by Maggie Price
“Let me have you, Julia,” he said, his voice hot velvet against her flesh. “Right here.”
He dipped his head. His heated mouth burned with wet fire as he suckled one breast, then the other. Teeth closed softly, nipping, tasting until her nipples hardened and throbbed. All thought, all reason, skittered away.
His eyes locked with hers as he slid his hand between her legs, cupped her. Her eyes fluttered closed; her breath quickened, thickened. His fingers began a slow, erotic circular movement that ripped his name in a raw, sobbing moan from her throat.
His touch, along with the hot, swirling water that lapped against her flesh, wrapped her in layers of sensation. Her head lay heavy on his shoulder; the light, silky night breeze caressed her wet skin. Beneath the star-dotted heavens, her entire being felt open, unguarded, yielding.
Sloan continued the warm, relentless massage of her sensitive flesh. His magic, tormenting hands took her slowly up, up toward the peak of passion, then catapulted her over the edge. Her body curved against his as the climax ripped through her, pummeling her with fevered pleasure.
“I want you,” she gasped, her hands flexing on his shoulders, urging him on. “Want you....”
“You’ve got me.” He crushed the bruised flesh of her mouth with his ravenous kiss. “You’ve always had me. Will always have me.”
He brought her to ecstasy a second time, whispering words that her dazed brain had no power to understand.
Breath burned in her throat. Her blood pounded in her head as he continued the rapid, reckless assault on her senses. She clutched at him helplessly, her nails digging into his muscled arms as her knees weakened and gave out.
Cupping her hips, he lifted her limp body until her face came even with his. “There hasn’t been another woman since you.” His eyes blazed into hers. “No one.”
His breath was hot and quick, his touch possessive as he thrust himself inside her. Her fingers dived into his hair, pressing the body that fit so perfectly with hers closer, closer.
The stars in the dark sky above them shattered into a million pieces of light. Her lips trembled with each gasping breath. Sensation after staggering sensation swamped Julia, steeping her in pleasure as she gave herself in delirious surrender.
Later, with the lights in the guest house on low, Sloan watched her. She slept on one side, a limp bundle of utter fatigue. His hand reached out, stroked across the length of her shoulder. She didn’t stir.
After they’d crawled out of the hot tub, sated and spent, he’d carried her naked across the dark lawn into the guest house. There, they’d sprawled on the pillow-covered bed and made love with quiet, restrained desperation.
His fingers went to her lips, tracing their sensuous curve, then moved along the soft line of her jaw. He thought about how beautiful she’d looked with her skin pale in the moonlight, her long hair gleaming, her eyes dark and wide. And later, lying against the smooth, white sheets, she’d looked irresistible, gazing up at him in the half dark.
He closed his eyes as a surge of love, painfully sharp, overwhelmed him. He wanted her with every fiber of his being, was desperately in love with her. But he couldn’t promise her a future, so he couldn’t have her, not the way he wanted.
He set his jaw, his thoughts in a war between logic and emotion. He had told himself he would never regret the decision he’d made two years ago when he cut her out of his life. Now, with her lying still and silent at his side, regret roiled inside him, twisting his gut into a tight knot. Dammit, he’d done the right thing...hadn’t he?
He took her hand, linked his fingers with hers as he studied her profile, both angular and soft. She looked curiously innocent with her lashes fanned against her cheeks, her hair a glorious tangle of dark silk against the snow-white pillowcase. Their lives were linked—would always be linked—just as surely as their hands now were, yet he could guarantee her nothing, so he could offer her nothing.
Reality. It wasn’t going to change just because he wanted it to. He settled down on his pillow and eased his arms around her. It was best, he thought, to move up his departure to D.C. Best to leave before he tore her life apart again.
Chapter 11
Julia woke slowly amid a sea of rumpled sheets and tangled pillows. Shoving her hair out of her face, she blinked against the sunlight spilling through white linen curtains.
