Cold Midnight

by Joyce Lamb

  He chuckled, skimming kisses up the length of her throat to the damp underside of her chin while he worked a hand under her shirt. Her gasp puffed into his mouth when his fingers found and rolled an already taut nipple.

  “You’re going too slow,” she murmured against his lips.

  He laughed again, and then his eyes crossed as her hands slipped between them and inside his shorts. She angled her fingers, breathing out a ragged breath when they closed around his hot, aching flesh. “Uh . . .” He trailed off, squeezing his eyes closed and dropping his forehead against hers, every thought erased by the stroke and tug of her fingers. “Uh, I’m not . . . that’s too . . .”

  She silenced him with a kiss, her tongue sweeping over his lips and inside his mouth. And then she was using her free hand to push his shoulder back while she sat up, still kissing him, still stroking him, shifting their positions so that he was on his back. She sat astride him and removed her hand so she could slide his shorts down and off, her eyes widening as they caressed the part of him that was so hard and ready for action it lay across his lower belly.

  “Wow,” she breathed. “You are . . . that is . . . amazing.”

  He would have laughed, but then her hand was on him again, her fingers light and caressing as they skimmed down to his balls. She cupped him there and leaned forward to press tender kisses to his shaft, her tongue running along his length to the tip, and then, oh God, then she slid her lips over him and clamped down with her mouth, her hand suddenly tight on the rest of him.

  The wet heat, the swirl of her tongue, whirled his head, and his belly began to burn with the need to thrust and pump and soar. He had to concentrate to keep still, to keep from driving himself into her mouth. But, oh Christ, it was good, it was incredible, and he couldn’t stop the guttural groan that ripped from his throat when she began to pump her hand and her mouth on him, working him, taking him into her throat and moaning.

  The pressure built, his body preparing to launch, and he put his hands on her shoulders to stop her. “Wait,” he gasped. “Wait.”

  She slowed but didn’t let go, as though she had hold of something she really liked and wasn’t interested in sharing. God, he loved her.

  Okay . . . hold . . . on, hold on. He didn’t want to come alone. He wanted to be together.

  He tangled his hand in her ponytail and gave a gentle tug. “Come here.”

  She released him and, with a devilish smile, crawled up his body to kiss him. It was his turn to angle his hand into her shorts, and he found her wet and hot. She moaned as he sank his middle finger into her and rubbed, her breath already beginning to hitch.

  “I love loving you, Ky,” he whispered against her lips. “I can’t get enough of you.”

  “Show me,” she breathed, arching against his hand. “Please show me.”

  He rolled her under him, skimmed his lips over her cheek, down to her throat, where he slid his tongue over the pulse that pounded under her skin. He loved the taste of her, the way she tensed and sighed when he peeled away her clothes. He loved the way she focused so intently on every stroke of his fingers, every caress of his palms. He loved that when he looked into her face, her eyes were open and watching him, loving him with no hint of wariness.

  “I love you,” he said.

  Her answering smile made his heart soar.

  KYLIE BOWED BACK AS HE FINALLY, FINALLY BURIED himself inside her on a long, slow stroke.

  He paused above her, his gaze burning into hers, as though taking a moment to savor the emotional and physical sensation of connection. She kept her eyes on his as she dug her fingers into his tight butt and pulled him closer, adjusting the angle of her hips so she could take more, feel more. God, he was so hard, so big. The pressure was heaven.

  Everything inside her ached for him. Her heart, her soul, her body. She was amazed at how much she loved him—and how easy it was now that she’d stopped fighting it—floored by how he made her feel alive in a way she hadn’t in a decade. Nothing else mattered, and she focused only on the way he loved her, slowly, tenderly, pressing feather kisses to her chin, her nose, her eyelids.

  “I love you,” she breathed against his skin. “I’ve never loved anyone but you.”

