“I don’t want to fool around like a teenager. I want to take you to bed and—”
“Fuck my brains out.”
“There’s more to it than that.” The vehemence in his voice shook them both.
“I don’t want there to be more to it than that.” She reached up and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Can we just do this? Have sex. Like normal adults? Or are we gonna screw this whole thing up again?”
He grabbed the edge of her t-shirt, too quickly for her to protest and jerked it over her head.
“Normal well-adjusted adults get naked when they have sex,” he told her. Neither of them was normal or well-adjusted but he didn’t care.
“Normal people don’t look like this.” Her hands came up to cover her torso.
“Don’t,” he said, “Please don’t. Your scars don’t bother me.” He palmed a small perfect breast and she rocked toward him. Her head fell forward, hair trailing in a long swathe over her shoulders.
Reminding him she was naked and he was pretty much fully clothed.
A fantasy come true. If he got any hotter he was going to ignite. He ran his hands over her back, skimming the area where he’d implanted the transmitter all those months ago, unwilling to draw attention to the spot but curious. The skin felt satin smooth, no hint of the microchip hidden beneath the supple flesh. Shuddering, he moved on to cradle the soft swell of her breasts with her own palm, letting her feel the beauty and sensuality of her own body. A soft moan escaped slightly parted lips.
Tracing a silver scar, he rubbed lightly the spot where it ended, right on the point of her hipbone.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
“No, I’m not.” Her head came up, fire flashing in her eyes in the moonlight. “You don’t have to flatter me. You are getting lucky tonight.”
“Exactly.” Dealing with this woman was always a challenge and when no blood circulated his brain it was downright impossible. “So why don’t you believe me when I tell you, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen?”
He held her gaze; saw distrust warring with insecurity.
“I’m going to have you anyway.” He trailed his hand lower, slowly trailing his finger down her body and then between her legs. He dipped one finger inside hot flesh. “Why would I lie?”
“Oh god,” she whispered as her hands braced against his chest. “I don’t know.”
She was slick and wet and the desire to dive inside nearly overcame him, but he wanted to give her everything, make her view sex as a thing of wonder, not a pit of depravity.
He held her in place with one hand low on her back, bringing her closer. Gently, he took a puckered nipple into his mouth, and suckled her gently, rasping his tongue across the knotted areole. A breathy moan resonated through the room, bouncing off the high ceilings. Tight panting breaths echoed the rhythm of his fingers. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, nails biting deep as he pressed his palm against her clitoris and found the spot that made her writhe in his arms. She exploded against him, lips parted, eyes closed as she shuddered and trembled naked in his arms. She slowly quieted and rested her forehead on his shoulder. The feel of her breath against his neck had satisfaction ripping through him. A vital piece of his life shifted back into place.
Desire still pulsed through him, but it was tempered by patience. He wouldn’t rush her. Wouldn’t rush them. Maybe she wasn’t ready for more—
An openmouthed bite to his neck punctured his thoughts. She reared back, a beautiful angel, gloriously naked in his lap. “You’re way too controlled here.”
“Making up for last time.” His voice was gritty, hoarse. He took a strand of silken hair and teased it across the top of her breast.
“You said last time was the best sex you’ve ever had,” she reminded him.
Lightly, he ran a fingertip over the sensitive skin at the junction of her thigh, watched her shiver. “Do you doubt me?”
The sound that came from her lips was a high-pitched intake of breath. “No, but my experience is limited.”
Marsh slid them both onto the floor.
“What are you doing?” she asked. There was enough curiosity in her voice that he didn’t stop.
“Giving you a crash course of the highlights.” He slid down her body to taste her, the scent of woman exploding into every space inside his mind. Thought fled, lust detonated through his veins and tripped a fuse inside his head.
“Oh, god.” She arched up as his tongue slipped through her folds. “I can’t believe how good that feels. I don’t think I can take it.”
“Do you want me to stop?” His words were muffled and grim.
“Not yet.” And she laughed. Thank God. It was such an unusual sound he almost did stop. Cupping her backside, he teased and stroked, nuzzled and nipped, wanting to be inside her, but also wanting to make it last forever. To make it good for her. As long as he didn’t have to think about anything else he was happy watching her control snap and fray. She stiffened, mouth opening in a silent scream, body bowed like some primal vision of femininity.
Beautiful. Sex wasn’t tawdry or dirty. It was beautiful. She was beautiful.
He raised his head. She lay panting on the floor. The dim light revealing pale skin and slender frame. Slender, but not weak.
The sight of her lying there naked drove him crazy, but he was also aware of a change in the atmosphere as she started to think again. Warning bells rang, but he was also curious. Tight, throbbing, insane, wound up like a clockwork missile, curious. The thin scars crisscrossing her body were picked out in shadow. Suddenly visions of Lynn Richards haunted his mind. He rubbed his hands over his face, sat up as reality crashed over him.
She tapped her head, voice low in the darkness. “Doesn’t matter how far away I go, he’s always right here when I return.”
