Now, her neck was vulnerable to him, and he nuzzled at the spot where her throat met her shoulder. He moved his hips in a slow, steady rhythm, driving him deep inside and pressing his pelvis against her swollen clit. Still clad in her satin bra, her breasts rubbed his muscled chest with each thrust. She wrapped her fingers tightly around his to match the pressure building and coiling within her. How had they let go of this?
“Harder,” she murmured at his ear. He complied, and sweat dropped from his brow onto her skin.
“You feel so good.” He kissed her shoulder, plunging into her. He lifted his head, hands pressing hers harder against the wall. His green gaze was soft and slumberous with lazy passion. Her breath caught. She knew that look, knew this man.
That was her Rob looking at her.
The realization pushed the tension inside into a climax. She dug her nails into his hands, meeting each of his thrusts, his name falling from her lips on a long moan.
He gasped against her ear and pushed deep, spilling within her. She sagged into his arms and cupped his face with shaking fingers, eager to see his eyes once more. Satisfaction and affection glinted in his gaze, and he leaned in to take her mouth in a sweet kiss.
His stomach growled between them.
Laughter bubbled in her throat, and he chuckled as he lowered her gently to the ground. “Let’s see how cold that pizza is.”
Stepping away, he zipped his jeans. She gathered his shirt and slipped it on. After buttoning three buttons, she cuffed the sleeves and soaked in the sensation of having his clean scent surrounding her, mingling with his sweat and their essence on her body.
He held out his hand. “I love that look on you.”
“Your shirt?” She curled their fingers together.
“That too.” He smiled, dimple flashing. “But I meant that well-loved, well-taken-care-of look.”
Hands clasped, they meandered to the kitchen. There he lifted her onto the counter and stepped between her thighs. She wrapped her arms about his waist and curved her feet around his calves. He flipped the pizza box open and snagged a piece. He offered her a bite before taking one. Tomato and a hint of garlic exploded on her tongue. Suddenly, she was starved.
She rubbed her fingers over the inside of his elbow. “I love you.”
He smoothed his thumb over her cheekbone. “I love you too.”
They shared another bite of pizza. The exquisite intimacy of this, savoring a casual meal together after lovemaking, settled deep inside her. She curled her palm around his shoulder blade. “I’m sorry if I ever made you feel less, Rob. You could never be less to me. Never.”
“Baby, it wasn’t you.” He offered her the sauciest bite near the crust. “I let the situation make me less, let it screw my head up. Almost let it screw us up for good. I won’t let it happen again, ever. I promise you.”
She swiped a smear of tomato sauce from the corner of his mouth, and he turned his head to lick her fingertip. “From now on, you have to promise to talk to me.”
“I promise.”
“So how about this week?” She rested on her palms as he turned to lift them another slice from the box. She rubbed his calf with her foot. “More good or bad days?”
“Definitely good.” He held the pizza so she could take the first bite. “I’m still tired and my concentration was shit today, but I’m feeling better than I have in months.”
“I’m glad.” She leaned up to kiss him, then laughed against his lips. “I don’t know about these pizza kisses.”
“Food sex.” He chuckled and rested his chin atop her head, rubbing his free hand up and down her back.
“Food sex is not supposed to involve pizza.” Laughing with him was so good. She pinched his side. “I’ll come up with a food-sex scenario and text you.”
Deep rumbles of laughter shook his lean frame. “You do that.”
His phone buzzed, and he fished it out of his back pocket to look at the screen. His brows dipped in a frown. She stroked her palm over his waist. “What?”
“Troy Lee says to check that Susannah Hartley news show.” With the remote app on his phone, he turned on the small television on the opposite counter and tuned to the round-the-clock news station. His phone clattered to the countertop, and he leaned on his arm. “Hell.”
She twisted on the counter to see, pizza forgotten. Susannah Hartley’s perfectly groomed blondeness took up one half of a split screen; on the other a haggard couple shared studio space with a young man in his late teens or early twenties. A bulletin at the bottom of the screen read Young father disappears days after wife fakes kidnapping.
“Holy heaven above,” Rob breathed. His jaw tensed. “Faked kidnapping? That stupid little son of a bitch.”
“What are you talking about? Rob, what is it?”
“That”—he pointed a hard finger at the television—“is Zeke Jenkins’s parents. That’s Mike Smithwick with them. He dropped Britt and that baby off in Haynes County, and I can’t do a damn thing about it. And now he’s on there, laying the blame with her?”
“It doesn’t sound like he’s the only one.”
“So let me get this straight,” Susannah Hartley said, “first his wife goes after his friend with a bat—and the police don’t arrest her! Then, she fakes her own kidnapping and puts their little baby at risk. Now, her husband is missing. Sounds suspicious to me, people. Have the police even talked to her?”
“I don’t know.” Zeke’s mother dabbed at her eyes.
“Yes, the police have talked to her.” Rob’s voice rose.
“You know, this is the same department that a few years ago…” Hartley shuffled through the papers on her desk, a calculated movement designed to build suspense. She arched an eyebrow at the camera. “Almost let a serial killer walk because of a blatant warrant error. Sounds like sloppy police work down there in Georgia.”
