by Jory Strong
Trace snorted but held his tongue. Conner sent him a look then asked, “What would Patrick normally do for a client?”
Aislinn’s wary gaze swung to Trace, then Dylan, before she answered. “Sometimes he helped them find missing items. Or people. Sometimes remains if the people were dead.”
Conner leaned forward. “Was that all he did?”
Aislinn gave a small negative shake of her head. “He held séances.”
Trace started cursing under his breath. Aislinn tightened the jacket around herself, trying to keep from shaking. She needed to leave, to get away from the horror of finding Patrick murdered, to escape from Trace and the pain that seemed to splinter her heart in his presence.
“I’d like to go home now,” she said.
Miguel folded his notebook and gave her a compassionate look. “The reporters have your place staked out. What about staying with one of your friends?”
“I can go to Sophie’s.”
“We’ll give you an escort,” Conner volunteered as the men stood.
Before Aislinn could say anything, Trace’s steel grip wrapped around her upper arm, guiding her from her chair to stand next to him. “I’ll take care of her.”
Conner started to say something, but the expression on Trace’s face stopped him. Dylan didn’t have any qualms, though. “Fuck, Trace, the Captain’s already tight-assed about this case. I’ll make sure she gets to Sophie’s house.”
Trace didn’t bother answering except to say, “I’ll talk to you guys in the morning,” as he guided Aislinn toward the kitchen door.
“Shit,” Dylan muttered, moving forward. “We’ll cover you.”
They moved swiftly down the hallway, but stopped at the front door so that the four detectives could surround Aislinn. “Keep your head down,” Trace said as he reached over and pulled his jacket up so that it covered her hair and shielded her face.
The walk down the driveway was done quickly. When Aislinn tried to stop at her car, Dylan said, “It’ll have to stay here for now. We’ll have it taken down to the station.”
They cleared the shrub-shrouded driveway and reporters surged forward, flashbulbs firing in a steady stream. The uniformed officers held them back as the detectives got Aislinn to Trace’s car. “Stay down,” he ordered, pulling away from the curb and leaving the scene as fast as he could. She huddled for several blocks before some of the tension left Trace’s body and he said, “It should be okay now.”
Aislinn sat up and cast a quick glance at Trace. “If you have a cell phone, I’ll call Sophie.”
Trace clenched his teeth and tried to force some calm into his thoughts. Christ, how did she manage to make him feel so out of control? His cock was rock-hard and his brain just wanted to shut down for the night instead of trying to sort through a bunch of conflicting ideas. He should never have taken her back into the bar. He should have put her in his car after they’d fucked on the beach and taken her home right then and fucked her some more.
But now she was involved in this psychic mess, and skittish again, and he didn’t want to fight with her. All he wanted to do was get her somewhere safe and… He took a deep breath and tried to stop the flood of fantasies that suddenly began washing through his brain. Shit, she was making him crazy.
Trace eased the car over to the curb and turned off the engine. Aislinn tensed but didn’t grab for the door handle and try to bolt out of the car. He figured that had to be a good sign.
He slipped from behind the wheel and reached for her, trying to be slow and gentle, and reassuring. As his hands settled on her arms and pulled her toward him, he whispered, “I need to hold you, baby,” and was shocked to realize that the words were true.
Aislinn felt the same beguilement spreading through her that she’d experienced at the bar. She wanted to resist his touch, but she couldn’t. His body heat surrounded her, chasing away the terrible chill that had settled in her core. She let him pull her into his arms, cuddling closer as he slipped his hand underneath the jacket he’d wrapped her in and stroked along her spine.
Trace groaned against her hair as a multitude of unfamiliar sensations bombarded his system. He was rock-hard, but for once he was content just to hold a woman in his arms, rather than move directly into foreplay.
He moved so that he could press his lips against the soft skin of Aislinn’s neck. She shivered and pressed closer to him. “I’m sorry you had to find your friend like that,” Trace whispered.
