by Lori Power
“I told you earlier how I like your hair down,” he said, tucking a stray lock behind her ear. Sleepy eyes rose to meet his. He leaned forward to lay a soft kiss on her brow. “Sexed hair is definitely your style.”
Lorna giggled. “Yeah, perfect for business.”
“You never know.”
She lowered her gaze, and he delighted in the hint of pink rising up over her cheeks. “I’m sure,” she said lifting a hand from his chest to push the mass back behind her shoulder.
“It’s true.” Mitch rolled so he was hovering above her, his lips a breath from hers. He trailed fingers slowly along her torso, over her firm abdomen, between her breasts, until his palm smoothed out to cup her jaw. “Keep it tied back for everyone else, but wear it down and messy for me.”
Her tongue peeked through the soft contours of her lips as her hand lifted to stroke his hair from his brow before pulling him to her. He accepted her lips, his mouth hungry for more; his body reacting with tempered longing. The kiss deepened but remained soft and slow without urgency as though they had the rest of their lives reserved just for kissing.
Mitch caressed her neck. “You surprise me,” he murmured against her pulse point.
Her fingers stopped at his earlobe, and she turned deep topaz eyes in his direction.
He shrugged, lacing his leg between hers. “You’re a massive turn-on,” he said, rubbing his erect member along her inner thigh. “I expected you to be so timid. Shy about being naked. You always gave me the impression of someone a little too high-strung. A—”
“A geek?” Her eyes so languid a moment ago turned hard and she wiggled out from under him. Her lips pursed into a thin line and she rose up on her elbow.
Whoa, what’s with the quick turnaround? “Hey, hey.” Mitch sat back and held up both hands in surrender. “That came out wrong.” He reached out to hug her back to him, but she would have none of it, choosing instead to sit up, facing him.
“Lorna! Come here.” He moved for her again and snagged her in an embrace. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I meant your passion. Your complete lack of inhibition. Look at you.” He gestured with both his eyes and hands, surveying her from head to toe, trailing a light fingernail along her thigh. “Sitting there in all your naked glory. You surprised me.”
Color flooded her face as her hands fumbled with the corner of the pillow. “I wasn’t inhibited the last time,” she said, lowering her eyes, self-conscious. The rosy color travelled downward, giving her body a lovely glow.
Mitch grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her to him. “There, that’s what I mean. You were drunk the last time,” he said, relieved when she didn’t resist him. “You’re very modest. You’ve always struck me as shy. Your boldness now is so arousing. Very surprising. I loved it. Better?”
“I guess,” she said with doubt in her voice.
Mitch sighed. They had bridges to build, the two of them. Too many years of uncertainty still separated them, and he wanted nothing more than to fuse the gap. “I should have kept my mouth shut. I was just surprised is all.”
“You were expecting…” her words trailed.
“You,” he answered simply, laying a palm on each cheek and reclaimed her lips for his own, his tongue slipping inside her mouth to taste her nectar. “You are what I wanted.” His voice grew hoarse. “You are what I want. What I always wanted, and you are everything I expected you to be.”
Her arms folded across his back. “Are you okay?” She moved slightly back from his swollen mouth, running her thumb along the edge. “You’re not making much sense.”
“After a very long time of waiting,” he said, poking the tip of his tongue out to flick her thumb. “I am better than okay.”
Pushing her back into the pillows, he resettled her with her head on his shoulder. Her smile caressed his chest and he stroked her arm, loving the silky texture of her skin. He would have to be careful for the old stigmas. She was understandably sensitive. His teammates had been brutal. Words do hurt and often left scars unseen but certainly felt.
Mitch took a shuddered breath as her hand moved over his chest to dip lower to trace the line of his penis. His body obliged to the sudden interest by rising back up to attention. “Are you still hungry?” Her voice was throaty.
“Starved, as a matter of fact.”
Her hand cupped his shaft, and the blood grew thick in his veins.