Because she was groggy, it took her a moment to remember she was in the guest house off Sloan’s pool, another for all that had happened between them last night to register. Her lips curved as she snuggled into the cozy nest of pillows. She felt alive. Replenished. Sore and swollen and wonderful.
Languid as a cat, she gave a little stretch. Her smile deepened at the minor aches that registered in her body. After a moment she slid her arm sideways, felt the coolness of the creamy white sheet on what had been Sloan’s side of the bed.
Vaguely, she wondered how long he’d been gone...and how soon he’d be back.
She burrowed into the crisp linens, inhaling deeply of his clean, masculine scent. An instant shaft of heat streaked straight up her spine. God, it had been so long since she’d felt anything this intensely. Since she’d wanted so intensely.
Feeling more than a little decadent, she summoned the energy to prop her naked body up on a bank of pillows, then lazily surveyed her surroundings. The bedroom was as she remembered it from the few times she’d used the guest house in the past to change into a bathing suit. Whitewashed pine furniture and alabaster accents gave the room a light, airy feel. A sofa and matching chairs upholstered in a creamy fabric sat before a fieldstone fireplace. Off to her left was a white-tiled bathroom, its interior dark. Her purse, Julia noted, had wound up across the room on a tufted footstool.
Her clothes were nowhere in sight.
Probably still in a wet heap by the hot tub, she decided. Pursing her lips, she debated the quickest way to get a change of clothes for work.
Work. She frowned as reality set in. Job-wise, sleeping with Sloan had been an inappropriate act—there was no question about it. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to regret what they’d shared. Last night, caught between common sense and feelings, she had stepped aside from Julia Cruze, the cop, and lost herself in an overpowering whirlpool of emotion.
For that reason alone, she should march into Lieutenant Ryan’s office and take herself off the case. But with Halliday on a week’s leave with Pam and their new son, Ryan would assign the investigation to another team. Julia knew she’d lose all control over the case.
And Sloan might wind up in a cell before the day was out.
She couldn’t let that happen. Drawing her legs up, she planted her elbows on her knees and mentally reviewed the case. No, she thought after a few moments, it wasn’t just her heart that had convinced her of Sloan’s innocence. It was her head, her instincts—everything in her that made her a cop. Long before she’d plunged into that hot tub she had eliminated as a suspect the man she loved. Now she had to go back to the beginning, review every piece of evidence—do whatever it took to find Vanessa West’s killer.
And by doing that, she would free Sloan to walk out of her life for a second time.
She swallowed past the tightness that settled in her throat. Dammit, she knew Sloan still loved her. He hadn’t said the words last night as they lay sated and drowsy in each other’s arms, but that didn’t matter. She had felt the way his hands molded, possessed, her body; felt the hot, searing kisses that branded her skin and laid claim as no words could.
She didn’t need him to tell her he loved her to know that he did.
But when it came to leaving, she knew in her heart that Sloan would give as much consideration to his feelings as he’d done two years ago. Then, he’d walked out, although he’d loved her. And because of his blind determination to protect her from something that might never happen, his resolve to leave now would be just as great.
Somehow, some way, she had to ease the fear of the unknown that seemed to haunt him.
&nb
sp; Julia stared across the room into the dark depths of the fireplace. Knowing she might lose Sloan for a second time sent a skitter of panic up her spine. She breathed deeply, banking down her emotions so she could think. She couldn’t, wouldn’t let him go. The problem was, she had no idea how to convince him he belonged here. Belonged with her.
The sound of the door opening had her snatching the sheet up beneath her arms to shield her naked body.
“Don’t cover up on my account.” Eyes full of appreciation, Sloan stepped in, carrying two mugs of steaming coffee.
The sight of him in a pair of well-worn cutoffs and nothing more started her pulse skittering. He resembled a Greek god with his skin tanned to bronze, the black hair covering his broad chest, curving down the supple muscles of his stomach and streaking his long, muscle-hard thighs.
