Slowly, steadily, he pushed into her, every fiber of his being focused on the drag of her inner tissues against his cock. When he was all the way inside, he swore he forgot to breathe. She felt fantastic. But more than that, she felt like home.
Her hips pushed up against his, urging him into a rhythm he was more than happy to start. Over and over again, he pushed himself into her. Over and over again, he pulled himself out of her. And she was right—with every movement, she got hotter. He got harder. Their moans got louder. Their embrace got tighter. And before he knew it, his thrusts got faster. Faster and harder and deeper, until he was practically pounding her into the bed, her gasps and moans and clinging arms urging him on. It was almost too fast. And not fast enough.
Too fast because he didn’t want this to end so quickly.
Not fast enough because he wanted to make her come, damn it, and he wanted to come, too.
It had been so long since he’d felt this kind of pleasure, this kind of intimacy with a woman, and his body was reminding him of that fact, greedily reaching for every drop of sensation it could. And that included relishing every fine tremor that racked her body, and how her breaths grew more and more ragged as she approached climax.
“That’s it,” he urged. “It’s gonna feel so good when you come, Nina. Come for me, baby. Let me feel you shuddering around my—”
“Simon!” she screamed as she obeyed his command and came. Her wide eyes stayed on his even as the pleasure made them go blank. Her body jerked and convulsed with the power of her orgasm, mimicking the wild spasms of her internal muscles, which were determined to pull the same response from him.
It didn’t take long before they succeeded. He felt his release gather then push out of him with the force of a rocket ship, one pulse followed by another and then another and another until he finally closed his eyes in disbelief.
How much did he have to give her? How long could his pleasure go on?
And what the hell was he going to do when he was empty and their time together came to an end?
The end seemed to take a while. In her arms, clasped within her body, time ceased to exist. Eventually, however, reality began to sink in as their bodies calmed.
He had no idea what time it was. He did, however, realize that he was lying on top of Nina, making it difficult for her to breathe. Shifting to the side, he buried his face in her neck and held on as he tried to calm his racing heart and billowing breaths. Finally, when he felt capable of actually talking again, he pushed up on an elbow, pushed her hair out of her face and kissed her lightly on the lips.
Her eyes were closed, and she smiled as he kissed her, so he kept on doing it, taking the time to explore her mouth the way he hadn’t been able to when the urge to get inside her had been riding him.
When he finally pulled away, it was to cradle her close once more.
But then he must have dozed off...
The next thing he knew, the space beside him had grown cold. Blinking, he sat up, fully naked since they’d kicked the bedsheets to the floor. Nina was sitting on the side of the bed and pulling her shirt on. He reached out a hand to caress her shoulder, intending to pull her back down next to him, but before he could, she turned slightly and spoke, keeping her gaze averted.
“We should get going,” she said softly. “You need to work.”
She was right. He did. As much as he’d love to spend the night with her—hell, the next several nights with her, all of them in bed—he couldn’t put off work much longer. “Nina—”
She stood and turned to face him. She was fully dressed now. Her eyes took him in before she blushed and looked away again. Damn it, he refused to feel embarrassed by his nudity or by what they’d done. But even so, he knew her averted gaze, just like the clothes she’d donned, was meant to push him away and he felt her distance like a cold breeze.
And that was good, he thought, as he stood and began putting on his own clothes. It was exactly what he needed to remind himself that, as close as he’d felt to her, it had just been about sex. About satisfying a physical need for him. And about providing a distraction for her. Hell, if it hadn’t been her, it would have been some other woman, probably one he’d picked up at McGill’s. In this case, it had been her, but only because she’d needed to forget.
He’d been her drug of choice, and that was fine.
The sex had been good, but now all that mattered was keeping Nina safe, catching Davenport and solving the homeless murders. Then, life would go on. Their lives would go on. Separately, of course. They didn’t have a future together, not even a professional one anymore.
But even so, even though he fully believed those things, the air chilled even more when she spoke. “You went above and beyond the call of duty here, Simon. Thank you for distracting me. I appreciate it.”
* * *
A HALF HOUR LATER, NINA was still reeling from the aftereffects of her time with Simon but she refused to let him see that. She’d asked him for a distraction—sex—despite knowing that’s all it could ever be. He’d given her what she’d asked for.
Their time on the beach had been a respite, a chance for them to escape their worlds for a short while. Afterward, sex with him had blown her world away. Now reality was staring them in the face in the form of the winding Highway 1.
Now she had to stick with her side of the bargain.
Deal with the reality of the situation. And that meant dealing with the fact their passion had been a one-time thing.
Their time together wasn’t completely over, however. Not yet. It wouldn’t be until Simon caught Davenport and confirmed he’d indeed killed those two homeless men.
Even so, although Simon was driving her back to her house, it was only so she could pick up her clothing and necessities. And it wasn’t because he was planning to spend the night with her, either.
As they’d prepared to go, he’d said, “I can’t stay with you, Nina. And I’ll worry about you if you’re at home alone. Will you please stay in a hotel close to SIG? At least until we get a handle on Davenport?”