“Do you think you’ll find whoever killed Patrick?”
“I don’t know. We’ll do our best.”
“Even if he was a psychic?”
Trace rubbed his chin against her silky hair as his arms tightened in reaction. “Let’s not go there, baby.”
Some of the warmth Aislinn had been experiencing seeped away. She tried to pull back but Trace wouldn’t let her. “Patrick didn’t have as much talent as he wanted, but he was able to help some people. He wasn’t a con artist or a whacko.”
Trace sighed and hugged Aislinn tighter. Christ, he didn’t want to get into a fight about this with her. He wanted to take her home, put her in his bed, and fuck her until he fell asleep.
If the Captain’s bad feeling about this case was right, then the shit was going to hit the fan tomorrow and keep hitting it. Trace figured he’d be lucky to get any time in the sack at all, for sleeping or fucking.
“It wouldn’t matter if your friend was a crook, we’d still look for his killer.” Trace let her loose but kept one arm around her shoulders, holding her next to him as he slid back behind the steering wheel.
Aislinn’s heart thundered in her chest, at war with itself. It would be wiser, safer to go to Sophie’s apartment. But each time she thought to save herself from pain, to open her mouth and demand that Trace take her there, a lonely ache ripped through her, stripping her defenses so that all she wanted was to spend the night wrapped in the warmth of Trace’s arms.
Trace didn’t look at the speedometer once, though he could tell by feel that he was well past the limit. All he could think about was getting Aislinn to his house before she got skittish again and demanded that he take her to Sophie’s.
He’d been too long without and the sex on the beach had been incredible. That’s the only reason he could come up with for his behavior, for this obsession with Aislinn. Christ, he was in for it. Even if the Captain didn’t get wind of this, Dylan and the other guys in his department were going to give him a load of shit.
Trace hit the remote and watched with satisfaction as the garage door opened. Another second and he’d have Aislinn where he needed her.
Aislinn tensed as Trace drove into the garage and cut the motor. Doubt rushed in, threatening to overwhelm her. But Trace didn’t allow her any escape. He simply pulled her along with him as he got out of the car and stepped into the house.
There was only a brief impression of pale blue walls and warm wooden floors before he pressed her back against the smooth stucco and leaned into her, biting and sucking at her mouth so that she would open for him.
His hand burned through her dress as he stroked across a nipple that had become stiff and painful. She whimpered and moved into Trace, unable to control or deny the need that made her want to open herself to him. His tongue slid inside her mouth, brushing and teasing against hers until they were both out of breath.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he whispered. “Right now it’s all I can do to keep from taking you against the wall.”
Aislinn’s cunt throbbed at the heat of his words, at the fierce desire she saw in his face. “Take me that way,” she whispered, and a thrill rushed up her spine as his face tightened and his eyes darkened.
Trace shuddered. He felt like an addict in need of a fix. He hadn’t planned on dragging her into his house and jumping her right away. But now…now all he could think about was getting inside her tight wet sheath and making her whimper with pleasure.
Every sound he drew from her pulsed straight through him, swelling
Trace’s demand shot right to Aislinn’s core. Her heartbeat skittered in an erratic beat. It unnerved her how much she liked his dominance. And yet his very desire for her made her feel safe.
“Unzip me,” he growled again, this time accompanying the command with a small bite to her neck as he stripped her of her panties.
Aislinn slid her hands down his waist, marveling in the tight, firm feel of him, at the way he seemed to hold himself completely still, waiting for her to unzip his pants and touch him. Her fingers were unsteady as they trailed across his flat stomach and settled at the front of his jeans. Trace shuddered and pressed his thick, heavy, cloth-covered erection against her palm. She looked up at him and felt her heart open itself once again. She was already swollen and wet, so needy that she wanted to spread her legs and feel him inside her.
“Don’t make me ask again,” he said and she did as he commanded, opening the zipper and sliding his jockeys down so that she could wrap one hand around his engorged penis and cup the other under his testicles.
