by Melissa Fox
“What the hell, Emma?” His shirt dropped to the floor.
Tossing hers on top, she stood facing him with her hands on her hips. The plum-colored silk and lace bra she wore wasn’t practical, because no woman in her right mind would wear something practical when there was every chance Asher Beaulieu would see it. The material highlighted more than hid, the delicate lace swirling over the curves of her breasts and revealing pale skin underneath, the darker rose of her nipples. He swallowed audibly before gathering himself.
“So that’s how we’re playing it, huh?”
“You started this,” she pointed out, running her finger along a silky strap and tracing the insubstantial cup.
“Bring it,” he said, but his eyes focused on her finger.
Shaking her arms to loosen the muscle jiggled her breasts, and a faint hint of red washed along his sharp cheekbones. Oh, yeah. Bring it.
Moving to stand next to her under the pull-up bar, he brushed up against her, lightly, barely there. She blinked innocently.
“Lift?” she asked, even though she was only a couple of inches shorter and could reach the bar easily.
His marvelous eyes narrowed, but he moved behind her, clasping her bare waist. Pressing against her back, his fingers gripped, held, then lifted. Emma grasped the bar, and his hands appeared next to hers.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
She pulled her chin above the bar at the same time he did, and he lifted that damn brow. His arms flexed and bulged, and he double-timed her reps, the show off. She managed the first set easily before the warning burn fired in her upper arms. He still pulled and dropped with infuriating ease, so she dug into her bag of tricks.
“Look at that,” she murmured. “Who knew physical exertion made my nipples hard?”
The smallest stutter interrupted his smooth motion, and there went that brow. She wanted to lick it off.
“I thought it was because of my physical exertion,” he said, pretending to bite his glistening biceps without faltering. “Getting tired, beautiful?”
“Not a chance, gorgeous.”
He grinned at her retort, and she tried desperately not to grunt with effort. Emma gathered her strength, and on her next pull, she managed to rub the side of her body along his, up then down. They slid and slipped against each other, sweat-slick, hot, heated, blood pumping, muscles working, pride and ego battling.
“Fuck it,” he gasped. Hooking an arm over the bar, he leaned sideways to kiss her, in the jarringly sensitive spot just below her ear.
The kiss took her by surprise, and she almost fell, struggling frantically to keep her grip on the bar and his lips right where they were—on her neck, not on her mouth. Never on her mouth, damn it, but she wouldn’t do a thing to disrupt the deep, pervasive pleasure as his teeth scraped down her neck, no matter how tired her arms were. Somehow, she’d find the strength to hold herself over the bar until she passed out or died.
And oh, boy, did he ever know how to use that mouth. His teeth bit and tongue soothed over the thrilling sting as they dangled from the pull-up bar. Tilting his head, he growled in frustration when he couldn’t reach as far as he wanted, and then dropped to the floor. Emma let go of the bar with a gasp and fell on her ass on the carpet.
“Let’s call a draw.”
He stood over her, panting. Eyes soft and heavy with desire, he rolled his lips to lick them, and that was all she could take. She yanked on the hem of his cotton shorts, and he staggered forward with a surprised grunt. Tripping on their shirts lying in a heap at his feet, he teetered ominously.
“Emma—Shit!”
He fell forward and knocked her onto her back but managed to catch himself on his hands. She took immediate advantage by wrapping her legs around his hips and pulling him down.
“Fucking hell.” He locked his arms, and heat engulfed her breast when his mouth covered her nipple through her bra. She drifted one hand down his side to touch the scar marring his left thigh, and the other reluctantly tugged in his hair. He lifted his head with a groan and collapsed on top of her, crushing her into the carpet.
“You’ve done me in,” he said, voice muffled in her neck. Pushing on his shoulder, she laughed when he flopped dramatically onto the floor next to her.
“How about we open a nice bottle of wine and spend the rest of the night relaxing?”
