for time. “You think someone would try and kill me right outside my office in broad daylight?” She shook her head. “It’s not logical.”

  He understood she wanted him to make her believe that her life wasn’t in danger, and he wished like hell he could do that. But she was in danger. Maybe if her close escape from death hadn’t made him sick with worry and anger, he could have left her alone, but he hadn’t been able to resist when she’d turned to him. Now that they’d made love, he was doubly determined to get her safely out of the way.

  But, instead of being reasonable and cooperative, she was being her usual stubborn self.

  “If that was a hit-and-run, why did they do it in broad daylight when people were all around?”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and went to work convincing her. “Okay. How would you do it?”

  Her forehead creased in puzzlement. Then she stared at him as though she had serious doubts about his sanity. “You mean how would I plan a hit-and-run attack on myself?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I’d get me alone on a deserted street late at night, and—”

  “Where do you typically go late at night that’s deserted?”

  She looked up at the ceiling for a minute. “Sometimes grocery shopping. Maybe out to dinner with a friend…”

  “There’s no pattern t
o it. A killer would have to track you for days looking for an opportunity.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself as though she were finding this exercise macabre. Which it was. But necessary. “What about the parking garages?”

  “They’re both secure. Sure, he could hit you, but there’s no way it could be made to look like an accident, like Phil’s death.” The official word on Britten’s death, the one given to the media and circulated at the investment bank, was that another unfortunate accidental overdose had occurred.

  “You go for coffee across the street every single day about the same time.” He hated to rub her nose in her own fear but he had to. “Anybody at the bank could pass on that information to the triad.”

  “Anybody at the bank,” she said in a hollow voice. “Like the person I overheard Phil talking to. He must have passed on to the triad that Phil was trying to blackmail him. And they killed poor Phil.”

  He squeezed her shoulder. She didn’t need him to confirm what she’d already figured out for herself.

  “But why would they want to kill me?”

  He’d been wondering that ever since he’d heard the garbled reports of Sophie’s near accident and he’d raced to make certain she was all right. “Maybe they found out you overheard the conversation. Or it was enough that you went to visit Phil the morning he was found dead.”

  She sent him a cool glance. “Or we were seen going into the chairman’s office when you searched it.”

  “Yeah.” He liked that possibility least. It meant he’d dragged Sophie into danger. “If Forsyth’s office has a surveillance camera, it’s a sophisticated one and it’s not hooked up to the central security system.” Which suggested Forsyth had private surveillance. Blake had taken a quick look before searching the office, but he hadn’t found anything. Didn’t mean there wasn’t something there, though.

  “So far, everything we’ve picked up from the phone tap and bug has been legitimate work or personal business, which means that Forsyth is innocent, or he knows his office is being monitored.”

  Sophie seemed to be thinking deeply. He hoped she was trying to decide between the Caribbean and Europe. Then she shook her head. “I had a hard enough time thinking Mr. Forsyth could steal from the bank, but I’m certain he wouldn’t take money from drug dealers. In any case, he’s well-off, and I believe his wife comes from money. He’s on all sorts of charity boards.”

  “You’d be surprised the trouble people can get themselves into.”

  “Well, if the triad’s on to me, they’re probably on to you, too.”

  “I’m trained for this stuff. You’re not. I’m telling you to take a vacation.” He couldn’t keep the frustration out of his tone. Couldn’t she see he wanted her safe?

  “Is that a cop or my lover talking?”

  If she’d kicked him in the privates she couldn’t have more effectively taken his breath away. Because she was right. Physical attraction clouded the judgment and completely changed the dynamics between them. Would she argue with John like this? Or Kimberly? “Sleeping with you was a terrible idea,” he groaned.

  He felt her stiffen, and immediately realized his words weren’t exactly going to win him any romantic-man-of-the-year awards. He looked down into her sexy-sweet face. “Hey, Sophie—”

  “I’d say your lunch hour’s over,” she said.

  “Look, I didn’t mean… The sex was great. Fantastic. But I’m a cop on a case. I’m not your boyfriend.”

  “I don’t recall asking you to be my boyfriend.” She gave the word the emphasis of a whiny high school student.

  “Please, take a vacation.”

  Her blue eyes seemed to focus inward. After a full minute, she shook her head. “I don’t run and I don’t quit. Besides, you need a partner inside. Maybe I could have done more to help Phil, maybe I can stop other people from dying. There are decent people working for the bank. Decent people invest with us. I’m staying.”

  “But you’re in danger.”

  She turned to him. “Now that I know there’s danger, I’ll be extra careful. Besides, you’re a cop. It’s your job to protect me.”

  “CAN’T YOU GO BACK OVER Phil’s recent files and see if something looks suspicious?” Sophie asked Blake. They’d accidentally bumped into each other when, just as she was about to cross the street for her coffee, she saw him swinging toward her on crutches, balancing a huge take-out cup.