“Me too,” she confirmed, lifting up on her elbow again to blaze a trail of moist heat across his ribs. Her hand squeezed and released, ran up and down his vibrating member as her teeth nipped along, her progress filling him with expectation. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be full again.”
Lifted up on her knees to straddle him, she maneuvered the tip of his penis along her clitoris, her moist heat emanating, inviting him to enter. His hands shot to her hips to hold her and she grinned seductively at him. She’s made me putty in her hands. I can’t remember the last time I’ve gotten so hard so fast just after having sex.
“I want you,” he croaked. Mitch leaned forward to kiss her. He scooped a small breast in his hand before bending further to skim his tongue over the end, enjoying the bud. She rose up higher on her knees to accommodate him.
“I never imagined,” she panted, pulling his head closer to her breast. “Oh, Mitch.”
The sound of his name breathlessly relayed across her swollen lips provided the gift Mitch didn’t know he had been waiting for. Taking both breasts in his hands, he suckled first one nipple then the other. “You like this?”
“Oh, Mitch,” she moaned. Her hands travelled down to his shoulders, her fingers pressing into his muscles. Her head arched back, causing her breasts to rise higher.
The buzz preceded the ring.
Mitch groaned, ignoring the sound.
The buzz, followed by the ringing of his phone, penetrated his sexual haze like church bells on a Sunday morning, reminding him of who he was and where he had to be.
He cupped her rear with a squeeze. “Perfect timing.” He stopped suckling, searching the floor, trying to remember why the ringing of a phone should be important.
“Is that your phone?” She gasped, her hands travelling down the length of his arms. She sat back on her haunches, the color high in her cheeks, brow creased with question.
“Ah, yes. I think so,” he said, trying to focus, waiting for nothing more than to penetrate her. With a start, he suddenly remembered why answering his phone was so important that he had set the cell to ringer instead of vibrate. Goddamnit. Hands returning to her waist, he smiled in apology, tilting his head to the side.
“Always on duty, Officer.” She smiled sweetly, moving her position so she was seated beside him. She glanced towards their pile of clothes not far from the door.
The phone buzzed again in his pants pocket, followed by a shrill ring.
Mitch reached for her face to claim her lips briefly. “Hold that thought.” He rolled off the bed in one fluid motion to dig his phone out of his pocket. She lay on her side on the bed, one leg bent, revealing the shapely hip to its best advantage. Man, this better be good. Phone in hand, he turned to face her. “Please hold that thought—and that pose.”
Checking the caller ID, he groaned.
Blocked.
Moving towards the door, he coughed to clear his throat, hoping to erase any signs of sexual tension from his voice. “Mitch Morgan.”
He expected dead air but was intent on keeping the line open as long as he could to get the trace.
“Oh, I recognize that voice,” Veronique purred seductively with only a hint of foreign accent to color her tones. “You know they told me you were a cop, but I wouldn’t believe them. I had to hear it for myself.”
“I think you must have the wrong number,” he said, his heart thudded in his chest.
“Didn’t take you long to replace me,” she said, sounding almost hurt. But Mitch knew better. Vonnie had no heart. Then she laughed to confirm his suspicions. “I just can’t
believe I slept with a cop. First time for everything, I suppose.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Oh, Michael, really, you can’t disguise your voice to me. We knew each other rather intimately now, didn’t we?”
Mitch walked through the bedroom door and out into what was an open study on the landing. “I’m sorry. I think you have the wrong number.”
“Michael.” Veronique’s voice hardened. “I’m doing you a favor here. I’m calling because you fucked with the wrong family.”
The line went dead.
Mitch held the phone from his ear to view the screen to make sure. Dead. He quickly dialed IT. “Jordan, did you get it?”
“Sorry, Mitch. No.”
“Fuck.” He ended the call.
Mitch turned, Lorna stood in the doorway, clad in a silky robe, the front not quite connected so he could see the length of one shapely leg and the peak of her breast. Even the vision of her sex-tussled hair and wanting eyes couldn’t lift the weight now settled upon his shoulders. There was no more room for doubt. His cover had been blown. The case could slip away like sand through an hourglass. The Fong crime family wouldn’t be blown off lightly. Their scheme of working with funeral homes to smuggle their product across the border was pure genius. The sting operation he was part of had blown the operation wide open, putting a significant financial damper in their income stream. They would not go quietly into that good night.