“That might even be beyond me.” In a smooth motion, he sat up and grabbed his sweatshirt off the floor to pull over her head.
“I’ve got my own shirt,” she protested, but gave herself away by pulling the frayed collar against her cheek to inhale the scent clinging to the soft material.
“Getting cool out.” He brushed his fingertips across her cheek, and her breath caught at the look on his face.
“What about you?” She gestured at his bare chest.
“I’ll grab another shirt while you get the wine.”
When he walked back into the family room after donning a new sweatshirt, the sliding door to the deck Emma left cracked open caught his attention. The clouds had passed and the light rain with them, leaving the air cool and crisp with stars spread across the night sky. He grabbed the blanket lying across the back of the sofa to wrap around her as she sat outside on one of the lounge chairs.
She broke his damn heart, watching him with wide, solemn eyes. Engulfed in his old sweatshirt, the sleeves covered her hands right down to her fingertips and the shoulder seams hung down her arms. Soft and adorable, sitting in the dark with his mom’s blanket tucked around her waist. He couldn’t recall any sight ever affecting him more.
“Ash?”
Her voice curled seductively around his name and he drew in a breath. Remembering his long ago fantasy of bringing Liz to the lake house, making love to her under that very blanket on that exact lounge chair, his heart clenched, but not with remorse. The only woman he could imagine in his home—his childhood home, his parents’ home—was her.
Emma.
“Ash,” she repeated, leaning back in the chaise and opening the blanket.
Silent on his bare feet, he went to her and put a hand on each armrest. Her breath caught with a soft gasp, and a surge of heat hardened him at the sound.
Pushing the hair off her shoulder to expose her throat, he brushed his lips below her ear and along her jaw before kissing the corner of her mouth. Emma angled her chin, seeking, but he slid a hand behind her neck as he made a quiet, soothing sound and nuzzled gently against her cheek.
She strained up against him, fingers sinking into his biceps as she kicked the blanket away and wrapped her legs around his to pull him down those last critical inches so he lay on top. He held firm against her demand, even when she swept her tongue along his lower lip, tempting him unmercifully and weakening his resolve.
“Not here.” He groaned when she slid her legs up and flexed. Bedroom. Hell, he’d settle for the family room, or even the kitchen, just not out on the deck. In the chaise. On his mother’s blanket.
“Here,” she said on a breath. “Right here. Right now.”
“God, Emma.” Heat weakened his resolve, and he lowered himself to settle on top of her.
“Yes,” she hissed, reaching for the buttons on his jeans and his mouth again.
“Condom,” he muttered, angling his head away out of reflex, but his hand went between her thighs to seek and search. Oh, yes. So wet. So ready.
“No time,” she repeated. “Want you now. I’m on the pill. Well, I’ve had a shot—a shot of the pill. You know what I mean. Shut up. Do it. Just do it, right now.”
He gave up the fight, wanting her too much, needing to give her anything she asked for. His hands burrowed under the borrowed sweatshirt, but she managed to shake her head without dislodging his mouth from under her jaw.
“No. Too cold. God, quick. Ash. Hurry.”
He wrestled with the cotton pants she wore, somehow freeing one of her legs. The material tangled around her other ankle, but he ignored that in favor of shoving
his jeans and briefs down the minimum distance and reached between her legs. He entered her with a single thrust, and she clung, arched up and met his hips with as much desperation and violence as he gave. Need roared as his control slipped, and he took her hot and hard, shattered and humbled and so incredibly desperate for her.
She convulsed under his frantic, driving strokes. Lost, he buried his face in the curve of her neck and shoulder, strangling on a shout as he came, kept coming, jerking with the force of his climax. He lay shivering on top of her, soothed by the stroke of her hands on his back and over his bare buttocks.
“Emma.” He could barely make his voice work. “Y’okay?”
“Amazing,” she whispered. Aftershocks from his orgasm flowed into a deep, lifting sigh at the sincerity in her voice.
