His lips sampled the skin at her shoulder and he moved south, over the delicate ridge of her collarbone, down her breasts and he returned to his previous location and he once again plucked a stiff nipple into his mouth.
Her moans fueled him, and he chuckled when he caught the look of utter desperation on her face. This wild, beautiful woman, for the moment, was all his. He was kneeling between her knees, supporting his own weight with his arms, bent at the elbows, ignoring the stinging pain between his shoulder blades and back. He didn’t care about that. He sank lower over her body, until he dropped down to the trim, neat little triangle of copper curls at the apex of her thighs. He smiled and breathed deeply. He placed another sweet, chaste kiss on her heat, and in one, long, lazy slide his tongue delved into her folds. He separated her with his fingers and continued to torment her with his slow torture.
She bucked her hips against his mouth, and he held her in place with one hand flat on her stomach and the other clutching her ass, holding her to his mouth. He was like a mad man. And the look, feel, taste, smell of her, and the sounds she made all combined to drive him insane. Despite her demands and pleas that he fill her completely, he kept a steady pace with his tongue and lips, until he felt her tense under him. His own painful hard-on crushed into the mattress. He was in agony. But he put his own desire aside, and focused solely on Erica. He knew that she was close, he could tell by the desperation in her moans and thrashes. But he stayed his course, probing and licking her until he felt her shake with her orgasm, and he held on to her until the final tremor shook her body.
Satisfied, he pulled himself up her body, His throbbing member brushed her flushed, sweat-dampened skin and he winced. He was dangerously close to coming, and he held his breath as he reached over into her nightstand and grabbed a condom. He quickly covered himself and pushed inside of her.
His hips pumped wildly with her, and he couldn’t hold on for a second more. With a hoarse roar, he came and crumpled in a heap on top of her, too exhausted to support his own weight. He kissed her again, as if she provided him with the air that he needed to live. Before he somehow summoned the strength to roll away from her and gather her in his arms.
Peter held Erica, and she fell asleep almost instantly. He could hear her slow, steady breaths, and he watched her chest rise and fall with each breath and he was mesmerized. Spending the night in her bed, his arms wrapped around her, watching her sleep… well, that felt right. With Erica, he felt more complete than he ever had in his life. Was she what he’d been missing?
Peter thought back to the altercation in the alley earlier that night. He could have died. His brother, too. It wasn’t the first time they had been in that type of peril, and it probably wouldn’t be the last in his line of work. He tried to ignore it and his still-shaking hands, but earlier, when he was pulling himself through the chain-link fence, he thought about Erica. He’d needed to survive. He needed to come back home to her. But she isn’t your home, he reminded himself with a curse. She was a woman that he just met. A woman he was investigating, for God’s sake. In the last week, he’d followed her, lied to her, gone through her things, and placed a recording device in her apartment. It was reprehensible.
With a sigh, he gathered her closer and he heard her murmur in her sleep. He felt a pain in the center of his chest, and the only way to ease it was to pull her closer, if that were even possible.
It hurt him to know that he was lying to Erica. She would be devastated if she ever found out. But he still didn’t have all the answers, and for all that he knew, she was in Dylan O’Connell’s pocket. What was behind their meeting in the street, and the money she’d taken from him? He still hadn’t found it, or anything else. Maybe there was nothing to find. And if there was, he certainly wasn’t going to find it in her bed.
He closed his eyes. The pain in his chest returning. The O’Connell case weighed heavily on his mind. They needed to be dealt with in a timely manner. Peter looked down at the red head asleep on his chest. He still didn’t know or understand how she fit into case or his life.
He ran his fingers through Erica’s wavy, red locks. When she’d answered the door for him tonight, he saw her sleep-tousled, concerned, beautiful, and all he could do was look at her. She had invited him in, even though he woke her up and he must have looked a wreck. His chest constricted. He may have fallen in love with her at that moment. Her beauty and unconditional caring hit him like a bolt and he realized that he wanted to see her like that every day until he died.
Chapter 16
Peter heard the screams that would forever echo in his brain, and he looked around at the bloody scene that plagued him whenever he closed his eyes. He reached out, grasping in the foggy mist that surrounded him. He reached for her, for anything that he could use to stop the horrific tortured screams that filled the air. A crowbar had found its way onto his hand, and ventured off down a dark hallway that mocked him with too many doors to count.
Her screams continued and he checked every room, but inside each he was greeted by only darkness, silence. When he returned to the hallway, the screams continued. Peter was then instantly transported in front of the last door at the end of the hallway. He put his hand on the cold doorknob and the screams stopped once again. The air however, had turned thick with the smell of fear, blood, and death. He turned the knob and it opened slowly, excruciatingly slow, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make his limbs move any faster. He took a breath and pushed his way inside.
He was greeted by the same horrific scene that he knew he would find when he opened that door. The blood, the stench, the coldness of the still air. He went to her body, which was shackled to the dirty mattress in a corner. He expected to see Kelly. Poor Kelly. But instead, the face that met him was Erica’s. Her cold, dead eyes staring straight ahead, her mouth etched in a scream, terrified and confused, a final bellow before her life had been extinguished. Her hair, made redder by the blood that plastered it to her scalp. He reached out to touch her…
Peter bolted upright in his bed. No, not his bed. Erica’s bed. She shifted next to him and she looked up at him, eyes open with concern.
