After a few moments her breathing slowed, and she lowered her hand to grab a fistful of his hair, pulling him up to meet her lips. “My turn,” she mumbled against his mouth. “On your back and assume the position, Frazer.”
A deep laugh rumbled through his chest. “What if I don’t want to?”
She raised a brow that told him how stupid that suggestion was, and he rolled over on top of her, pausing to press a kiss to her mouth before lying on his back and reaching up to grab the headboard.
“Fine.” He used his “this better be good voice” but she laughed at him. Jesus, he liked that. Loved the fact his usually icy demeanor didn’t offend her the way it did so many others.
She knelt beside him and ran her fingers over his chest. “I think I’m going to need to know your first name even if I have to torture it out of you.”
“Do your worst, Isadora Jane Campbell.”
She grinned and leaned down to kiss his mouth. “Is that a challenge?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Her lips drifted over his unshaven chin and down the front line of his throat. He swallowed at the strangely intimate act, trying to remember if anyone had ever kissed him there before. Next her lips touched his shoulders, but he was distracted by the stroke of her hand across his stomach, and then lower. Her hands were warm, fingers strong and, shit, he gasped out loud as she brushed her thumb lightly over the top of his penis.
“Try to hold out a little longer,” she whispered knowingly as she ran her tongue around the shell of his ear.
She knew exactly how to drive him crazy. She caressed and stroked him, and his eyes rolled in his head as she touched all of him with light, dancing fingers that made him want to pant for more. She started to slide down the bed, but he caught her arms and dragged her back up over him. There was no way he’d last if she used anything but her hands on him.
He brushed her hair off her forehead, holding her gaze. “Linc. Lincoln.”
“Suits you.” A dimple cut into her cheek. “No middle names I need to know about?”
“God, I wish.” He didn’t recognize the guttural voice that came out of his mouth.
She straddled him, and he handed her the condom because she seemed to need to be in charge, and right now he liked what she was doing. Who was he kidding? He was going to like anything she wanted to do to him as long as she did it naked.
She ripped open the condom and rolled it over him gently. He shook uncontrollably. He held her thighs in a firm grip and then she was lowering herself over him, and he was engulfed in the feeling of rightness.
He’d had sex too many times to count, but it had never felt like coming home before. He froze at the thought, but realized any woman would feel good after months of abstinence.
Probably.
She moved over him with grace and confidence, arching her back as she slid lower and lower before raising herself back up again. His hips followed hers, mindless as they sought her engulfing heat. Her breasts jiggled, and his mouth went dry watching her move so sensually above him.
“You feel amazing,” she said.
Christ, how could she talk? He couldn’t form a single coherent word let alone an entire sentence. She rode him slow and then she rode him fast and he held onto his control by a whisper as her fingers bit into his chest and her face turned toward the ceiling and inner muscles contracted around him, driving him to the very edge. As she cried out again, he pulled her tight against him and carefully turned them over so he was on top. Then he began moving, harder and faster, until he was worried it was too fast and too hard. But she was right there with him, matching his rhythm, fingernails digging sharply into his back in a grip that felt gloriously uncontrolled. She wrapped her legs around his waist, digging her heels into his ass as she started to climax again. He held onto her hips as she writhed and twisted, smooth muscles and soft skin feeling like silk against his fingers.
His own release snapped at the base of his spine as her inner muscles milked him until finally his hips were bucking into her and he flew off that cliff, spinning over the edge into blinding light that made pleasure screech along every neuron.
Holy crap.
He lay panting on top of her, the pounding of his heart loud enough to block out the ever-present drum of the ocean. Slowly he opened his eyes. They were nose to nose and she grinned at him, a satisfied grin. Then she squeezed him again and ran her heels down the back of his legs, letting them rest on his calves as he stayed inside her.
He couldn’t move.
“You’re good at that.”