Trace groaned and bucked against her in response. A feminine thrill of power raced through Aislinn. “Guide me in,” he said, his voice a rough growl as he easily lifted her so that her vagina was aligned with the cock she held captive.
Aislinn whimpered and watched as his face tightened. “Now,” he said and she wrapped her legs around his waist, easing the tip of him into her wet, swollen sheath.
One of Trace’s arms slid down to pull her more tightly against him as he plunged the rest of the way in. “Christ, you’re so small. So tight.” He pulled out, only to press forward again and again.
Aislinn arched against him each time he tried to pull out, tightening involuntarily, as though her body couldn’t stand to be without his. His breathing was harsh. “You’re killing me,” he said and she shivered in response.
She needed him. All of him. Her mouth sought his and he answered her need, pressing wet, full lips against hers, stroking his tongue into her, dominating and yet providing a safe place for her. Aislinn responded by pressing more tightly against him so that each stroke sent a fiery pleasure through her.
His movements became fiercer, more possessive, as though he wouldn’t accept anything less than her total surrender. Aislinn couldn’t resist him, didn’t want to. With a sob she gave herself up to him, taking his hot seed as an orgasm raged through her like an exploding star.
She was so weak that she didn’t think she could stand, not that she had to. Trace’s heart beat in a steady rhythm against her body as he carried her into the bedroom at the end of the hallway and gently laid her down on a bed before undressing her. She opened her eyes and was flooded by warmth at the tenderness and caring she saw on his face. Hope took hold of her, allowing the impossible dreams to once again take root in her heart.
The expression on her face should have terrified him. Instead, Trace alternated between wanting to hold Aislinn and wanting to go down on her, kissing every inch of her body until she was writhing underneath him and begging him to fuck her. Jesus. She was making him crazy.
He wanted to lock her in his house and never let her leave. And that scared the shit out of him.
“You okay?” he asked. He couldn’t keep the masculine satisfaction out of his voice.
Warm heat flooded Aislinn’s face along with pride. She’d pleased him, and that pleased her. “I’m fine.”
He stripped off the rest of his clothes and joined her in bed, pulling her close before sliding the covers over them and turning off the light. Aislinn snuggled against him, soaking in his warmth. His hand stroked down her back, comforting her, coaxing her heart to throw away years of rejection and open to him. For the first time since her father had died and her secure world had been ripped apart, Aislinn felt like she belonged.
But then her mind wandered back to the events of the evening—to the bar, the beach, to Trace’s reaction afterwards…to Patrick. Tears formed again and leaked down her cheeks. She focused her pain on Patrick. He hadn’t deserved to die like that. Maybe if she’d just gotten there earlier… Her body shuddered.
Trace hugged her tighter. Christ, she was tearing him apart with her tears. His heart felt like somebody had a death grip on it. She seemed so fragile, so breakable. “Baby, please stop crying,” he whispered against her hair. “You’re going to make yourself sick if you don’t get some sleep. Just let it go, Aislinn. We’ll try and find out who murdered your friend.”
The tears didn’t stop immediately. And even when they did and her body relaxed into sleep, Trace continued to run his fingers through her silky hair and along the smooth skin of her back.
Fuck. He was in big trouble now.
* * * * *
Trace half expected the guys to razz him when he walked into the homicide section. The silence that greeted him instead was almost deafening.
Dylan was the first to look up. He shook his head and said. “Captain wants us in his office in ten minutes. The press has been crawling up his ass all morning. They got an anonymous tip that Patrick Dean was the psychic involved in the missing kid case.”
“Fuck,” Trace said. “Can this get any worse?”
A uniformed officer walked in. “Where’s Aislinn?” she asked, practically scalding him with her frown.
It took him a minute to recognize Storm. “I left her at my place. Sleeping.”
“You should have taken her to Sophie’s. The last thing Aislinn needs right now is to be fucked and shown the door.”