“Bed,” he murmured. “With you.”
She chuckled, and he felt as well as heard the sound. He managed to lift his upper body on his arms and forced himself to his feet, hoisted his jeans up before scooping her into his arms. Emma gasped, struggled briefly, and then grabbed him around the neck as he staggered across the deck to the door.
“Ash! I’m too heavy. Put me down.”
“Pfft. You’re perfect. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
He proved his claim by carrying her down the hall to his room and lowering her to the bed. Stripping her, stripping himself, he pulled her under the covers. She gave a delighted laugh and proceeded to kiss every inch of his bare skin. Every long, hard inch.
With a contented sigh, he enjoyed her attentions, determined to return the favor.
Later.
The next afternoon, Emma scowled at the papers and discs spread over the dining room table where she’d set up to work, needing the extra space. Laying her head next to her laptop, she blinked blearily.
“There’s just…nothing. No trail, no evidence, nobody coming forward to take credit for either of the Salvatore murders or even bragging about it on the street. No evidence Rico’s rivals killed him and his sister. Or Slick. It’s all a big goddamn dead end. Maybe we’re not looking in the right place.” She hesitated and then voiced a niggling fear. “I don’t know who they’ll go after next. If they’ll go after you.”
“Pete, Andy, and I talked about that. No reason to think they will.”
“That was before Gina and Leonard—Slick—were killed.”
“Pretty well known I was UC, not an actual member of Rico’s operation, thanks to the media coverage of the bombing. Not a threat to take over his operations, so unless they have a hard-on for Mounties, I’m in no more danger than I am every day on the job.” He placed a mug of hot tea next to her. “I’ve seen the file, but you’re welcome to talk things out if it’ll help.”
Emma sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Reports confirm a single person, same one for all three murders. Strong bastard. Takes a lot of strength to cut someone’s throat, but labs show drugs—oxycodone—in all three vics. Drugged and incapacitated make slitting someone’s throat a little easier, although less sporting, if you ask me. Suspect is medium height, as far as we can tell, made all three kneel before coming up behind and—”
She made a sharp horizontal slash with her arm, holding an imaginary knife in her fist.
“Still got me on that suspect list of yours, Special Agent Justice? I’m a strong bastard, and I wouldn’t have minded their blood spilling over my hands while they were on their knees before me.” Ash had meant to lighten the mood, but his words held the morbid ring of truth.
“No, you’re too tall,” she commented absently. “Don’t joke, Ash.”
“You were pretty determined to put me on your suspect list at first.”
“I was just yanking your chain. Wanted to use what you knew about Rico’s operations and your interactions with the victims.”
“Mm. Yanking my chain?”
She huffed a laugh. “It’s such a pretty chain.”
“Pretty?” He leaned down and bit her earlobe in retaliation before soothing the sting with his tongue.
“Manly,” she allowed between kisses along her jaw. “Very masculine. Studly. Um…”
“Something will come up.” He moved behind her to rub her shoulders. “The situation is too odd, the circumstances too similar. Something will pop.”
Emma squeezed his fingers where they kneaded her neck. “Probably. Hopefully. But more than likely not before I have to leave.”
His hands stilled and then resumed their massage. “Have you heard anything about going back to the States?”
She shrugged, glad he couldn’t see her face. “Nothing definite. There’s been some talk about assigning me to the Buffalo office, continuing to work in conjunction with you guys at the RCMP.”
“Buffalo’s only, what, about three hours from here?”
“It is.”
“Is that something you’d consider?” His voice was carefully neutral. “Moving from New York City to Buffalo?”
“Working undercover, I could get sent anywhere, but my home office would be Buffalo. I’ve enjoyed working with everyone in the RCMP, despite the lack of progress on this.” Her sweeping gesture encompassed the mess on the table. A deep breath eased the sudden pressure in her chest, and she placed her hand over his fingers where they stroked over the back of her neck. “I’ve liked being here with you.”