She wasn’t about to argue with him. Not given what he’d told her about the murder victims, and his best guess as to why Davenport had attacked them.
But what they knew still felt like only a few pieces in a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle. They needed more information. Answers. Understanding. The only way they were going to get them was if Simon found Davenport.
When Simon’s phone rang, he checked the caller ID screen then picked up. “Anything new, DeMarco?”
The detective’s voice came over the speakerphone. “Nothing good. Davenport’s still missing. The last time he was seen was by a neighbor at his house in Charleston over a week ago.”
“What?” Nina gasped.
“Nina and I both confirmed the neighbor had seen him at the beginning of this week. A friend of Nina’s, a cop in Charleston P.D.—”
“I talked to him. Officer Wade King,” DeMarco said. “He went back and talked to the neighbor again. She admitted she’d lied. Davenport paid her a hundred bucks to tell anyone who asked that he was still around.”
Simon swore under his breath, then thanked DeMarco and hung up. “This guy has gone off his rocker but he’s obviously in touch with reality enough to cover his tracks. I have reason to believe someone bribed a witness to lie to the cops about the first murder victim, Louis Cann. It’s consistent with Davenport bribing his neighbor. And both bribes are evidence of his consciousness of guilt.”
Anger tickled the back of her throat. Nina shifted in her seat, squaring her shoulders. “That your clinical opinion? Your official diagnosis? He’s ‘gone off his rocker’?”
He glanced at her with a heavy frown. “Christ, Nina, you know what I mean.”
Unfortunately, even with Simon’s stigmatizing language, she did. If Lester Davenport had indeed killed her cat and those homeless men, he’d gone far beyond grief. He could very well be a psychopath.
The thing was, the notion didn’t jive with wh
at she knew about the man. Lester Davenport had always seemed to be miserable. Depressed. He’d never had the hallmarks of a psychopath—grandiosity and clever manipulation. Could he instead be experiencing a late onset of schizophrenia? But schizophrenics were rarely violent and usually didn’t have the organizational ability to go off the grid so thoroughly, navigate around security systems so accurately they could escape detection or even bribe witnesses to cover their tracks. Something was off, but what?
“After we get your clothes from your house and I drop you off at your hotel,” Simon said, “I’ll head back to SIG. You won’t be shadowing me, of course, but I’d still prefer you not go into work tomorrow. If need be, I can call your boss and explain, but—”
“That’s not necessary. I can call my boss myself. She’s not expecting me at work until Monday anyway.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and stared out the passenger window for the next fifteen minutes until they reached her neighborhood. She tried to imagine what she’d do stuck in a hotel room, her only choices to think about Davenport and the men he’d murdered, or the feel of Simon’s body inside hers as he’d temporarily made her forget that pain.
Simon steered the car into her driveway, parked, turned the engine off and yanked the key out of the ignition. He rolled his head on the back of the seat before looking at her.
This time she looked back, and held his gaze. “What happens after Davenport is caught? Will I shadow you again?”
She read his answer on his face. Not that Commander Stevens wouldn’t authorize such a thing, but that Simon wouldn’t want it.
“Yeah,” she nodded. “Probably not a good idea.” It was for the best. He’d given her what she wanted by giving her sex. She’d known it would be a one-time thing, but already she was feeling addicted to him. Not wanting him to leave her. And more specifically, not wanting him to leave her body, aching for the pleasure and fulfillment only he could give her. Yes, indeed, staying at a hotel by herself was going to be a miserable experience. Tiredly, she climbed out of the car.
He cursed, got out and stepped up to her, capturing her arms in a gentle grip when she would have walked past him. “I just don’t think us working together is a good idea. You said it yourself. I care about you and I think you care about me. But nothing’s going to change between us. We’ll never be able to reconcile our beliefs. As much as I loved making love with you, I need to focus on my bid for management and—” Abruptly, he stopped speaking and stared through the front windows next to her front door.
“Simon—what is it?” She leaned around him but couldn’t see past his broad shoulders.
“Go to a neighbor’s house,” he ordered. “Now. Call 911.”
“What? Why?”
“I heard something from inside. Someone moving around. Give me your house keys.”
She fumbled in her purse, then handed him her set of keys.
He thrust his cell phone in her hand. “Call 911. Go to a neighbors and wait for me. Now.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SIMON SLID ALONGSIDE the outer door of Nina’s garage and headed to the front door, his gun in his hands, at the ready. Nina would call 911 and convey all the needed information, which would get him backup in about three minutes. But no way was he going to chance whoever was inside—and he was betting it would be Davenport—getting away and continuing to pose a threat to Nina. If he could capture Davenport, she would be safe, and so might another homeless person.
Simon quietly stepped onto Nina’s porch, reached her darkened front door and grasped the handle, giving it a controlled twist. It was unlocked, leaving him no need to use the key Nina had given him. He eased the door open, then made his way inside the darkened house, following protocol by sticking to the wall and thrusting his gun out at each corner.
He covered the ground floor, but couldn’t find anyone. Didn’t matter. He’d heard someone moving inside and the front door had been unlocked. Davenport had probably gone up the stairwell to the second floor. Quietly, he made his way to the foot of the stairs.