He withdrew carefully and rolled onto his back, disposing of the condom. “My ex-wife said I was good at two things. That was one of them.” Although, honestly, he hadn’t done anything except let her have her way with him. It had felt good. It had felt incredible.
“What was the other thing?” she asked curiously. So Isadora Campbell was one of the few women on the planet not to be pissed off by the mention of another woman while in bed.
Was that why he’d said it? As a test? To drive her away? That was cold, only moments after red-hot sex.
He found himself grinning down at her because she never reacted exactly as he thought she would. He kissed her. Long, lingering. Exploring more of her mouth, which he didn’t feel like he’d even begun to get enough of. He drew back. “The other thing she said I was good at was making her miserable.”
“Ouch.” She brushed his hair off his forehead. “You left her?”
“Officially, she left me.” He shrugged. His marriage had died long ago. “We met in college. I was studying criminal justice. She was pre-law. I told her from the start what I wanted to do with my life, where I was going, but the moment I became a beat cop? Let’s just say the offers from her daddy’s firm kept getting higher and higher until one day she realized that I actually meant what I said, and wouldn’t be swayed from my path.” He blew out a huge guilt-laden sigh. “She called me ‘emotionally derelict’ and ‘borderline sociopath’.”
“Ouch. The worst I’ve ever been called by an ex was a cold bitch.” Isadora pushed him off her, stretching her arms over her head.
He watched her breasts and wanted her again. “I guess no one wants to feel like they matter less than your job.”
“Some careers aren’t just jobs. It’s not what defines us, it’s literally a part of who we are—like hair color or how many fingers we have on our right hand.”
He picked up her hand and kissed each finger.
She smiled. “It was her mistake for not seeing it.”
“It was my mistake. She thought she knew me but she didn’t.” He’d been wrong to marry her. Because although he looked okay on the outside, inside he was a writhing mass of flawed humanity, trying to save his family and failing every single time. No one should have to cope with a career drive that came from a constant sense of failure. “I knew it wasn’t going to work. I married her anyway.”
He started nibbling her neck, surprised he was growing hard again. “What about you? Why aren’t you married?” And why was he talking about marriage when he was in bed and had just had sex with a woman?
“You’re not the only one with an important career, Lincoln Frazer.” Her eyes shone with humor, but he knew she was hiding something. Some bad breakup? Unrequited love? Shit happened. Why should she tell him everything? They were simply spending a few hours having fun. God knew they both deserved a break from their never-ending workload.
“You don’t let anyone close, do you?” he realized. Neither did he, but suddenly he wanted her closer, he wanted more than a few hours. His hands caught her hips and he captured one of her nipples with his mouth. He moved over her as she arched off the bed to meet him.
“This is as close as it gets, Frazer.”
Not close enough. The voice in his head should have scared him, but for once being held at arm’s length wasn’t enough. Or maybe Isadora’s own reluctance to get involved made him feel more secure. More able to be who he really was. Not pretending to be perfect. Not p
retending they were gonna get married and raise rug-rats. The marriage thing hadn’t worked for him, and he never wanted to feel that miserable or out of control ever again. Maybe he could manage a relationship, though. Definitely more than one night of fucking. The thought would have worried him if the woman he was contemplating it with hadn’t been sliding down the bed doing something amazingly hot with her mouth.
He could definitely get used to more, if more included having this woman in his bed.
* * *
IT WAS STILL dark when she slipped out of Lincoln Frazer’s bed. She’d stayed far longer than she’d intended. He didn’t strike her as the cuddling type, but they’d fallen asleep entangled and sated.
A strand of blond hair fell across his forehead as he lay on his back, sleeping. She dressed quietly, not wanting to wake him, not really wanting to leave, but knowing she had to. The sex had been fantastic and she ached in all the right places. But she wasn’t hanging around for that awkward morning-after moment. And she wanted to get back to Kit.