He stopped to pull her chair out, turning and crouching at her knees. Emma met his serious blue eyes when the heat of his palms settled on her thighs.
“I like you being here. Like being with you. Buffalo isn’t that far. We can make it work, if that’s what you want. Unless you want to go back to the States and just…well, chalk this up to an amazing couple of months you’ll remember fondly.”
“I want more than just memories. I want to keep making them. I want you, this, the whole thing. I’m not ready to walk away. I’m not.”
He stood, pulling her up with him and framing her face in his hands. “Not ready to let you. We’re adults and fairly intelligent, reasonable people. We can figure it out, right?”
She exhaled, a smile trembling on her mouth. “Yes. Yes.”
Throwing her arms around his neck, she squeezed tight, and he pulled her up off her feet.
“Good. I’d chase you down no matter where you went, but good to know I won’t have to.”
Oh, the things he said. “Well, I’m reasonable and intelligent. You provide the brute strength, stubbornness, and really great sex in this relationship.”
“I’ll take the brute strength part but argue the stubbornness and really great sex. You can hold your own in those departments.” He lifted her over his shoulder and carried her down the hall to the bedroom. “Let’s put it to the test, eh?”
“Feel like celebrating,” he murmured in her ear as his long, heavy body pressed her into the mattress. “This feels like something to celebrate, doesn’t it?”
No way she’d cry, not even happy tears. Felt like a commitment, all right. Like the first tendrils of a future, of not having to give him up, not setting a time limit on being together. She stretched to contain the deep-seated thrill and tilted her pelvis. “Feels like you already are. I like celebrations. Champagne celebrations, especially.”
“I can arrange that,” he murmured, stroking the wild strands of hair from her face. Emma pulled his head down for a kiss, but he avoided her mouth, brushed his lips and stubbled jaw down her neck and across her collarbone. “I was thinking about taking you out.”
“We go out.” She rolled her head back to give him better access. They did, although they spent most of their time at the lake house indulging in each other.
“Somewhere special. Somewhere fun. Anywhere you’d like to go?”
Was there? He’d already taken her to some great restaurants and most of the touristy places. Neither of them really enjoyed clubs or social hot spots, but she’d always wanted to go to one of Toronto’s grand old theaters.
“I’d love to go to the Royal Alex, see what’s playing there or at any of
the others. I haven’t been to a play or opera in ages.”
The wet heat of his mouth paused on its way to her breast but continued when she arched until his teeth scraped over the peak. She forgot about celebrating in any other way as his hands and tongue triggered enough fireworks to scramble her brain.
“Mr. Beaulieu, welcome. So good to see you again.”
Both theatergoers and employees of the Royal Alexandra greeted Ash as he guided Emma through the lobby, the quick flashes of surprise on their faces turning to interest and curiosity. At first, she thought the glances were due to the mouthwatering and perfectly tailored suit he’d bought for the occasion, as none of his old jackets fit after the changes his body had been through since his recovery. Or maybe because of his job with the Mounties, the media coverage of the bombing, but that had been quite a while ago. His parents had been avid theatergoers, patrons, even, so maybe…
Crap. Oh, crap.
“Have you been back to the theater since your mom and dad died?” Emma asked. She’d read how Rico Salvatore had used Ash’s name on the fake letter and theater tickets to set up their murder.
A muscle ticked along his jaw, but when he turned to look at her, his eyes were clear and the curve of his mouth seemed genuine. If she didn’t know him so well, she would have been completely fooled. His hand slid over the snug fitting velvet of her dress as he stepped close to hide the quick, intimate caress with his body. The backs of his fingers stroked down the bare length of her arm, but her shiver came from the brush of his lips behind her ear.
“Yeah. Once.”
She glanced at him sharply, but he kept his gaze forward. Emma tightened her hand around his biceps and took a step to the side so they stood out of the lazy flow of theater-goers. “Ash. We don’t have to stay if this is too much.”