“This is not happening.” Rob pinched the bridge of his nose. “What are they thinking, going on this woman’s show?”
Amy ran a soothing hand up and down his spine. “They’re thinking their son is missing and they’ll do whatever they have to to get him back. Where’s his wife?”
“Would you go on there with them?” He gestured at the television.
“Babe, if you were gone, I’d do whatever it took to bring you back to me.” She listened to a few more seconds of Hartley’s diatribe. “Why is his friend on there and not his wife?”
“Hell if I know.” Rob still looked stunned.
“We did ask the wife, Brittany Jenkins, to come on the show. She refused.” Hartley tapped the papers on the news desk with a sharp smack. For a moment, Mike and Zeke’s parents disappeared, to be replaced with a photo of Brittany culled from her social-media account. Her hair was mussed, and she grinned widely, a red plastic cup held aloft. Hartley pinned the camera with a sly look. “You know what that means.”
“That the kid actually has a brain cell or two?” Rob muttered.
On screen, Mike responded to a question about Zeke. “He was a real good guy. You know, we went to church youth group together, played sports together. We buddied around, even after high school. I’m really missing him.”
“Did you hear that?” Rob leaned toward the screen. “He was a real good guy. It’s all in past tense except for how he feels.”
Amy eyed the sheen in Mike’s eyes, visible even on the small screen. “He’s in tears, and his voice is shaking. That feels real.”
“He’s there, and the wife isn’t. We know the marriage isn’t good.” Rob chafed a hand over his nape. “Maybe he’s only a concerned friend for real.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“Hell, no.” On the television, Zeke’s photo flashed with his vital statistics and the department’s contact information. “I believe he’s involved in some way or he knows more than everyone thinks he does. And you can believe that tomorrow, I’m tracking him down to have a little talk with him.”
“No. Not tomorrow.” She shook her head
when he looked at her askance. “You went in today. You passed everything off to the investigator on call, right?”
“Yeah, I handed the files off to Cook, but—”
“No buts.” She curved her palm along his side, above his hip. “You need the rest and we need the time together. I understand your desire to chase this case, but we have to take care of us, too.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. “Okay. You’re right.”
“Yes, I am.” She leaned up to kiss him. “How about we pick a church to visit, then do something fun together after lunch?”
“Sound good.” He rested his hand at the small of her back, a warm caress through the embrace of his shirt. His gaze traveled back to the television. “He knows something, Amy. How the hell do I get that out of him?”
“You’ve interviewed reluctant witnesses before. What worked?”
“Leverage.” He rubbed at his mouth. “Except I don’t have any. I can’t threaten him with Brittany’s kidnapping because she screwed any chance I had of charging him.”
She shrugged. “Fake it. Let him think you know more than you do.”
He flattened both palms on either side of her hips and grinned. “Where have I heard that advice before?”
“It always worked for your dad, didn’t it?” She returned the grin, gaze locked on his. “Make it work for you too.”
*
The church Amy selected for them based on a coworker’s recommendation was midsize and nondenominational, characteristics they’d always agreed on. The nondenominational category always carried risks, and five minutes into the hell-and-brimfire sermon, Rob was certain they had not found their church home.
He stretched and used the opportunity to place his arm around Amy and whisper in her ear. “Next week, we pick a different church.”
An apologetic smile curved her pretty mouth, and she laid her hand on his thigh. “Definitely.”
Home in Valdosta, he’d have simply taken her hand and slipped out, but small-town law enforcement meant small-town politics, and with the number of relatively familiar faces he recognized in the congregation, staying put through one disagreeable sermon appeared the wisest path to take. He let his gaze travel over the congregation and stilled as the young man seated in the second row behind the deacons turned his head toward the towering stained glass windows.
Mike Smithwick.
Frowning, Rob glanced at the church bulletin lying atop his open Bible. Reverend James M. Smithwick.
Mike Smithwick was a preacher’s kid?
In his welcome, the church’s youth pastor had requested that parishioners remember the Jenkins family in prayer. The night before, Smithwick had mentioned doing youth group with Zeke, although the Jenkins family was nowhere in sight today. Rob frowned. A volunteer search had been organized to cover a section of fields and forest near Zeke’s last location. If Mike were as concerned as he’d appeared on Susannah Hartley’s show last night, why wasn’t he there?
Reverend Smithwick thundered through the remainder of his message and opened the altar as the pseudo-contemporary choir retook the stage. The congregation rose, and for a moment, Rob considered slipping out with the handful of members determined to beat the Methodists to the best lunch restaurants.
At the front of the church, Mike Smithwick stepped from his pew and approached the altar. He knelt, head in his hands and shoulders shaking as two deacons came forward to kneel next to him in prayer. Finally, after long minutes ticked by, Mike rose and wiped his face. A deacon wrapped an arm about his shoulder and bent his head close to Mike’s. Mike nodded, ducked out from under the man’s arm and made his way back to his pew.
Interesting.
With the congregation dismissed after a closing prayer, Rob and Amy stepped outside into bright sunshine and a blast of muggy heat. Amy’s coworker stopped them along the path to the parking lot. “I hope you enjoyed it here.”
