by Karen Kelley
When he rolled to his side, the connection was broken, but he quickly pulled her close to him, cradling her next to his body. Somehow she knew it would take more than separating their bodies to break their connection.
Fuck, that wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t fucking supposed to happen. She’d only wanted an orgasm. One tiny, little climax. Was that asking too damn much? No. But what she got was earth-shattering. She’d not only gotten the big O, she’d gotten the big ohhhhhhh!
Absently, he caressed her shoulder, slipping lower to lightly massage her back, her hip. There were no words between them. Thank goodness. What the hell was she supposed to say? Or him? Gee, thanks for the orgasm. That felt great? I think I’ll catch a quick nap now.
Yeah, right.
A few minutes later, he kissed the top of her head and eased from the bed. She couldn’t help herself— she rolled to her stomach and watched as he walked to the bathroom and shut the door. God, he was magnificent. Tanned skin and hard, sinewy muscles, all wrapped up in a nice, tight package. Until she’d pulled the string and unwrapped him.
She smiled and rolled to her back. She felt like a cat that’d just licked the last drop of cream from the bowl. She tugged the covers closer to her body and realized the saleswoman was right—the satiny sheets felt wonderfully wicked against her naked skin. Almost as wicked as Conor’s naked skin had felt against her.
The bathroom door opened. Disappointment filled her. Conor was once again dressed in his jeans, although he’d left his shirt unbuttoned and he wasn’t wearing shoes.
“I thought I’d run downstairs and just make sure all was still quiet next door. You want anything?”
She lazily let her gaze sweep over him. “Only you.”
He grinned. “I think I can oblige. I’ll be back before you know it.”
She snuggled her pillow close to her body and smiled as he left the room. While he was gone, she made a quick trip to the bathroom, then scurried back to bed. She stifled a yawn and pulled the covers up to her neck.
In a few minutes Conor would return and she had a feeling he could take away her sudden chill. He could do a lot of things to get her toasty hot. She burrowed deeper. The heart-shaped bed was much nicer than her air mattress. Even better when she was curled next to Conor.
She yawned, her eyes drifting closed. She’d just rest a minute. Catch a couple of winks until he joined her. She grinned. Literally joined her. She sighed deeply. Her breathing slowed.
Conor had to bite the inside of his cheeks to keep from whistling as he hurried downstairs. He felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. One night, that was all he’d needed. Now he could get back to doing his job without the stress of wanting to bury himself inside Jessica. The mystery was gone.
Wasn’t it?
He took a deep breath as he reached the last step. Her light scent seemed to linger in the air. He paused, closing his eyes. Damn, she’d been worth every minute he’d spent away from watching the house next door. His hand massaged the banister, his thumb lightly tracing the rounded top. He could almost feel her breast, the way the nipple had peaked when he barely flicked his finger across it.
He swallowed past the lump forming in his throat.
And the way she’d tasted. The essence that was woman… that was all Jessica. Fire and heat. Sweet and sultry. A temptress, to say the least.
When he realized where his thoughts were taking him, and the fact he was fondling the banister, he frowned. Damn it, he was hard as a rock. Having sex with Jessica had taken away the mystery, but it created a new set of problems. He knew exactly what having sex with her was like, and he wanted more. Son of a bitch. If he weren’t careful, he’d blow the surveillance. And cause himself a hell of a lot more problems.
Bright lights suddenly illuminated part of the living room. It took a few seconds to switch his brain from thinking about Jessica to what he was supposed to be doing. Conor rushed to the window as a black car pulled to the curb next door and a man climbed out, his hat pulled low on his forehead. The stranger looked both ways and hurried up the sidewalk. Conor strained to see, but there were too many shadows and not enough light from the street lamp. Something was going down, though.
The mystery man approached the Merediths’ door, glanced around furtively, keeping his head low, then rapped twice on the frame.
The hair on the back of Conor’s neck twitched. The man was too cautious, and for it to be late at night, the door opened awfully fast, to Conor’s way of thinking.
Barefoot, he made his way through the house and slipped out the back door. He crept across the lawn, wishing he had his shoes on, and peered through one of the windows. Not even a sliver of light escaped past the partially closed curtain.
Staying next to the side of the house, Conor eased down to the next window. He gritted his teeth when a thorn stabbed his foot. Balancing on one leg, he pulled it out, sucking in his breath. He should’ve put on shoes, but they were upstairs. Stupid—there was no other explanation for his actions tonight. Any of them.
He eased down to the next window. The blind was up about an inch and he could see into the foyer. The stranger had his back to Conor.
“Damn,” Conor muttered under his breath. “Come on, turn around. Let me see your face.”
There were three people in the room. He recognized George’s brother, Barry, and their father, Winston. Then there was the stranger. He didn’t see George or his wife.
