CAPTURING CLEO

by Linda Winstead Jones

  She rounded the bar to give Edgar the approved glassware order. He was perfectly capable of managing all the ordering on his own, but he always insisted that she look everything over and give it her personal thumbs-up. She usually barely glanced at the numbers.

  “Looks good,” she said, tossing the paperwork onto the bar. He stood in front of the small refrigerator that was set beneath the bar on his end. “Would you pour me a glass of juice?”

  He nodded and bent down to open the fridge.

  “A small glass,” she said, leaning forward. As she looked down the length of the bar, a flash of shiny red caught her eye. Something had been hidden behind a row of flavored syrups. She bent to peek over the bottles, and smiled when she saw the telltale sloppy wrapping of a small box. Luther’s Valentine present to her, a surprise in addition to the necklace, hidden until tomorrow night? The wrapped package was the size of a shirt box, so maybe he was giving her lingerie. Something sexy with hearts on it. Something to match his silk boxers.

  She carefully maneuvered the box out and placed it on the bar. She couldn’t help but smile as she ran her fingers along the thick, misshapen seam on one end. If she opened it and had a look, Luther would never know. Curiosity was eating at her, and her fingers literally itched.

  She slipped a fingernail beneath the tape on the end and lifted it gently, being careful not to tear the paper. Boone ended a phone conversation and stood slowly.

  “Cleo?” he said suspiciously. “What is that?”

  She waved off his concern. “It’s from Luther.”

  He nodded once and retook his seat, but his eyes stayed on her as she carefully unwrapped.

  “Don’t tell,” she added as she carefully unfolded the red foil paper. “I’m not supposed to be snooping, but I’m sure you understand.”

  Boone frowned. Lizzy smiled and Edgar shook his head. Eric kept playing.

  Cleo set the paper aside so she could rewrap the package without Luther ever knowing. She placed both hands on the lid, and carefully lifted it.

  The box was empty but for one square sheet of paper with a single word written on it.

  Boom.

  Rambo sensed Cleo’s agitation. The golden mutt had been restless since they’d arrived home a few minutes ago, Cleo and Luther both shaken and off center.

  Luther tried to offer her some comfort, he did his best to get her to calm down, but he was so angry he did a poor job of it.

  “They’re going over the building top to bottom,” he said. “Just to be safe.”

  Cleo nodded. Her face was so pale, and she shook as she sat on the end of the couch and curled up, drawing into herself. “I could’ve killed everyone,” she said. “Edgar and Eric and Boone and Lizzy. If there really had been a bomb in that box—”

  “But there wasn’t,” he said. “That bastard is just trying to scare you.” Boone had checked her house carefully, looking for signs of an intruder. He’d found everything in order.

  The white roses had been a shift from the ordinary, might’ve meant something ominous and might not have. But no one could deny that this was a threat. Boone and Russell were both posted on the street, and a patrol car was parked on the street behind, where they had a clear view of the duplex’s backyard.

  And Luther was here for the duration. He didn’t care if it cost him his job, he didn’t care about anything anymore, except keeping an eye on Cleo until this SOB was caught.

  “I was so sure the package was from you,” she whispered, settling back and closing her eyes. “You use that kind of paper, and it was so sloppy at the ends.”

  “You were snooping,” he said gently.

  She sniffled. “Yes.”

  The fact that the package had been under the bar, and that it had been wrapped so much like his own gifts to Cleo, confirmed his suspicions that whoever was doing this had been watching closely.

  He sat beside Cleo and wrapped his arm around her. She didn’t hesitate to melt against him and sigh deeply.

  “My heart stopped when I saw that note,” she said.

  Mine, too. Instead of confessing anything so telling, he cursed.

  Cleo rested her head on his shoulder, and Rambo rested her chin on his knee. All three of them calmed down together, one heartbeat at a time.

  He’d never known anything like this before, and it threw him more than a little. Cleo needed him; not to catch the bad guys, not to solve the crime, but to hold her like this, to assure her that everything was going to work out fine.