The quickening in her pulse transformed into an ache.
She pulled in a slow breath. “How long have you been up?” she asked, noting that his face looked freshly shaved and his dark hair was slicked back from a shower.
“Long enough to do fifty laps in the pool and make two calls to the Pentagon,” he said, shoving the door closed with his bare foot. “Sleep well?”
“Like a stone,” she said, attempting to finger-comb her long hair into submission. “What time is it?”
“A little after eight.”
“Eight?” She grabbed the clock on the nightstand, twisted it her way. “Lord, I needed to be at the office an hour ago.”
“You needed sleep more,” Sloan said as he handed her a mug. “And food.” Using his fingertips, he gently nudged her shoulder back against the pillow. “Hattie’s cooking breakfast.”
Julia sipped the hot, rich brew and sighed. “I don’t eat breakfast.”
“You don’t eat, period.” He settled onto the mattress beside her, lacing their fingers together as he cradled her hand in his. “Humor me, Jules,” he said before placing a velvety kiss against her knuckles. “Let me take care of you.”
Her lips curved as she met his solemn gaze. “You took care of me quite well last night... and early this morning.”
He didn’t answer her smile with one of his own. His dark eyes remained on hers, with no glint of amusement.
“Last night was...” He set his coffee on the nightstand, then cupped her cheek in his hand. “I was going to say ‘incredible,’ but it was more than that,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “Much more. There’s not a word for how it felt to make love with you again.”
Her heartbeat hitched. She moved her head so that it was she who was caressing him with the soft skin of her cheek. “I feel the same way,” she murmured against his warm palm. “Like I’m complete again. Like I’ve found the part of me that’s been missing for the past two years.”
She felt the slight stiffening of his fingers before he dropped his hand and shifted his gaze to the window. A slash of sunlight cut across the planes of his face like a saber. In that instant, Julia saw with diamond clarity the hard determination in his eyes. He had already started reining in his emotions in an attempt to pull away from her.
Pain spread from her stomach, settled in a tight band around her chest. He could try, she thought, setting her jaw. He could try.
Slowly, she slipped her fingers around his, brought his gaze back to hers. “I came here last night to talk about the case.” The edge of the sheet that she’d pulled up around her when he walked in loosened, then slithered slowly down, baring her breasts. “We still need to talk, Sloan. I have to brief my boss this morning.”
It was satisfying, very satisfying, to watch his gaze drop, to see him absorbing her with his eyes before they came back to hers.
“I’m listening,” he said, then reached for his coffee.
Acknowledging the need—for the time being—to keep her own concentration and his on the case, Julia pulled the sheet up and anchored it beneath her arms.
“Vanessa made entries in her appointment book about spending time with someone who had the initial S,” she began. “Do you recall her ever mentioning a man with that initial?”
“Other than me?” Sloan asked, his mouth taking on a sardonic twist.
Julia watched him over the rim of her mug. “If I thought her entries referred to you, I wouldn’t be here right now. And last night wouldn’t have happened,” she added quietly.
“Sorry.” He tightened his hand around hers, stroked his thumb across her knuckles. “It’s good to know you believe I’m innocent.”
“Like I said, it doesn’t matter what I believe. I need proof. So, tell me about the men in Vanessa’s life.”
“I wish I could. She never talked to me about whom she dated.”
“She just told other people she was seeing you.”
“Vanessa didn’t seem to let the truth get in her way.”
Julia scowled. “I’ve gone over the guest list from the art museum, but haven’t had a chance to question anyone. Someone on that list gave Vanessa a ride home that night. Before you and she argued, did you notice her talking to any one man at length?”
“No. She had a knack for working the room at any social function. By the end of the evening, she’d have all the men beaming at her and all the women glaring. It was a game she enjoyed.”
“Did she know anyone there well enough who she could have asked to leave early and take her home?”
“Rick, but for whatever reasons she didn’t approach him.”
Julia’s ears pricked. “Rick? He was at the museum?”