“Peter?” her voice tinged with sleep, her eyelids fluttered. “Are you okay?”
Peter managed to steady his breath. “Yeah, I’m sorry.” He reached down to touch her cheek. “Just a dream. Go back to sleep.”
Ignoring his insistence that he was fine, she sat up, and the bed sheet fell around waist, revealing the luscious breasts he’d so enjoyed just a few hours ago. She reached up and touched his face. “God, you’re sweating,” she told him. No disgust in her voice, nothing but worry for him. “Must have been some dream. What was it about?”
Peter didn’t want to look at her, lest he picture her lifeless form again. He didn’t want her to see him so distraught. “I don’t remember,” he said, too quickly. He reluctantly pulled himself from her bed. “I’ve got to go.”
Her brow furrowed, unconvinced. “What? Why? Are you sure you don’t remember what it was about?”
“I’m sure!” he snapped.
Her eyes widened at his tone, but she didn’t back down. “No need to get angry, Peter. But it doesn’t seem like you’re okay.” She rubbed a comforting hand over his damp back, being careful not to hit the bandage covering his gash.
“I can tell that there's something seriously wrong.”
“It's in the past, Erica. Forget it. “
“You can talk to me, you know. You can trust me. Like I trust you.”
He felt a sharp pang of guilt at her admission of trust. If you only knew. He smiled at her gratefully. He believed her. But that didn’t mean that she wouldn’t call him a monster and kick him out of her bed when she found out the truth about what he did to Kelly. He wouldn’t let Erica turn out like Kelly. He picked up his pants and boxers and pulled them on. He couldn’t look at the hurt and confusion etched on her face.
“I have to go,” he told her. With a little difficulty, he pulled his t-shir
t back over his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, taking a final look back at her, before he walked out of her bedroom.
Chapter 17
The next morning, an exhausted Peter dragged himself into police headquarters. He hadn’t gotten back to sleep after leaving Erica’s apartment, and he’d spent hours driving around the city, trying to clear his head, to make sense of everything in his life, to reconcile his feelings for Erica and his loyalty to the job.
Unable to drive around anymore, Peter pulled into the half full parking lot of the police station. When he got to the war room, he found Mitch sitting at his computer. He had figured his brother would be there. He had given the team the day off to work on their own and relax, but Peter had had a feeling that Mitch wouldn’t be taking any free time.
Mitch looked up and glared at Peter, in a look familiar to him, a mix of relief at seeing his brother was okay and annoyance that he’d been interrupted from whatever work he was doing. “Hey.”
Peter strode up to the table and sat at the chair facing it. He threw the small microphone and transmitting device, that he had kept in his car for times he was meeting Erica, on the table in front of Mitch. "I can't do this anymore."
"You can't do what anymore?" Mitch asked him, brow furrowed.
"Erica. I can't record our conversations; I can't take pictures of her. I can't go through her things. I can’t see her. Not anymore."
“Okay.”
"Just okay?" he asked.
Mitch shrugged. “I see what this is doing to you. You’re all twisted up inside. If you don’t step back, you’re going to get yourself killed.” Mitch cracked a wry smile. “You do know the one reason we were even looking into them is because of your gut feeling. And now that there’s something interesting there, you want to end it.”
“I was wrong. Erica’s no criminal.”
“Well, admitting that you're wrong. That's a first.” Mitch smiled. “I've never seen you get this bent out of shape over some skirt before, though. What's going on here?"
"She not just some skirt. You don't talk about her like that!" Peter’s voice was low, quiet, but intense.
He looked at his brother with more understanding. "She's more than that to you, isn't she?
Peter scowled. "I like her. A lot. And I know that she'll be pissed when she finds out that I've been investigating her. I need to stop."
Mitch nodded thoughtfully. "Peter, I'm taking you off this case, entirely."
"No. I'm part of this case, one way or another."
"Don't argue. It's an order,” Mitch commanded. “You're too close to this especially since you’re having the nightmares again. I know that this isn't the same kind of situation you found yourself in with Kelly-”
“Kelly and I were never together,” Peter interrupted.
“I know that. But nevertheless, just like last time, you’re emotionally involved.” Mitch gestured to the discs containing the recordings from his time with Erica, and exhaled. "And I think you might be right, even though we still don’t know why she took the money, we're not getting anything from the recordings at her place. And we’ve yet to establish any other connection between Erica and O’Connell. Either she's clean or she's careful.” Mitch sat back in his chair. “Steve, Joe, and I can handle it from here. I do think you need to be careful, though. We don't know what's what yet, but we are getting close to the O'Connell's, and whatever dealings they have with the Russians. And they now know that someone’s watching them. It’s only a matter of time until they realize it’s us. Things could get dangerous here."
“Then don’t remove me from the case. You need me working it.”