  “I’m so scared,” she said.

  “You know I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  She snuggled against him more securely, and he caught the beginnings of a smile that didn’t last.

  “Believe it or not, it’s not the killer that has me scared.”

  He threaded his fingers through her hair and held on loosely. “Then what?”

  “I’m more than a little afraid of you, Malone.”

  “Me?”

  She lifted her head and looked him in the eye. “Yeah, you. I learned a long time ago to stand on my own two feet. I learned the hard way, and for years I managed just fine without… without this.”

  He knew what this was, and it scared him, too.

  “I don’t lean on other people,” she whispered. “I most especially do not lean on any man. I don’t get giddy about silly little presents, or crave a kiss at the oddest times, or think about a certain person all the time. I don’t run to anyone when there’s trouble. I take care of myself, always.” She laid a hand on his cheek. “And now here I am, running to you, craving a kiss, thinking about you all the time. I love it,” she added. “I love the way being with you makes me feel.”

  “Why does that scare you?”

  Her lovely smile dimmed. “I’m afraid it’s going to go away.”

  He drew her close, cupped her head and pulled it to his shoulder. Like it or not, he knew how she felt. “It’s not going away.”

  “But what if...”

  He tilted her head back and stared into her eyes. Amber eyes, so full of life and energy and love that they seemed to shimmer. He kissed her, laid his mouth over hers and closed his eyes while he gave in to the craving he’d had since rushing to the club to find her on the sidewalk outside. She was with the others who’d been ejected by the squad searching the building for a real bomb, shaking with fear as much as with the February cold. Waiting for him and so absolutely and clearly relieved when he arrived.

  “Staying out of your bed this week has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” he admitted, taking his mouth from hers briefly, returning for another quick kiss.

  She nodded, murmured an agreement, and rested her hand on his thigh as she nibbled on his lower lip.

  “I knew that first night,” he said, drawing her body across and over his, “that you were mine. Don’t ask me how I knew. I just did.”

  She draped her arms around his neck. “You annoyed the crap out of me that night,” she said, giving a small smile. “You blew into my life and crept under my skin and took up residence, and I knew there would be no shaking you free.”

  “If you had any tender feelings for me when we met, you hid them well.”

  “I did, didn’t I.”

  “I could’ve sworn you hated my guts.”

  “I did,” she said. “I hated you because you slipped around my guard. I can handle wacko secret admirers, annoying ex-husbands, and hecklers much better than I can handle… getting involved again.”

  “Falling in love,” he corrected. “You said it once. Why shy away now?”

  “Because the harder I fall, the more it’ll hurt when this ends.”

  “Who says it has to end?”

  He didn’t look for permanence with women; he didn’t speak from the heart and make promises that might not work out, no matter how much he wanted them to. But he couldn’t imagine ever letting Cleo go. He couldn’t imagine not coming home to her at the end of the day.

  “Everything ends,” she whisper
ed.

  He laid Cleo down on the couch and hovered above her. The skirt of her slinky royal-blue dress was too tight, she was wearing those damn pantyhose, and it seemed that everything was getting in their way. Including the nose of an overly friendly dog.

  “Not everything.” He kissed her. Once, twice. Again. They were wedged onto the couch. Cleo could barely move, thanks to the snug fit of her dress, and he wasn’t in much better shape. And all he could think about was being inside her, claiming her as his own as was right and proper. To hell with the rules, to hell with caution. Nothing was as important as this.

  He pressed his body to hers, his erection against her mound, his hand on her hip urging her to him. Layers of clothing, his and hers, impeded them, but he couldn’t stop. He raked his length against her, and she answered with a low moan.

  Another sound intruded, a whimper and a soft growl as Rambo tried to join in.

  “Can’t we put the dog outside?”

  “I don’t have a fenced yard,” Cleo said breathlessly.

  Luther turned his head and stared into big, brown eyes. “Go away.”

  Rambo cocked her head and continued to stare at him, so innocently.