Dammit, she shouldn’t have let herself get distracted, and yet she’d needed this particular distraction more than she’d needed her next breath. Unfortunately having sex hadn’t ended her fascination with the guy. He was direct, determined, demanding, and competitive. It didn’t make for an easy personality, but it made for an interesting one, not to mention a hell of a partner in bed.
The fact she was reducing everything to sex told her more than she wanted to know about how she was trying to push her feelings for this guy into a box. He was gorgeous, built, and fought monsters for a living. She’d been halfway in love with him before he’d proven to be an attentive and generous lover, and to have an unexpected vulnerable side.
And he carried a badge.
Yeah, she was totally screwed.
She grabbed her Glock and held her keys in her pocket against her thigh so they didn’t jingle as she walked. She eased open the door. The other bedroom door was open, and Barney leapt off the top of the blankets as someone turned over in bed.
Agent Randall. And from the way he moved he was awake. Her cheeks heated because it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure this out. She hoped Frazer didn’t get in trouble, but she didn’t know what the rules were regarding hook-ups during work time.
She snuck past the murder board and guilt crawled up her spine and expanded inside her brain until it forced her to blink hard against the pressure. She still wasn’t convinced she knew anything about the current murders, but she knew who those bones belonged to. She knew how they’d come to be buried in the dunes. Without a word she opened the front door and let her dog out. She closed it softly behind her, hurrying down the wooden steps in her bare feet, aware of the intense chill in the air.
The waves still crashed against the shore, but the tide was out and the storm didn’t seem so bad, yet.
As she went up the steps to her porch she noticed the blanket that Barney had dragged to the floor earlier was now neatly folded and placed on the wicker sofa. She looked across to the beach house and saw Frazer’s silhouette at the window. Her heart beat a little harder, not only because he was watching her sneak away, but also because anyone standing here could have seen them earlier. God, had Agent Randall stood here? Or Kit? A wave of humiliation rolled over her at the thought.
What about the killer?
Cold dread spread over her nerves.
That was stupid. Paranoia. Just because someone had folded the blanket did not mean they’d spied on her and Frazer.
She let herself into the house, Barney racing to his chow bowl in the hopes of magical food regeneration. She took out her Glock and slowly worked her way around the building, room by room, until she reached Kit’s bedroom. Izzy gently eased open the door, and there was her sister, curled up on her side, covers raised high under her chin as she snored softly.
Tenderness welled up. The kid was a brat and a pain in the ass and she loved her sister more than she loved life. She’d sacrificed so much for this incredible child already, even before she was born. Izzy silently backed out of the room.
She needed her sleep.
Barney was already there, taking up the middle of the bed. She pushed him over and then slid beneath the sheets. Barney placed his head on her chest, his weight solidly reassuring. Izzy closed her eyes and images of Lincoln Frazer smiling, touching her, telling her about his ex, ran through her mind. But rather than keeping her awake, sleep crept over her as she pulled him tight and held him close.
Chapter Nineteen
NEXT MORNING, IZZY called the garage but no one answered. It was early, but Seth Grundy usually started work around seven. She left Kit sleeping in and put Barney in Ted’s truck, figuring she’d stop at the garage first and if her car wasn’t ready yet, she’d go up to Currituck National Wildlife Refuge to check out the ponies and take some pictures of the sunrise. She missed seeing the horses roaming the beaches the way she had as a kid, but at least up there they weren’t getting run-over in traffic.
It was still dark.
And, perhaps, she was hoping to avoid both of the federal agents staying in her beach house. Perhaps she wanted to pretend last night hadn’t happened. Sex was one thing. Sex while hiding a secret as big as hers, with someone whose integrity meant everything to him? Whose career meant everything to him? She’d made a massive mistake.
The entire episode had been completely selfish because Lincoln Frazer wouldn’t have touched her if he’d known the truth about her past. The fact he was attracted to her was irrelevant. She’d gone to him under false pretenses, and it was unforgivable.