  As if in answer, he began to move, to thrust, and she rose to meet him, their rhythm quickly becoming frantic, almost desperate. The pleasure bloomed in small waves that hitched her breath when they rolled and peaked then started again, growing larger, gaining momentum with each thrust. Her muscles tensed, the power of the pleasure gathering, building, and as though he knew she was there, he increased his pace, driving into her, and then, then, he stroked his hand over her breast, caught her nipple between his fingers, and rolled.

  The orgasm slammed into her so hard she cried out, her body bucking, blind and deaf to everything but the sensations that exploded inside her. The clamping of her muscles around his hard flesh seemed to prolong the ecstasy, and then he was coming, too, jolting into her, holding her tight against him with an arm around her waist, his face pressed to the side of her neck as he shuddered and shuddered.

  Afterward, they lay still for several moments, breathing hard, his body cradled between her slack legs, his softening erection twitching every so often inside her. Easing to the side, he gathered her against him and rolled so that she was on top of him, then pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  She shifted to sit up, moaning at the renewed bloom of sensation where they were joined, and moved her hips subtly against him.

  He opened his remarkable green eyes and grinned up at her, grasping her hips as she dropped her head back. “More?” he asked.

  “Mmm.” She sighed, trying to regain her senses. “I don’t think I can.”

  He lifted his hips to bump against her sensitized flesh. She gasped, grabbed at his shoulders to hold on. “Sure you can,” he said, a devilish, satisfied glint in his eyes.

  She smiled and half closed her eyes. She felt languid, limp. Almost sated. Almost?

  His grin spread over his face, and he sat up, his hands keeping her right where she was on his lap. “Give me a few minutes,” he whispered, and spread kisses over her face, her temple, her brow, her cheek. Gently, he pulled the tie from her ponytail and watched, fascinated, as she shook her head so that her hair fell around her shoulders. Then, with his forehead pressed to hers, his breathing, deep and even, caressing her face, he said, “Just stay right here, like this, for a few more minutes.”

  She could stay like this forever, she thought as she ran her hands over his shoulders, down his arms, reveling in the solidness of his muscles, the heat and glide of his damp, smooth skin. He made her feel safe, protected like never before.

  He angled his head to touch his tongue to the hollow of her throat, drew its moist heat up to the underside of her chin, where he nipped with his teeth. She sucked in a breath, her heart lurching. And then his hand shifted off her hip and found her breast, where he slowly, lazily kneaded, stroking and pressing and rolling the nipple under his thumb until it was hard and aching, sending sparks into the part of her body that sheathed him, waiting for him to get hard again, anticipating the moment when he grew and lengthened inside her, evidence that he wanted her all over again, that she turned him on that much.

  She stroked her hand up his arm and across his collar-bone, down to his chest, where she did her own exploration of his nipples, enjoying the hitch in his breath when she scraped her nails over his puckering flesh. They stayed like that for several minutes, teasing each other, kissing and sucking and stroking. And then, then, she felt the change in him, felt him begin to grow and harden inside her. She arched her head back in giddy anticipation, moaning as he pressed his lips to her throat and his erection filled her to bursting. He seemed bigger than before, his heaviness inside her unbelievably good.

  He shifted them together, lowering her to the mattress with utmost care, cradling her head with his big hands as he began thrusting again, slow this time and careful, kissing her tenderly, his tongue ag
ainst her tongue, stroking and caressing, loving. This time, the orgasm was lazy and slow, building to an almost impossible pressure before blossoming out into clouds of pleasure that spread through her in glorious, worshipful tendrils. He quickened his pace while it shook her, wringing out of her a long, throaty moan, and then he slowed to a stop, kissing the droplets of perspiration from her temples, one hand gently stroking her breast, the nipple so sensitive that each stroke felt like heaven. The continual stroking kept her in the game even as exhaustion pressed down. It took a moment for her to realize he was still hard, his muscles still tensed as he held himself rigid and waited for her to regroup.

  “You there?” he whispered, his jaw pressed to her brow, his lips at her temple. The need in him was palpable.

  She lifted her hips, languid, complete, took him deeper, shocked to discover that he could still feel so damn good inside her.