“Yes. I assumed his name was on the list.”
She slowly set her mug on the nightstand. “It wasn’t.”
Sloan shrugged. “I remember him saying something the day of the fund-raiser about not receiving an invitation. Elizabeth called the museum and they sent one over by courier. They obviously didn’t bother updating their list.”
Julia pursed her lips. “So, you asked Rick if he gave Vanessa a ride home that night?”
Sloan drained his mug, set it aside. When he leaned away, his fingers slid from her hold. “I asked him about it after you questioned me.” He moved his hand back toward hers, then stopped short. His fingers curled against the sheet; Julia saw a muscle flinch in his jaw.
When he rose and moved away, her heart stopped.
Shoulders rigid, Sloan walked to the window. There, he pushed aside one edge of the curtain and directed his narrow-eyed attention toward the pool. “Rick said he looked for Vanessa after our disagreement, but he never saw her.”
Julia took a deep, controlling breath. She had to keep her mind on the case, not the emotions whirling inside her. Not the silent, inner battle Sloan seemed to be waging.
“Did you see Rick after Vanessa left?”
Sloan turned slowly. She watched him process the question, turn it over behind those dark eyes. “No. According to Rick, he looked for me when he was ready to leave. He said he saw me talking to the museum director’s wife, and he decided not to disturb us.”
“Did you have a conversation with the museum director’s wife, Sloan?”
He remained silent for a long moment. “Do you suspect Rick?”
“It’s my job to suspect everyone. Did you talk to the director’s wife?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
He looked away, a frown tightening his brow.
“Talk to me, Sloan,” she said softly. “I’m not asking you to do anything but tell me the facts.”
“The museum was packed—I probably spoke to a hundred people that night.” He lifted a hand, rubbed his fingers across his chin. “I can’t even tell you if I talked to the director’s wife before or after Vanessa left.”
“Did anyone see you leave? Was anyone in the parking lot who. can verify that Vanessa didn’t leave with you?”
Sloan’s mouth curved. “Just the mayor. We left at the same time, walked to the parking lot together.”
The sudden, strident tone of a pager made Julia start. She blinked. “Yours?” she asked.
“I don’t have mine with me.” Sloan walked across the room, snagged her purse off the tufted footstool, then returned to the bed.
She grabbed the pager off the flap of her purse, checked the display and grimaced. “My office,” she mumbled, then reached for the phone on the nightstand. Seconds later, she had Sam Rogers on the line.
“Who paged me, Sam?”
“I did, sweetheart,” the veteran detective said. “Where the hell are you?”
She glanced up at Sloan, who’d settled back on the bed and was studying her with dark, unfathomable eyes. “I’m in the middle of an interview,” she said. “What’s up?”
“Ryan wants to see you.”
Julia’s fingers tightened on the phone. “About what?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Right,” she muttered. “I’ll be there as soon as I finish this interview.”
Sloan lifted a dark brow when she slammed the receiver onto its cradle. “Problem?”
“Probably. My lieutenant doesn’t usually call me to his office just to chat about the weather.” She shoved her hair behind her shoulders. “Dammit! I’ve got to get a handle on this case.”
Eyes somber, Sloan reached out and took her hand. “You put your heart in your job, Jules. That’s what makes you such a good cop.”
“When you get handed a case, you have to give it all you’ve got.”
“It’s not just the job,” he said quietly. “You put all you’ve got into everything you do.”
She stiffened, sensing what was coming next.
“Two years ago, if I had told you I was sick, you would have done what you’re doing now, only to a greater degree. You would have worn yourself out, forgotten to eat, sacrificed your job and your own health while you cared for me.” He glanced away, and when he looked back a curtain seemed to have dropped over his eyes. “I couldn’t let you do that then. I can’t now.”
Here it is, Julia thought. He isn’t even going to wait until he leaves town to turn his back on me. The old hurt, the bitterness, came crashing in.