His gaze returned to the unidentified man. Something about the way he stood, the way he moved his hands, nagged at him. Could it be the mayor? He was the right height, but the long black coat and the hat pulled low obscured his features. Hell, he even wore black leather gloves.
Conor reached for his phone, then remembered it was still downstairs next to the chair. This was what he got for thinking with his dick rather than his brain. No time to go back and get the phone now. He didn’t want to take a chance he’d miss seeing who was behind the disguise.
Suddenly, Winston laughed and slapped the mystery man on the back. If Conor hadn’t been watching so closely, he might not have seen the stranger flinch and take a half step away from the older man.
He didn’t like them, Conor mused. He might be using them to do his dirty work, but he couldn’t stomach their company. They started for the front door. Conor eased to the corner of the house. Maybe he’d get lucky and catch a glimpse of the man as he left. That was the only hope he had. The way things stood, he didn’t have any reason or evidence to question the stranger. Not unless he wanted to blow his cover.
The door opened and light spilled out.
“Then it’s set. Don’t screw this one up.”
“Yes, Mr.—”
“No names, you fool. How many times do I have to tell you not to use my name?”
“But…”
“No, you listen and listen good. There won’t be any more jobs after this one. Don’t take stupid chances. I’m not giving you a warning—that’s a threat.” Spinning on his heel, he strode briskly back to his car.
Conor still couldn’t see the man’s face, and the car windows were tinted. As the black sedan pulled away from the curb, Conor squinted his eyes to catch the license number. The plate was dirty. Done on purpose? Probably.
The stranger was the ringleader. No doubt about it. At least, they hadn’t sounded like they were planning anything legit. He’d bet his last dollar this was the gang pulling all the robberies.
But apparently not for much longer, if he’d understood right. They’d be making their move pretty soon, and if Conor didn’t catch them in the act, he might never be given another opportunity.
Maybe the Merediths would give him some more information. He went back to the window. Barry and his father had left the foyer. He slipped down to one of the other windows and looked inside. Inky blackness filled the room.
He started to turn away when a door opened, emitting a beam of light. George came strolling out of the bathroom in a pair of pajama bot
toms with big red lips splattered all over them. He sported two gold chains around his neck. They only emphasized his scrawny frame.
Conor’s eyes widened when Trudy sat up in bed. She was actually wearing… leather? “Come here, my hot little Italiano. I know exactly where you can put your spicy sausage.”
His stomach churned. He’d seen more than he cared to see in this lifetime or the next.
“I will show you just-a how much I care for you, my leetle cuddle bear.”
Conor shook his head. It didn’t look like they’d be going anywhere tonight. He had a gut feeling the other two wouldn’t be causing any more mischief, either. Crouching low, he made his way across the lawn and back inside the house.
As he entered the living room, Jessica was coming down the stairs, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“I thought you were coming back to bed.”
Even knowing he’d screwed up tonight, all he could think about was tangling his hand in her hair and pulling her close to him. He wanted to tug her gown off, cup her breasts in his hands and suck on her tight little nipples.
Fuck, what the hell was she doing to his head? It was always the job before anything else. If he didn’t stop what they were doing right now, he might as well call the chief and tell him that they could both start looking for new jobs.
“The Merediths had a visitor tonight.”
Her face paled. She jerked her head toward the window and hurried the rest of the way down the stairs.
He stopped her before she even got close to the window. “He’s gone.”
“Did you call my father?”
“Too late. My phone was next to the chair, my shoes upstairs. By the time I got to the phone the car was long gone. All I had was a color and a dirty license plate. That could be just about all the cars in the state.” He turned away from her before she could see his anger.
It wasn’t Jessica who infuriated him, but himself. He should’ve kept his wits about him. He planted his fists on his hips, his body tense as he tried to bring his emotions under control. He’d screwed up, and that didn’t happen to him. Not when he was on a case.
He jerked when her hand lightly stroked his arm.
“We made a mistake. We’re human. We’ll get him next time.”
“Then we’d better do it fast. I heard enough to know they’re only pulling one more job. The next one will be their last.” He sucked in a deep breath. “We should’ve had them tonight. A car could’ve tailed him. I fucked up.”
She dropped her hand from his arm. “You mean I did, don’t you?”
He stopped himself just short of turning around, of telling her it had been as much his fault, but maybe this was the only way to end what had started between them. He clamped his lips together. Even though he told himself it was for the best, a sick feeling churned inside his stomach.
He sensed more than heard her leave the room. She left a feeling of emptiness in her wake. He sank into a nearby chair and rubbed a hand across weary eyes.
This didn’t feel like the best possible solution. It felt like hell.
No, hell would be a lot easier to bear than what he felt right now.
Chapter 14
The next morning, Conor slipped out of the house, his thoughts on Jessica as he retrieved the paper. Just like any normal married man—except he wasn’t married to the woman upstairs.