***
“Everything all right, Officer?” Lorna asked, smiling, trying to lighten his suddenly dark mood. Despite his naked glory in her den, the muscles of his back gleaming with perspiration, the man before her was definitely all cop. All his lines were taut, his mouth hard as he clutched his phone in a white-knuckled grip.
He wasn’t seeing her. Deep-set blue eyes looked through her.
“Ah, what?” he replied at last.
Choosing to lean against the doorframe, Lorna tried for a casual stance she didn’t feel. “Do you have to go?” Please don’t go. Despite what she’d said, the depth of her passion and the boldness with which she approached him had actually surprised her as much or more than it did Mitch. She didn’t want him to go. Consumed by the deep hunger she carried for so long, she needed relief from the throbbing. He was the only one who could ease that ache.
At last, his eyes focused on hers, and he tried to smile. It was more of grimace. “Just let me make one call, okay?”
“Sure,” she said, moving back from the door, nodding. His voice became muffled, and she didn’t want to pry.
However, this one call took a long time, and Lorna suspected something was definitely wrong. Has he forgotten I know he worked under the alias Michael Ward when he was in Vancouver? She heard the upsetting phone call from the night before when someone called for Michael Ward. They hadn’t discussed anything, but it didn’t take much to put two and two together: he was an undercover cop, and she had crashed into him in the midst of a case.
Is the case still ongoing? Peeking around her door, he sat naked at her desk. There’s one for the memory scrapbook. Recently awakened nerve endings remained close to the surface as she stepped in the shower. She could see this one call was going to be a while. Soaping her too-sensitive skin—every motion seemed to bring back a memory of Mitch touching her. She wondered—if the case is still ongoing, what’s he doing back here? She wished she could ask Mitch all of these questions and more, but everything was so tenuous at the moment. Their relationship—was it a relationship?—too new, too fresh, too fragile for questions just yet.
He strolled into her bathroom as she toweled off. “Seems I’ve messed up our fun,” he said, taking her by the shoulders to draw her to him and he gently caressed her lips with his. “And I was so hungry too.”
“Me too.” She hesitated, unsure how to proceed. “Our time’s up. I’m sure Mariam and Kris won’t be home for a while yet, but I can’t be sure.”
She was awkward with the discussion, unsure how to word she wanted to see him again. Wanted to make love with him but unwilling to share with Mariam and Kris just yet.
Mitch pulled back. “I forgot about the roomies.” He smiled in understanding. “I’ll go get my clothes.”
Don’t, she wanted to scream and fall back under the covers, devil be damned with who guessed what they had done all afternoon. This…this can’t end so soon. She grabbed his hand just as he walked through the door. “Do you have time for our picnic, or do you have to leave?”
“I, ah, don’t want to have to go…”
“But you have to,” she supplied, filling in his pause, still holding his hand.
“Can I have a rain check on the picnic?” He squeezed her hand lightly. The reassurance didn’t resonate on his face.
“Of course,” she said, forcing a smile. No need to make this harder than it has to be. They were both very polite now. She couldn’t read his mood because he had closed himself off. Do all cops do that? “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I wish I could.” He dropped her hand and gathered his clothes to his body. “But I can’t.”
***
Mitch clenched his hands behind his back. “They’re out?” He was incredulous. “After all the work we did to put them there. The months of investigation, planning, and witness testimony procured. Bail was set at a paltry hundred-thousand each? What’s wrong with this system—it’s insane. They fart that kind of cash.”
“Wonder what they shit then?” the Chief asked from his usual position behind his desk, his face bland. “You were with the Tymchuk woman when you called in?”
Mitch flicked his gaze from his commander to the picture of uniformed officers on parade seeing no way to avoid the question. “Yes,” he said, rolling back marginally on his heels, unwilling to elaborate. Today was not the day for sitting casually in Boulet’s office.