  The doorbell rang.

  Luther cursed as he leapt from the couch. “I hope this isn’t a sign,” he said as he headed for the front door.

  Cleo stood slowly, her laugh as husky and inviting as her voice when she sang and swept a roomful of people away. “I’m going to change into something comfortable,” she said, heading for her bedroom. “If that’s Syd at the door, tell her I’ll see her in the morning. And then lay out some doggie treats in the kitchen for Rambo.”

  She closed the bedroom door, as he looked through the peephole and saw Russell standing on the front porch.

  “What do you want?” Luther asked as he opened the door.

  “You’re not staying here all night,” the kid said with a sanctimonious air.

  “I am.”

  Russell shook his head. “This is such a bad idea. Can I at least come in for a minute?”

  Luther stepped back and let his partner enter.

  “The club is clean,” Russell said as he looked around. “No real explosives of any kind, no sign that anything’s been tampered with. So tomorrow is a go.”

  “Great.”

  “Looks like we might have one usable partial print off the package that’s not Cleo’s. It’s on the underside of a piece of tape, which will be sufficiently incriminating if we can come up with a match.”

  Luther nodded. He wanted this case solved now. The sooner the better.

  Russell laid accusing eyes on Luther. “The captain is going to hit the roof when he finds out about this.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Russell sighed. “I understand, I really do. She’s a beautiful woman, sexy as they come. I can see why any man might—”

  “When this is all over, we’re going to go away together,” Luther interrupted.

  Russell’s eyes went wide. “What?” He shook his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Malone. You’re too good at what you do to make this kind of mistake.”

  “It’s not a mistake.”

  “Okay.” Russell headed for the door. “I hope you’re right about this.”

  “Don’t worry about me, kid.”

  When Russell was gone and the door was locked behind him, Luther headed for the kitchen to lay out a few treats for Rambo. Something to keep the mutt occupied for a while, hopefully. Cleo was going to walk out of that bedroom in her flannels and her T-shirt, and with any luck they’d pick up right where they left off.

  If she hadn’t changed her mind. If she hadn’t come to her senses back there, while he’d been foolishly confessing to Mikey that he had something more substantial than a one-night stand on his mind.

  “Luther?” she called softly from the kitchen doorway. He laid out the last of the treats by Rambo’s food bowl and turned around—

  And almost dropped the bag of fake bacon in his hand. “Good God,” he muttered.

  No flannels tonight. Cleo had brushed out her hair, discarded the blue dress, and donned a long, silky, lavender nightgown that was cut to her navel and hugged every delicious curve.

  “Do you like it?” she asked almost shyly.

  “Of course I like it.” He looked her up and down, noting the pebbled nipples, the way her breasts rose and fell, the dip of her waist and the swell of her hips. “What’s not to like?”

  She smiled. “I found it when I bought your silk boxers, and… I couldn’t resist.”

  He closed the distance between them, as Rambo bounded into the kitchen and discovered her treats.

  His fingers brushed lightly over the seductive nightgown, tracing the hard nipples, cupping the fullness of her breasts. “I think the mutt will be occupied for a few minutes.”

  “Good.” Cleo came up on her toes and kissed him, sweetly seductive. “Luther,” she whispered, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “What are you doing to me? I never thought I’d feel this way. Never.”

  He wrapped his arms around Cleo, lifted her easily and walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind them with an easy kick. They kissed along the way, quick easy pecks broken by the occasional deep kiss that grabbed his heart and twisted.

  He gently placed Cleo on her feet beside the bed. A soft bedside lamp burned low, lighting her swollen lips and eyes hungry for him. He cupped her chin in his hand. “How did I live without you, so many years?”

  She smiled. “The same way I did, maybe.” She grabbed onto his belt. “Half alive. Never quite whole. Hungry for something and never knowing exactly what.”

  “Still scared?” he asked.