“That’s between Aislinn and me.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t mean for you to get involved with her. I thought she’d hit it off with Conner.”
“Tough.” Trace’s gut clenched at the thought of Aislinn being anywhere else, with anyone else. He gritted his teeth. Last night he’d hardly been aware of Storm, and before that, he’d seen her around, enough to know that Miguel had it bad for her, but he didn’t really know her very well. And right now he didn’t think he wanted to. “Don’t you have a beat to patrol?”
Conner choked on the coffee he was drinking. “Hey, let’s go easy on each other. We’ve got plenty of other people wanting to rip into us.”
Storm looked like she wanted to say something scathing. Instead she said, “Is she okay?”
Trace shifted uncomfortably, thinking about Aislinn crying herself to sleep. “She was sleeping. I didn’t wake her up.” He shot a look to Dylan.
Dylan stood up. “We got bigger problems right now. The press is still swarming on Inner Magick. Half of them think Aislinn’s a witness. The rest of them think she’s a psychic helping us. Now we’ve just got to pray no one comes up with a photo of her. The Captain would have our asses if the press finds out she was with us in the bar last night.”
Manuel walked in, did a double take when he saw Storm, then grinned. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Right.”
Conner stood. “Time to go. You, too, Miguel, I’ll fill you in on the way up to the Captain’s office.”
Miguel shot a quick look at Trace, before focusing on his partner. “Shit. About last night?”
“About the Dean case, yeah.” Conner said. “The Captain doesn’t know all of it. Yet. We’d better figure out what to tell him by the time we get to his office.”
Chapter Three
Aislinn shivered as she came awake, wanting the events of last night to be a wonderful dream followed by a terrible nightmare. But the fact that she was here, in Trace’s home, in his bed, surrounded by echoes of his presence, told her that it had happened. All of it.
The silence and stillness let her know that Trace was gone. Though she knew he intended that she stay, she couldn’t. She needed to think, to distance herself—to aid Patrick’s spirit.
The phone on the table next to the bed offered a means of escape. She reached for it and called Sophie.
“Tell me where you are and I’ll come get you!” Sophie said as soon as she heard Aislinn’s voice.
“I’m at Trace’s house.”
“I know that, but so far no one has been willing to say exactly where that is! I’ve already called Storm three times trying to get the address. The last time I did she said she was getting ready to go into a meeting with the Captain and the rest of those macho Rambos.”
Aislinn laughed softly. “I’m not even sure what part of the city I’m in. I’ll go look for an address and call you back.”
“Don’t hang up! I’ve been up all night worried about you! It’s been all over the news about Patrick.” Sophie took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Aislinn. I know he was your friend. Was it…terrible?”
Aislinn closed her eyes briefly. The picture of Patrick as the killer had laid him out was burned into her memory. “Yes,” she whispered.
“Okay, I knew that. Get Trace’s address and I’ll be right over.”
Aislinn’s heart warmed at the demand in her friend’s voice. Until Sophie had come into Moki’s shop to look at crystals, Aislinn hadn’t had a friend her own age—not since she was a small child, not since her mother had taken her to Elven-space.
“Okay, it may take a few minutes. I’m still in the bedroom.”
Sophie gave a small laugh. “Stop. Don’t go there. I want to hear all the details in person.”
Aislinn smiled and put the phone down. There was no discarded mail in the bedroom so she moved into the hallway. The hardwood flooring and throw rugs were warm against her bare feet, the pale blue walls with pastel abstracts offered tranquility. Even in his absence, Trace’s home was comforting, welcoming.
The homes of both her mother’s father and her mother’s Elf-lord heartmate had been the homes of royalty. So many of the rooms had been off-limits to a small mixed-blood child with no magic. “What happens if you break something? Can you repair it? Can you replace it with something of even greater value? It’s best you not call attention to the magic you lack. Go now, don’t let them find you in here. You’ll only be punished,” the lower-caste elves would say as they shooed her away.
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