He wanted to tell her they’d catch this bastard before he killed again, but he wasn’t so sure anymore. “I can help you forget for one night.” He held out his hand. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”
* * *
“What did you tell him?” His voice was raspy. The light seeped from the surrounding neighborhood through the uncovered loft windows. His skin tingled, his prick throbbed with anticipation so primal it might burst through his flesh and consume the night. The crop cracked down hard on her bare ass.
“Ow!” A thin dark line bisected her pale white skin. Color leeched in the shadows. “Nothing. Please, please! I didn’t tell him anything!” Pru Duvall sobbed against the pillow where he’d shoved her face the moment she’d walked into the room. He’d pushed her tweed skirt up and rammed himself into her until she’d begged.
Then he’d stopped.
A siren echoed around the high loft space. Agitated noise, wailing and screeching. Desperate little people doing desperate little deeds.
There was power here. It strummed through the night like the wings of a bat, silent, invisible, as tangible as the crop he flexed between his fingers.
Whack.
“Jesus.” Pru sobbed. “I can’t take any more.”
He touched her skin, absorbed a flinch with his fingertip. Pru Duvall might be a future First Lady of the United States of America, but in her heart, in her soul she was darkness and dirt.
“Please…” Her voice cracked.
He’d thought about killing her, but a little voice deep inside said killing Pru Duvall would be like taking his own life—and he wasn’t ready to do it yet.
The worked leather at the base of the crop felt soft and frayed against the sensitive tips of his fingers.
Drums beat in the darkness, but not killing drums, just excitement and pleasure—if only that could be enough for his all needs. He’d cuffed her hands behind her back. Not the velvet-lined cuffs others used, but steel bands he’d stolen from a cop when he first moved to the city. Dead cop now.
“I’m going to destroy him.” He ran a gentle finger along the abused line of skin. Power. Lowered his lips to blow gently against the skin and kiss the
pain better. Control.
Pru shivered, the whites of her eyes shining.
“Good,” she hissed.
He scraped his teeth over her perfect skin. Bit gently at the base of her spine and rubbed between her legs with the length of the riding crop.
“Please?” Her little girl’s voice fractured as she sank back on her haunches.
Whack.
“Damn you—”
He whipped her harder, breaking the skin.
Thwhack.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please, please, don’t kill me. I can help you. I’ll do anything you want.” She always did. It’s what made them so compatible.
Her Last Chance: Chapter Eleven
A slash of light cut across the ceiling as a car moved slowly along the street. Josephine lay curled against him like a cat, her head nestled beneath his shoulder and he didn’t know what he was going to do about her. Some primitive yearning had driven him to make love to her as often as possible during the night like some wild bull staking his biological claim.
And if he were honest, the thought of Josephine pregnant with his child sent a feeling of contentment deep into his marrow. Which was insane.
From an early age he’d had plenty of girlfriends. Being rich didn’t usually hinder his chances, but it did this time. This time having money worked against him. Having money would make Josephine, who snored gently against his chest, bolt like a rabbit for a safe place.
And he didn’t want her to bolt. They’d made love for hours and even now the scent of her skin, her hair, her essence, stirred desire in him. He didn’t want to lose her but he didn’t know how to keep her. She was too unsure, too defensive, too feral.
There was a clank in the street, metal on concrete, like a can rolling along the sidewalk. Gently, Marsh eased away from her warmth and moved to the window. Looked out into the street.
Dawn hovered out of reach. A man hunched against the chill of the wind, walking a Dalmatian whose tail lashed back and forth like a whip. Leaves skittered in his wake as the dog marked his scent on the metal scrollwork that lined the base of every tree.
Marsh felt eyes on him.
Who else was out there in the night? Was the Blade Hunter watching right now?
Why had the sonofabitch made this personal?
Covers rustled in the bed.
“What are you looking at?” Josephine asked. Fear threaded her voice, made his nerves tighten at the insidious threat.
“Some guy walking his dog.” He looked back at her.
Groaning, she fell back against the covers. “I hate this.”
He moved away from the window and sat on the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight. “I hate it too.”
Words didn’t help. Promising to catch the bastard didn’t help. The only thing that might help was locking this animal behind bars. Marsh moved around the bed and picked up his pants—rifled through his pockets for his cell phone.
Checking the screen, he saw he’d missed several calls, but not the ones he’d been expecting.
“I don’t understand why Agent Walker hasn’t brought me in for questioning.”
“Ugh.”
“What do you mean ugh?” Alerted by her tone he glanced up. Moving back to the side of the bed he dropped his cell next to his weapon.
“I hmm…” Josephine’s voice was muffled by the sheet.
“Did Walker tell you something?”
Josephine sat up in bed, gathered the sheet across her breasts and looked sexier than ever with her mussed hair and lush lower lip.
“More like I told him something.” She pressed her lips together and met his gaze. The moon had set, but there was enough ambient light to make out the way her eyes skittered away from his.
“What exactly did you tell him?” he asked.
Raising her chin, she swept her hair out of her eyes with an impatient gesture. Marsh recognized the pugnacious tilt of her jaw.
“He was going to pin it on you.”
Her words stirred his suspicion. “He wouldn’t be doing his job if he didn’t consider me a suspect.” And that fact pissed him off. All the years of service to his country counted for nothing. And that’s exactly how it should be, he reminded himself.