In the background, he heard the familiar wail of sirens. Backup.
That meant Nina had called 911. Good girl.
He heard a bang on the ceiling above him, then footsteps in quick succession, moving away from him. Fuck—Davenport was upstairs. What the hell was he doing? Had he heard Simon come in? Had he thought Simon was Nina, and even now was lying in wait in her bedroom, prepared to hurt her? Maybe even rape her before he killed her?
Rage pumped through Simon’s veins. He swerved around the banister and started to charge up the stairs. When he was halfway up, Simon paused, listening for hints of Davenport’s location. Suddenly, he heard more footsteps, one followed quickly after another. Moving away from the stairwell.
He was running, Simon realized—but not to come back down the stairwell. He was headed to the front of the house. Probably planning on climbing through a window and onto the upper-deck balcony that stretched across the front of the house and the side of the garage. Once he was there, it would be an easy job for Davenport to clamber down to the ground below.
Where Nina might be waiting.
God damn it all!
“Police. Stop where you are!” he shouted, reversing his direction and charging back down the stairs and to the front door, desperate to reach Nina before Davenport could. He raced out onto the front porch.
Immediately, he saw him.
A man running down the long driveway toward the road.
Simon bolted after him, gaining ground quickly. “Stop. I’m with the police! Stop now!” he shouted.
The man didn’t listen, but his flight would do him no good.
Simon was almost on him when the man turned to look over his shoulder. Simon had researched Lester Davenport and seen a couple of photos of the man. It was him!
His expression one of panic, Davenport raised his right arm, giving Simon a glimpse of the gun he was trying to swing around.
Before he could point it, Simon tackled him.
They hit the ground hard.
Simon immediately flipped Davenport to his stomach, wrenched his arms behind his back and snatched the gun away from him. With his knee in the man’s back, Simon began reading the man his rights.
“You have the right to remain silent...” he began. “You have the right to an attorney. If you do not have an attorney...”
Simon heard a sound coming from the front of the driveway. Some distance away, patrol officers were running up to help him. Nina was there, too, her horrified gaze pinned on the man beneath Simon.
Davenport looked up and saw her, as well. All of a sudden, he began thrashing and fighting Simon’s hold.
“You!” he screamed. “It’s all your fault. Your fault that Beth died. And now you think you can get away with it again? Fool people into thinking you can help them? You didn’t save that little girl. You put her in danger, just like her father says. Just like my Beth!”
“Shut up,” Simon ordered, but no matter what he said, he couldn’t get Davenport to shut up. He kept shouting his hatred at Nina until patrol officers took him away.
And from the look on her face, Nina heard every word.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
THE BLUE AND WHITE LIGHTS on the last patrol car faded into the distance. Standing in her front yard, Simon turned to face Nina. She was pale and trembling. All he wanted was to bring her inside and take her into his arms, but she couldn’t stay in the house. In minutes, the forensic team would arrive to process the place. In the meantime, they needed to get her stuff.
When he reminded her of that, however, she looked confused.
“Why do I still have to leave? Davenport’s in custody.”
Gently, he explained about the forensics team. Then said, “Besides, aside from the forensic team needing to do their job, we can’t make any assumptions. Davenport’s obviously guilty of breaking into your house. I think he’s the man who killed two men because of his daughter’s mental illness, but I don’t want
to make any assumptions that could put you in danger. I need to go in and interview him. Get him to confess he killed Cann and that second man. In order to do that, I can’t afford to be distracted. Worried. I need to know you’re safe. I can still take you to a hotel. Or better yet, to a friend’s house. Is there a friend you can stay with?”
It took her a few seconds to process what he was saying, to accept that this wasn’t over quite yet.
“Nina,” he prompted.
She glanced up at him with shadowed eyes, then nodded. “I can stay with Karen. My boss. She’s a friend, too.”
“Okay. Let’s go in and call her. If it doesn’t look like he’s messed with your things, you can grab some essentials and then I can drive you to her house.”
They both went inside.
“Mud,” Nina grumbled under her breath as she walked past her living room and headed for the stairwell.
“Excuse me?” Simon asked, on her heels.
She pointed to the faint impression of muddy footprints near the back patio door and automatically took a few steps toward them. “Davenport must’ve tracked it in.”
Simon grabbed her elbow and pulled her to a halt before she could get too close to them. “Don’t touch anything yet. We don’t want to contaminate the scene. As soon as the techs come in to process the place, they’ll photograph the prints and match them up to Davenport.” Simon frowned. “But I thought he gained entry through your front door. It was unlocked. Is it possible you left it unlocked when we left this morning?”
“It’s possible. More likely probable. He definitely came in through the back. See, the footprints are red, made with the mud from my backyard,” Nina said slowly, drawing her words out. “I’m having a new patio put in. Right now part of the backyard is covered with this red-colored earth—fill the contractor put down as a base before laying the brick. Davenport had to have been in my backyard to get this red dirt on his feet.”
Shades of Passion Page 20