  He took that to mean she was ready for more and moved, withdrawing almost completely and gliding back in, the stroke long and dizzying. “Jesus,” he breathed near her ear. “You’re so hot and tight, and you just keep getting tighter around me.”

  She smiled, breathless and sweaty, wanting this moment, these moments, to never end. This was a good place to be, oh, so good.

  He withdrew and pumped forward again, slow still, controlled, his groan long and raw. “I can’t wait,” he panted, his breathing choppy. “I just came, and I still can’t wait.” His voice was filled with wonder.

  “Then don’t wait,” she whispered.

  He gathered her close against him and pumped his hips, his head thrown back, driving into her almost mindlessly. Another orgasm, sharp and mind-blowing, took her by surprise just as he came, his mouth open and groaning, the tendons in his neck standing out in sharp relief.

  Gasping, he collapsed on top of her, his face pressed to the side of her neck, his nose managing to nuzzle even now. “God,” he panted. “God.” As though that was all he was capable of at the moment.

  She stroked his slick back, closed her eyes. The air smelled of sex and perspiration and the heady scent of satisfaction. They were sweaty and sticky, and she loved it.

  “Just give me a few minutes,” he murmured against her throat. “I’ll make us something to eat.”

  She lazily stroked his back, smiling when he began to softly snore.

  52

  CHASE SLIPPED OUT FROM UNDER THE COVERS, careful not to jostle Kylie, who slept dead to the world. He took a moment to love how she curled toward where he sat on the edge of the bed, as though even in sleep she sensed him withdrawing and sought to keep the connection.

  He lightly caressed her cheek and smiled at the same time that her full lips curved and she settled. He didn’t want to leave her—in fact, he wanted her again already. Jesus, he should be sated by now, at least for the day, but no, he couldn’t wait to be inside her again, to feel her clench around him during one of those full-body shudders. He loved it when she shuddered. Loved it more when she whimpered and moaned and begged. His name on her lips as she came, wild and out of control . . . he’d never get enough of that.

  Thinking about it, reveling in it . . . well, hell, he’d focused too much and now he had a growing boner that wanted attention.

  “Later,” he murmured as he rose and reached for his shorts on the floor by the bed. He really needed to check his messages. And shower. Tennis and sex had left him stinky and damp.

  “What’re you doing?”

  He turned just as he drew his shorts up and found Kylie looking drowsy and spent as she gazed up at him, her head nestled between both their pillows and one arm lazily thrown over her head. The sheet . . . Shit, the sheet didn’t quite cover both breasts. One peeked out, the nipple fully awake, the skin surrounding it pink from the attention he’d lavished on it over and over. Christ, that was sexy.

  He swallowed and tried to talk himself down. Not a teenager. Work to do.

  Except he couldn’t remember what that work was . . . Oh, right, messages.

  “Go back to sleep,” he murmured, bracing one knee on the bed so he could lean over and brush his mouth over her slack lips. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

  She trailed a hand down his bare thigh. “Don’t be long.”

  He groaned as Chase Jr. twitched to high-alert status. Just because she touched him. He was such a horndog for this woman.

  “Hmm, what’s going on here?” she asked as she propped up on one elbow and smirked at the prominent tenting of his shorts. “Greedy, isn’t he?”

  “The greediest.”

  “Then I guess you’d better hurry back.”

  He quick-kissed her on the nose and headed for the door. “Don’t get dressed,” he tossed over his shoulder.

  Her laugh followed him down the hall.

  In the kitchen, he retrieved his cell phone where he’d left it on the counter and scrolled through the menu. Yep, he had a message from Sylvia Jensen.

  As he waited for the phone to access his voice mail, he grabbed two glasses from the cupboard and a half-full pitcher of lemonade from the fridge. After all the sweating he and Kylie had done, they’d both need some major rehydration.

  Finally, Sylvia’s message queued up: “Chase, it’s Sylvia. Quinn McKay’s not a match for the DNA found on Mark Hanson’s body.”