“What I need is for you to keep your head in the game. I know you like Erica, but she’s a distraction. And we can’t have another showing like in the alley last night. We need to be careful, not impulsive. We need to plan our steps carefully and not go off go off on our own. Think you can handle that?”
Peter didn’t like to acquiesce to anyone’s orders, not even his brother’s. But there was no other choice for him if he wanted to help tear down the O’Connells and stop their nefarious plans. “You have my word, Mitch.”
“Good,” Mitch smiled. “Because, honestly, I was bluffing about taking you off the case. I didn’t want to admit it, but we do need you.”
Peter laughed. He should have known. “You’re an ass.”
“I’m your older brother. I’m supposed to be an ass.”
Mitch’s phone rang. It was still early and he’d no idea who would be calling. Mitch picked it up. “Swanson.”
Peter watched as his brother spoke to whomever was on the other end. He yawned, needing a coffee. When he’d driven past Brewed Moon, it was dark and shuttered. It hadn’t yet opened. But he wasn’t sure if he could go in there, given how he’d left Erica the night before. He felt a pang of regret, picturing her on her bed. Hurt contorting her features. Mitch was still on the phone, so he stood and walked out to the kitchen. Station coffee would have to do.
He poured a cup, and walked back to the war room, where Mitch was just hanging up.
“What was that about?”
“Judge Scott.” Mitch smiled. “He came through and signed off on a warrant to search Dylan O’Connell’s nightclub.”
“That’s great. When do we roll in?”
“As soon as we’re organized. Hopefully before night fall. Think you’ll be able to do this with us?”
Peter stared at his brother. “There’s no question.”
Erica tried to pull open the door to the nightclub, but it was locked. She checked her watch. She wasn’t too early for her meeting with Dylan O’Connell to talk about the job he’d offered her. She’d decided to go for it; figuring that she had to take a chance on something new, and despite how she felt about the man who would be her new boss, she wanted to accept the new job; be paid to dance and provide dancing jobs for her friends and colleagues. Trying the door once again, Erica unsurprisingly still found it locked. “Come on,” she muttered. She had finally talked herself into going to see him, and to find the building locked up was a bad sign. She made a fist and pounded on the door.
The door opened less than a minute later. And man who towered over her and probably outweighed her by more than one hundred pounds stood there, looking down at her. “Yes?”
“Uh, I’m Erica Hardin, I’ve got an appointment to see Mr. O’Connell.”
“Hold on,” he barked, his voice low and menacing. He closed the door on her. She stood outside so long that she didn’t think he would ever come back. When he did, he held the door for her. “Dylan will see you in his office.”
“Thanks,” she said, stepping inside. She noticed that the brute was following her. “It’s okay, I know the way.” She told him, continuing down the long hallway to the office. The man still followed her; however, and said nothing by way of return.
Fine, whatever, she said to herself. She got to the closed office door, and she turned to the galoot behind her. “Should I walk on in?”
He moved in front of her and opened the door, ushering her inside. “Gee thanks,” she said, rolling her eyes, stepping inside. The door closed behind her and approached the large desk where Dylan O’Connell sat.
“Erica,” his lips turned up into a cold, snake-like smile. “I’m glad you decided to meet me. Thank you for coming in.”
“Thank you for the offer,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about it and I’m going to accept the job as your entertainment coordinator.”
“I’m glad.”
“I’ve got some great ideas about things we could do, and I could bring in some of the girls to be regular entertainment, or…”
“Yes, we can work through all of the details in time dear-” he was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Please excuse me,” he said, standing to open the door. But it opened before he got there. It was the brutish doorman.
“Boss, we have a problem.”
Peter and his team stood outside of the club. Mitch held the warran
t to search the property in his hands, while Peter, Steve and Joe stood behind him, armed and wearing bulletproof vests, with a couple of uniformed officers. Peter would have preferred to just break the place apart, but that wasn’t the way to go with this kind of operation. They had to be careful and aboveboard. Any lapse in protocol and O’Connell’s team of lawyers would have each of their badges. The door opened and out walked Dylan O’Connell, wearing a polished suit and a smug smile which Peter wanted to smash.
“Gentlemen,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“Dylan O’Connell,” Mitch said, voice firm, his eyes obscured by his sunglasses. “We have a warrant to search your club and the premises.”
“You’re more than welcome to come in. But I assure you, you’ll find everything in order. I’m afraid your time would be better spent out catching real criminals.”
Mitch laughed. “I’m certain we’re in the right place,” and pushed the warrant into O’Connell’s chest. “Now move aside.”
The Irish man didn’t move, but instead he held the warrant in his hand. He looked at it, studying it. “I believe I’m going to have to call my lawyer.”
“I’m sure you will. Tell him we say hello. Move aside.”
Peter watched as Dylan O’Connell stared down his brother. Mitch removed his sunglasses, maintaining eye contact. He knew that Mitch wasn’t intimidated. None of them were. Finally, the Irishman moved out of the way, permitting them access to the foyer of the club.
Bump & Grind (Brewed Moon Book 1) Page 15