“You should know, I consider her a suspect as of…” He fixed Mitch with a withering stare. “Now.” His beady eyes tore holes through Mitch. “And as of right now, you’re to stay away from that woman. I have placed her under investigation.”
“She has nothing to do with this,” Mitch began, shaking his head. “I assure you.”
“You can’t assure shit.” Boulet’s palms landed with a heavy thud on the top of his desk, his blunt fingers pressed into the surface. “Your cover is blown, and the only link is a woman from your past who hits you in another city, turns your license in, and announces for anyone who will listen it’s a phony.”
“Chief, she couldn’t have known I was undercover—”
“Doesn’t it strike you as odd,” the older man interrupted, leaning forward on his hands, emphasizing each word. “Woman like that rents a truck. A big fucker. A diesel dually. Something that can do serious damage even at low speeds.”
“A mix-up—”
“And,” the chief continued, clear on his rant. “If she was so sure she recognized you, why turn you in to the cops? Why do it, Mitch?”
“I, ah—”
“Doesn’t make sense, does it? If I had—ah—what shall we call it—past relations with a woman, and she met me out of the blue, I would hope she wouldn’t up and turn me in like this one did.”
“I still don—”
“And you want to see her again,” Chief continued, lifting his hands as though this was the most unbelievable situation he ever encountered. “What kind of hold does she have over you? Stop. Don’t answer; I don’t want to know.”
“It’s impossible she—”
“Nothing’s impossible, Mitch, and you seem to lack the comprehension of that fact. There’s no room for assumptions here. Too many coincidences lead back to this woman.” His superior shook his silver head. “Until we know for sure, she’s off limits, Mitch.”
Chapter Eleven
When Lorna didn’t hear from Mitch after he left on Sunday, she was plagued with old insecurities. For distraction, she immersed herself finalizing her campaign for Aqua Oil. Using non-traditional media options—Facebook, Twitter, Li
nkedIn amongst others—in addition to the age-old standbys formed the foundation of her approach to building this company’s reputation in advance of the pipeline opening next year.
Talk radio played softly in the background. Lorna paused when the show’s host confirmed his pending retirement in the fall. “Too bad,” she muttered out loud. Rutherford was a powerhouse, and she had hoped to get Tim a spot for an interview. “They’ll never find a competent replacement.”
“Tia.” Lorna buzzed through to her assistant in the adjoining office. “Can you get in touch with your contact at Corus, and let me know who they have in mind to replace the morning show host?”
“Sure. You want me to book anything?”
“No, not just yet.” She ran the edge of her pen down the page of her notes and circled radio, placing a question mark next to it. If she couldn’t find a solid platform for quality question-and-answer, she would suggest skipping, rather than proceeding half-assed. “I just want to know the lay of the land. I may need to consider a podcast.”
Sketching out uses for the Aqua Oil logo, Lorna pulled her notepad on the iPad closer to add yet another question: why was the logo AQO instead of AO? She hoped June wouldn’t get her hair in a tizzy to answer these questions. They were all things Lorna needed to know to move the campaign forward and it started with the simple and often overlooked.
Continuing her work from her home office in an effort not to think of Mitch and the lack of a call, Lorna finished just about all of the company prep for the campaign. Finally exhausted, she crawled into bed, telling herself not hearing from the man who rocked her world is a cop and not hearing from him was too expected. But the excuse was a fable. At her core, she knew something more caused his absence.
Perched on the edge of her seat behind her desk the next day, cheeks propped on the heels of her palms, she monitored the flow of information on her computer without acknowledging the e-mails demanding attention. Exhausted from a restless night, her mind drifted to the memory of Mitch’s touch, the way he kissed her with such hunger. His absolute masculinity and strength attracted her like a compass to due north. His every move was intentional and when he took her in his arms, she felt she had at last come home. With him, she was his equal. She had meaning as a woman with him, and for the second time in her life, she gave herself fully to another.