Self-disgust rose up inside. She was going to have to tell him everything and trust he’d protect Kit from the worst of it.
After years of trying to outrun the grimmest episode of her life, she knew she had to stop and confront it. What was that saying? “The truth would set you free, but first it would piss you off.” That was exactly how Lincoln Frazer was going to remember her.
Seth’s garage was on the west side of Whalebone, tucked into some scrubland just before you hit all the outlet malls and mini golf emporiums.
Ted’s truck bounced over ruts in the road as she got off the main highway. She’d been here many times in daylight, but it was a lot creepier in the darkness. Fog crept over the island and made it hard to see more than ten feet in any direction. The hairs on her nape stood taut, and even Barney whimpered.
She pulled up around the front of the garage, but there were no lights on that she could see. Seth lived in an apartment above the shop. In her headlights, she could make out her SUV inside the bay doors, glass intact, outside gleaming. He’d not only fixed it in record time, he’d obviously detailed her vehicle too, and that brought a little lump of gratefulness to her throat.
Barney whined again, and she realized belatedly he needed to go. Duh. She turned off the engine and opened the door and climbed out, stuffing her hands in her jacket as the cold wind buffeted her. Barney jumped out of the truck and went to sniff the nearest patch of grass. Fog crept close to him, and the eerie shadows made her flesh crawl. It felt like a million sets of eyes watched her just out of sight. The brunt of the latest storm had hit the mainland south of the Banks but was still creating high winds and blustery skies. She took her weapon from the holster and slipped it inside her coat pocket. She closed the cab door, quietly, not wanting to disturb Seth if he was sleeping, as the guy had obviously worked his balls off last night fixing her vehicle.
The thin shriek of a birdcall shot through the air and straight through Izzy’s heart. Barney shot off into the darkness. Dammit.
“Barney!” she called softly. Nothing. Crap. She really needed to work on his obedience training. She sniffed cautiously. The scent of gasoline and burning rubber hung on the damp air. A rustle in the bushes had her swallowing nervously and backing up a step. “Barney,” she called again.
Nothing except the sound of the sea. Not the whisper of the wind in the grass or the racing of paws. It made the
pounding of her heart seem even louder. And then she heard it—the sharp whimper that told her her dog was in pain.
“Barney?” She edged into the marsh, taking a few steps off the narrow path and immediately becoming disorientated. He whimpered again, and she wondered if he’d chased a rabbit down its burrow. “Here, boy,” she called out, trying to sound positive.
Nothing.
Damn.
Something slammed into her out of the mist and smacked her headlong into the ground. Pain exploded in her jaw, but whatever sound she made was smothered by a heavy leather glove that also cut off her air supply. She tried to bite, but was dragged to her feet against a lean body and lifted up into the air. She flailed wildly, kicking, trying to get to her gun, but her assailant wrapped his other arm so tight around her waist her arm was trapped and the Glock dug painfully into her abdomen.
Her brain was struggling to comprehend what was happening, pain and lack of oxygen and plain old-fashioned shock making her thought process dull and blunt. Her kicks grew weaker as she was hauled across sandy paths into the scrubby dunes near the inlet. Barney barked again, and she managed to nail her attacker hard enough in the knee that he stumbled. But rather than releasing her he fell on top of her, his weight crushing. He pressed her face into the sand, punching the back of her head, pummeling her with thick meaty fists.
Oh, God.
She couldn’t breathe.
Then the words began to penetrate. “Fucking whore. Fucking bitch. Worthless piece of shit.” All hissed in a low voice, saturated in hatred.
The constant rain of punches made her head pound. She tried to protect her nose from a direct hit that might kill her outright, protect her airway, her eyes, her vital organs. She was already on her way to a possible concussion, and she had the feeling this guy had barely gotten started.
She raised her head enough to spit out the sand in her mouth, and forced a sound past her frozen vocal cords. Not a scream. A pathetic groan.
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