  He’d got her coffee for her. The gesture was domineering, high-handed, interfering and so sweet she wanted to kiss him right there on the sidewalk.

  Blake rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been through everything. Plus Ruby’s assigned me a bunch of her bureaucratic busywork and spends half her day checking up on me.”

  “Welcome to banking,” Sophie said, unable to hide her smirk at his grumpy face. She sipped her coffee and took a step back toward the bank building. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “Wait. I want to ask you a couple of questions.”

  She glanced up and down the sidewalk. “I don’t want anyone getting any ideas. They might think we’re…” She flushed uncomfortably.

  “We’re what? Seeing each other? Having sex? You can explain that it doesn’t count in a closet,” he dropped his voice to a husky almost-whisper, and moved a step closer until his ugly green tie was hanging in her personal space, “or if we do it standing up.”

  Suddenly there didn’t seem to be enough air in downtown Vancouver. Warmth pooled in her belly at the images his words evoked. Still, she was at work and this was her career. “I don’t want people getting ideas about us.”

  He snapped his fingers as though he’d just discovered the answer to a baffling question. “Sure we do.”

  “Do what?”

  “We want people getting ideas about us. Thinking we’re an item. Don’t you see? It means we can chat privately without anyone thinking it odd that the manager of HR is whispering to a lowly assistant account manager. If they think it’s sweet nothings…” He shrugged.

  “What about my reputation? My career?”

  “You’re missing the best part of the plan. In a couple of weeks, when this is over, I quit my job. Giving as my reason my growing attachment to a fellow employee. We’ll look so damned noble you’ll end up with a promotion.”

  “I have a strict personal policy—”

  “We won’t really do it.” The devil danced in his eyes. “Not in a way that counts.”

  She was trying to disengage her brain from her pelvis when he leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips, thereby shutting down her brain completely.

  She wasn’t at all sure about Blake’s brilliant plan to “pretend” they were an item when she was spending so much of her personal mental energy pretending they weren’t.

  The truth was, he got to her. He seemed as uninterested as she in being tied down. Not that she really knew much of anything about Detective Blake Barker. He had a bad temper, liked to drive and was great in bed. Well, she amended, he was great in the closet, against the fridge and on the floor. It seemed a fair assumption that he’d be great in bed if they ever got that far.

  Not much to build a character assessment on. She couldn’t even search his personnel file for clues because that was fake.

  This whole thing was starting to feel fake. Like some bizarre reality TV show. And if Blake Barker had his way, she’d be voted off the show, sent on some bogus vacation while the plot heated up.

  She wasn’t a particularly brave person, but she wasn’t so poor-spirited as to run away at the hint of trouble. Perhaps the car had meant to hit her, or perhaps it had meant to scare her, or maybe it was merely a case of her jaywalking in front of a crazy driver. Whichever it was, she was on her guard now. That had to count for something. She’d be extra careful. But how much danger could she be in? She had a bona fide cop working with her all day, security parking and she lived in a safe building.

  She’d stay away from dark alleys, make sure she didn’t stray too far alone, and look
both ways before she crossed the street.

  “What did you know about Phil at work?” Blake broke into her thoughts.

  She considered his health, the isometric exercises he’d been doing in the elevator. “He was kind of obsessive. About everything. He was into extreme fitness, and, even though he hadn’t worked here very long, he was very ambitious. Drove Ruby crazy. She wants a real assistant, not someone who’s nipping at her heels for her job.”

  “Ambitious.” He grabbed her arm and stepped back as a bike courier hopped onto the sidewalk in front of them to bypass a bus. “Obviously willing to use any methods, including extortion, to make a buck.”

  She nodded, thinking again of that conversation she’d overheard. He’d sounded gleeful as he calmly asked for a million dollars. “He was supposed to try to bring in new business, but what if he went poaching? Trying to steal business from other account managers?” She shrugged. “It happens. The more business you bring in, the better you’ll do. Maybe, while he was trying to steal their business, he found something—a loan that didn’t conform to our policy, money coming in from suspicious sources.”

  “Well, if he was anything like me, he did a lot of work on Ruby’s accounts. Maybe I’ll do a little poaching myself. I’ll start snooping around her biggest clients and work down to the smaller ones. Maybe something will jump out.”

  Edna emerged from the building behind Blake’s back. Sophie hated what she was about to do, but she had to admit, if they were going to be seen together a lot, Blake’s plan to pretend they were an item made sense. She put both hands on his cheeks and went up on tiptoe to kiss him as though she just couldn’t help herself.

  She watched his eyes widen, and warm, but before he could say a word, she said brightly, “Hi, Edna,” knowing yet another story about her would be circulating around the bank in minutes.

  She didn’t like the idea of posing as Blake’s girlfriend, but she had to admit, the deception smoothed the way for her to be his accomplice in crime-solving. Still, there was something unnerving about such a pretense.