  Her smile didn’t fade. “Not so much, at the moment.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Luther slipped one finger beneath the strap of her nightgown and shifted it off her shoulder, the backs of his fingers raking across her skin. He released the strap and it fell, the silk caressing her skin as it tumbled downward to reveal one breast.

  There was no rush in the way he touched her. They had all night. They had forever. She’d never thought to have forever with anyone.

  Luther shrugged out of his jacket and removed his shoulder holster, tossing them both over a chair, then he gently lowered her to the bed, his arms around her, his mouth skimming down her throat, down to the valley between her breasts, and then to the exposed breast to take the nipple into his mouth. She threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him to her, simply holding on. She didn’t ever want to let him go.

  Her hands left his hair and slipped over his shoulders. While he sucked her nipple deep into his mouth, she caressed the muscles in his arms, absorbed his heat, marveled at his strength.

  He lifted his head, laid his hooded eyes on her face and dropped his mouth to hers.

  The insistent throb of her body was rhythmic, musical, and she felt so wondrously light, as if she and Luther might, still kissing and touching, float up off the bed and hover there. This was magic, and real life—rules and danger and fear—had to make way for magic. It was only right.

  Moving subtly, she urged Luther over and onto his back. His arms remained around her as they rolled, his mouth continued to devour hers. When he lay beneath her she lifted her mouth reluctantly from the long kiss and began to work the knot at his tie.

  “Another four-dollar tie?” she asked.

  “I’ll have you know I paid almost eight dollars for this tie.” His hands settled possessively on her hips, as he lay there and allowed her to tug at the tie. When it was unknotted she drew it slowly from beneath his shirt collar and dropped it to the floor.

  “From now on, I buy all your ties,” she said as she began to unbutton his white shirt. The buttons slipped through her fingers easily, and as she worked her way down, those fingers brushed his chest. Such simple contact, and yet it made her heart pound even harder.

  She spread the shirt open and lowered her head to his chest, her lip
s teasing one flat nipple, the tips of her fingers caressing a hard chest dusted with dark hair, edging downward to rest over his belt buckle. She hesitated there a moment, and then her hand slipped lower to caress his erection, her fingers light over his trousers as she barely touched the hardened length beneath.

  He wanted her; she wanted him. But there was more than wanting here. Tonight was important. She’d never given herself so completely to any man. Her love for Luther was so deep it really did scare her, she hadn’t been lying about that. That love changed her a little bit every day. Filled the empty places inside her, gave her such wondrous hope.

  She blindly unfastened Luther’s belt buckle, while he reached out to caress her breasts, fondling tenderly, teasing the nipples with gentle fingers. She lowered the zipper slowly, then feathered her fingers inside the opening to caress the silk-covered evidence of his desire for her.

  “Six-shooters or hearts?” she asked.

  “Six-shooters,” he said huskily. “It’s been a busy week, and I got a little behind on my laundry.”

  She let her fingers explore the silk boxers she’d given him, one of their many gifts for show.

  But this wasn’t a game, not anymore. No one was watching. This moment was just for the two of them.

  Luther rolled Cleo onto her back and hovered above her, long and lean and hard, dark in the half light, his heat wrapping around them both. He pushed her nightgown up, his hand caressing her thigh as he moved the silk out of his way.

  When he stroked his fingers over her intimately, she closed her eyes and reveled in the sensations his touch brought to life. Burning need, unstoppable desire. And more than that, the undeniable knowledge that he was hers and she was his, that this was not only right, it was destined.

  She reached down and slipped the silk boxers and loosened trousers over his hips, freeing him to enter her, raking her palm over his erection and then closing her fingers around him.

  He kissed her, demanding, his tongue mimicking the act that was still to come. She held on tight, guided him to her and wrapped her legs around his.

  He didn’t plunge fast and deep, but entered her body slowly. She opened to accept him, adjusted to his size with every magnificent second that passed. He loved her that way. Languidly. Gently. If making love were a dance, then this was a long, slow, romantic waltz. The world stood still; there was only his body and hers and this magnificent, sacred dance.