Amy smiled what Rob called her pageant princess smile and murmured a noncommittal reply. He draped his arm over her shoulders and scanned the small groups around them while she exchanged pleasantries with the other woman.
Alone, Mike Smithwick leaned against a water oak. He caught Rob’s gaze and scowled. Rob squeezed Amy’s shoulder and dropped his arm. “Excuse me, ladies.”
Mike’s glower deepened at Rob’s approach. The oak’s shade did little to cut the smothering heat. Rob nodded. “Mr. Smithwick.”
“You following me?” Mike didn’t straighten from his negligent posture against the tree.
“No.” Rob indicated Amy and her coworker with a jerk of his head. “One of your members invited us. Pure coincidence.”
“So what do you want?”
Rob rested his hands at his hips. “I can’t join you for a little friendly conversation?”
“I got nothing to say to you, man.”
“You had plenty to say to Susannah Hartley last night.” Rob lifted one hand to rub at his mouth as if deep in thought. “You know, I think you mentioned Brittany Jenkins and a fake kidnapping.”
Alarm flared in Mike’s tear-reddened eyes, even though his expression didn’t change. “Yeah, so?”
“So it’s an open investigation, and it sounds like you might have some firsthand knowledge about it. Why don’t you tell me what you know about Britt’s ‘fake’ kidnapping? While you’re at it, maybe you want to tell me what you really know about what happened to your buddy Zeke? You know, before everything I have on you comes down to you being charged with a couple of felonies. Make it easy on yourself.”
A spasm moved over Mike’s face. “Fuck you, man.”
“What do you know about Zeke, Mike?”
The boy’s eyes narrowed and his lips pinched, but he didn’t speak.
“You two were such good buddies and all. Seems like you’d want to talk to me, help me find him.” Rob tilted his chin. “Unless you don’t want me to find him. Unless you had something to do with it.”
“Shut up.” Mike’s voice emerged as a hostile growl.
Rob took one step forward and pitched his tone lower. “I know you know something. I know you’re hiding something. I will find out.”
“Like I said, fuck you.” Mike pushed away from the tree and stalked away to the parking lot.
Rob watched him go, a sinking sensation in his gut. Amy joined him and hooked her hand through his elbow. “What was that all about?”
“Trying to shake the tree and see what falls out.”
“Did anything fall out?”
Rob shook his head. “Just a bad feeling about Zeke Jenkins. He’s not coming home, babe.”
*
In their bedroom, Rob leaned on his dresser and scrolled through reviews of the local attractions. “You know how everyone complains there’s nothing to do here?”
“Yes.” Amy turned her back to him. “Unzip me, please.”
“They’re right.” He set his phone aside and slid the zip down, letting his knuckle trace along her spine in the process.
“We could take the bikes out. We haven’t done that in a while.” One hand holding her dress in place, she crossed to the closet.
“They’re still in storage in Valdosta.” He scrolled through a few more reviews. Apparently, no one enjoyed living here.
“What about that riverfront park where you guys run?”
“The walkway is closed because the river’s up. It’s coming out of its banks in places.”
“We could always stay home and make a couple of new memories.” Clad in her brief pink bra and panties, she struck an exaggerated seductive pose along the closet doorway.
“Sounds great, but one, I need to get out and get some exercise, and two, we’re working on the whole us. There’s more to life and marriage than sex.” He smiled and let his gaze travel over her. Damn, but she was beautiful—gorgeous and sassy with it. He loved that. “Don’t tell anybody I said that. They’d revoke my guy card.”
“Your secret is safe with me, but seriously, babe, what are we going
to do? I have to know so I know how to dress.”
“We can…” He scrolled further. “Go to the zoo. They have hiking trails. And cheetahs.”
She laughed, a burbling, carefree sound that warmed him all over. “Oh, well, if there are cheetahs, we are definitely doing that.”
The ordinary intimacy of the moment—laughing together, making plans, undressing in the same room—washed over him, and he swallowed against a sudden tightening of his throat.
He laid the phone aside. “Come here.”
She didn’t hesitate to walk into his arms. He closed them about her and wrapped her against him. Her palms rested at his shoulder blades, and he pressed his mouth to her hair. She flexed her fingertips in light caresses.
Eyes shut, he drank this in, the precious sense of being connected that he’d missed so viscerally the past few months.
“Talk to me.” A hint of desperation lurked in her quiet voice. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Her lingering fear gutted him. His throat hurt so he wasn’t sure he could get any words out. He coughed, a rough attempt to clear the building sob.
“I’ve missed you.” He managed a strangled whisper. “I didn’t know what to do to get you back. I thought you didn’t want me anymore, that I’d lost you—”
“Never.” She sagged into him, then her spine stiffened and she levered away. She brought her hands up to frame his face. “Listen to me. I am yours and you are mine.”
He nodded, trying to get his emotions under control.
“Rob—”
“I’m good.” His damn chin quivered, and he tightened his jaw. He ran his knuckle up and down the smooth skin along her spine, then let his fingers rest inside her panty waistband. “I needed this, to have you touching me, to have you comfortable with me again.”
Gone From Me: Hearts of the South, Book 10 Page 16