  Chase just about released a relieved whoop right there in the kitchen. Yes, there was still damning evidence against Quinn, but it wasn’t as damning. It wouldn’t be tough to prove reasonable doubt if it came to a trial.

  But now he had to find a way to figure out who did belong to that DNA left in Hanson’s braces. An idea occurred to him, and he dialed Sylvia.

  “Sylvia Jensen.”

  “Hey, it’s Chase. Question: You said the tissue found in Hanson’s braces was a ‘large sample.’ Would the resulting wound have required stitches?”

  “No doubt about it. The wound would have been deep and messy.”

  “Great. Thanks, Sylvia. You’re the best.”

  “You’re certainly in a good mood.”

  “I’ve got an idea. I’ll catch you up later, okay?”

  He disconnected the call and pushed his speed-dial number for Sam.

  “Sam Hawkins.”

  His partner sounded as though Chase had awakened him. In the middle of the day? Of course, he and Kylie had just been snoozing, too, so it wasn’t as though he had any right to chastise the guy.

  “Sam, it’s Chase.”

  “Yeah. Whassup?”

  Or, Jesus, was he drunk? He’d definitely slurred his words. Chase quickly shrugged it off. Sam wasn’t one to drink in the middle of the day, and he had more important things to talk to him about.

  “Sylvia says Quinn’s not our guy,” Chase said. “I’ve got an idea, though. We can check ER records from the night of Kylie’s attack. Sylvia said that whoever left DNA in Hanson’s braces might have needed emergency care.”

  Silence.

  “Sam?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Ten years ago, there was only one ER, at Kendall Falls General,” Chase said. “I’m thinking the son of a bitch might have been there at the same time as Kylie, getting his ripped-up hand stitched.”

  “Would there still be ER records from a decade ago?”

  Sam definitely sounded awake now. Finally. “Probably, in some form or another,” Chase said. “Even if they’re paper records, we can go through them and see if anything leaps out at us.”

  “That could take days. Do you know how many people have visited the ER in the past ten years?”

  “We’re talking about one day ten years ago, Sam. Possibly two, if the perp didn’t seek help right away.”

  “You’re assuming the records have been well-maintained and organized. And he could have gone to any of the hospitals in the area, too. Fort Myers. Cape Coral. Naples. Even as far away as Tampa.”

  “Kendall Falls General is a starting point. We can fan out after that.”

  “What did Sylvia say about it?”
<
br />   “Nothing yet. I’m running it by you first.” Chase stopped and took a breath to try to keep the impatience out of his voice. “Maybe it sounds like a long shot, but it’s something. We desperately need something. Quinn’s not the guy.”

  Sam didn’t respond.

  “Come on, Sam. Are you with me? Did I wake you up or something?” Maybe his partner’s marriage problems had gotten him even more down than he’d already been. That’d explain his surliness. But, hell, maybe the man was just ticked at having to work alone the past three days while Chase holed up with Kylie.

  “I had a few drinks,” Sam said in a contrite voice, confirming Chase’s earlier suspicion. “I probably shouldn’t be driving.”

  Chase clamped down on his annoyance. He needed to give his partner a break, considering his separation. “No problem. I can handle this on my own.”

  Sam hesitated a moment. “I can start making calls from here, if you want.”

  “That’d be great. Start with Lee Memorial in Fort Myers.”

  “Will do.”

  “Thanks, Sam. I’ll check in after I’ve talked to the folks at Kendall Falls General.”

  After he hung up, Chase took a quick shower, made a phone call, jotted a note for Kylie, let the security guards know he was taking off for a bit and headed for Kendall Falls.

  53

  JANE OPENED THE FRONT DOOR AND GAVE WADE the most bored stare she could muster, pretending to be unimpressed by the bouquet of red roses clasped in his hand. Was it a dozen or, wow, maybe two dozen? Not that it mattered.

  Before she could embarrass herself and start babbling about how much she missed him, she fixed Kylie’s brand of bland expression on her face and said, “What can I do for you?”

  Wade smiled weakly. “I’m here to beg for forgiveness.”