“Well I know you didn’t do it.” She glared at him like he was a moron.
Uh oh. “What did you tell him?”
“I told him you were here with me.” Defiance and certainty radiated from her.
“But for all you or Agent Walker know, I could have crept out of here in the middle of the night and murdered Lynn.” He nodded his head toward the locked door that had separated them last night.
She shook her head. “I know you aren’t that monster.”
Did Walker feel the same way? He doubted it.
Again he was getting the look like he was too stupid to live.
“I told Walker you were with me, all night long,” she said.
Shit. A rapier of anger speared through him. Sharp. Deadly. He looked away, suddenly afraid of his feelings. “You lied to an FBI agent during a critical investigation?”
“Yep.” She tossed out the word the same way she tossed her hair.
“That doesn’t bother you?” His jaw clenched so tightly he could barely speak.
“It isn’t exactly the first time.” Raised brows challenged him.
Christ—he knew that, but this was a serial killer investigation. A short breath escaped his nostrils in a burst of frustration. He was trapped. If he confessed the truth he branded Josephine with the label “liar” that might put into question every testimony she ever gave. But if he didn’t tell Walker the truth, he demeaned himself and his ethics. He’d compromised himself once before and damned if Josephine hadn’t been involved that time too.
“What exactly is the problem, Marsh?” She got out of bed, naked and distracting as hell, which knowing Josephine was her intention. “Because I thought the whole point was to catch the bad guy? Getting caught in his tricks won’t do that.” She crossed her arms over her breasts. His eyes lingered involuntarily. This woman was his Achilles’ heel and he resented his weakness.
She hesitated, worried her bottom lip. “What would I do if you were arrested for a murder I know you didn’t commit? The real killer is trying to get me alone and unprotected, you know that.” A tremor ran through her frame, cold or fear he didn’t know. He moved closer, put his hands on her shoulders, the slender bones unyielding beneath the surface of her skin.
This serial killer was playing games with the cops. “Vince will be here for as long as it takes. We can hire additional security if we need to—I told you this already.”
“I don’t want ‘additional security’ I want you.” She raised herself on tiptoes, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. He was so surprised by that unsolicited act of affection he stood there stupidly, only one part of his body reacting. When she released him his brain was blank from lack of blood.
“The Blade Hunter is trying to get you caught up in this investigation, to confuse the police and divert attention away from himself and leave me exposed.” She nipped his bottom lip hard enough to make him blink. Ouch. “That means he’s watching me—watching us and I’m not going to let him manipulate everything the way he wants to.”
He knew she was right and he knew she was also very wrong. But with one hand stroking his erection, the other curled around his neck, Josephine dragged him down to the bed and God help him, he didn’t exactly put up much of a struggle.
* * *
Marsh poured coffee from the state-of-the-art coffeemaker in Josephine’s kitchen.
“Want one?” He spoke over his shoulder to Vince who’d walked in.
Vince nodded and took the second chair in the galley-size kitchen.
Pouring four cups of the thick brew, Marsh left one on the counter for Josephine who was tucked safely in the shower. Steve Dancer slouched in another chair, his shirt wrinkled, his socks mismatched.
Marsh had been raised in an
atmosphere that demanded physical perfection; home, school, the Navy and finally the Bureau, but Dancer had managed to slip through the cracks and under the wire. It should have appalled Marsh’s senses that Dancer wore brown shoes with black pants and a navy sports coat, but he didn’t give a shit. Steve Dancer was one of the brightest people he’d ever met. The only child of a single mother, Dancer had put himself through MIT by working three jobs. Men underestimated the guy because of his freckles and unkempt appearance. Women wanted to mother him. Marsh didn’t know why the guy had signed up for the FBI, but he was smart enough to be grateful he’d been able to wrangle him onto his team.
“Why did you let her lie to Walker, Vince?” Marsh was still pissed he’d been caught in a web of deceit. He didn’t like being manipulated by anyone.
“She didn’t exactly lie.” Vince’s white teeth gleamed against burgundy lips. “She implied.” He shrugged one massive shoulder. “Walker bought it, but man, he was pissed.”
“All he has to do is go back and check the dates of the other murders, which I thought he’d done.” Marsh drew in a tight, breath, released it through his nose. “Why would he think I was involved?”
Vince rubbed hands the size of dinner plates over his close-cropped hair, ear stud blinking. He gave him a dry look. “You know why.”
Josephine.
Jealousy was a bitch. But having a relationship with Josephine shouldn’t interfere with catching the killer. No matter who she was, what she looked like or what she said.
“Did the killer strike again? Anybody hear anything?” Marsh asked, stirring his coffee. Dancer and Vince shook their heads.
“Maybe he took the night off.” Dancer sipped his coffee and winced. Not a morning person.
Or maybe they just hadn’t found the body yet.
“Where are we at with the De Hooch/Vermeer investigation?” asked Marsh.
Dancer blew the top of his coffee. “I took a look at the internet records. Sale looks legit.”
“With or without a warrant?” Vince’s eyes sharpened with interest.
Dancer’s freckles danced on his cheeks. “No comment.”
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