He’d sat in the chair the rest of the night, staring out the window, but not really seeing the house next door. His mind had been focused on something else. Namely, the way it had felt to finally hold Jessica in his arms, to kiss her, to know she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
She’d invaded his territory.
No, that wasn’t exactly right. He’d known what would happen when he crawled into bed with her last night. Back injury? Yeah, right. He’d lied, then tried to convince himself sleeping with her wouldn’t hurt a thing. That he’d just wanted to feel her body close to his. He’d excused his reasoning by telling himself the floor was too hard to sleep on.
They shouldn’t have had sex.
Sex? No, it was more than sex. He didn’t know what the hell it was, but it was more than sex, and he should feel ashamed. After all, he was the senior officer.
Then why didn’t he feel any remorse?
The answer was easy. For the first time in his life, he felt whole. As if he was a part of someone’s life.
His parents had each other. Hell, even his sister was besotted with her husband. Growing up, he’d never been what he’d call close with his family. Jessica was giving him something he never really knew he’d missed.
Now he had to end what he’d just found. Either that, or take a chance of blowing this case. His job had to come first. The badge represented everything he stood for, everything he was, and it had for a long time. He couldn’t betray it. Hell, he already had.
“Pssst, Conor.”
He turned. George. Just fucking great.
George glanced over his shoulder before traipsing across the lawn toward him.
This was all he needed—more contact with a suspect. “Hello, George.”
“Ciao. I wanted to thank you for-a last night. If-a not for you, my Trudy, she would-a went home to her mama. You are a very good friend.” He lowered his head. “I… I’ve never-a had a friend. I owe you for last-a night. It is something that will-a not ever be forgotten. Her mother would-a not have been so easy to deal-a with.” He shook his head. “She is a real-a bitch, as you would-a say here in America .”
When George raised his head, Conor saw the sincerity clearly mirrored in the smaller man’s eyes. What had been in George’s file? Something about his mother dumping him on his father’s doorstep and taking off to parts unknown. It couldn’t have been easy having a father like Winston and a brother like Barry.
Damn, he almost felt sorry for him. Why the hell did he have to be one of the bad guys?
Hell, George was starting to grow on him. First Jessica, and now George. This wasn’t good.
He was on duty, George was a suspect, and he still had a job to do. Conor wouldn’t take any more chances screwing up this surveillance.
“Tell you what”—he cast a sideways look at George— “if you run across any deals on merchandise that someone might want to unload in a hurry, I wouldn’t be adverse to taking it off their hands. It would be easy to get rid of pretty fast at my pawnshop. No one would be the wiser.”
George glanced behind him as if he expected his father or brother to come storming outside any second and drag him inside the house. Hell, the little guy’s shoulders even shook and his hands trembled.
“That would be—” He coughed. “That would-a be ille gal.”
Conor reminded himself that he had a job to do, then continued. “But you know how expensive these women are.” He let his shoulders sag. “Even owning my own business and with the money I bring in, Jessica keeps wanting more. If you could help me out, buddy, I’d really appreciate it.”
“I will-a see what I can do.” George stood taller. “Amici have to-a stick together.”
His neighbors were suspects—and the reason the chief’s job was on the line. So why the hell did he feel guilty for lying?
George’s front door opened and an older, unshaven, barrel-chested man stepped out, his faded green T-shirt stretched taut across his wide girth. He glared in their direction and then spat off the side of the porch.
Winston Meredith in the flesh, and he had more than an ample supply.
“I have to go,” George muttered and scurried away.
The old man growled something as George bounded up the steps, but Conor couldn’t make out his words. The wiry young man glanced back once, his expression frightened, then hurried inside.
Before Winston turned, he cast a warning glance in Conor’s direction. Conor squared his shoulders and met his glare head-on. Winston might frighten George, but his intimidating tactics didn’t touch Conor.
As soon as the door shut behind them, Conor knew there
was one thing that did intimidate him. He had to call the chief. He had to tell the chief that he’d missed a chance to discover the identity of the ringleader, and he had to do it in a way that didn’t incriminate Jessica.
Conor was standing too close to her. Okay, he was ac tually a few feet away, but that was still too damn close. Especially when all she could think about was the way he’d held her in his arms last night. Or the fire he’d started inside her when he’d touched her… when his hands… she swallowed hard… and mouth had made her body come to life.
She drew in a shaky breath.
“Quit twisting your button,” he told her.
Jessica glanced down. “I can’t help it.”
She should’ve worn a shirt without buttons, but she liked her red top. It was long, loose, and very comfortable. Besides, she was quickly running out of clothes, and the house didn’t have a washer and dryer.
Her father hadn’t provided one. He probably thought if they ran around naked, she would have a better chance of snagging Conor for a husband. She was going to have a long talk with him when all this was over. A really long talk.
Conor slid the bowl of potato salad across the kitchen counter toward her. She yanked the plastic wrap from the box and ripped it across the row of metal teeth. She didn’t like the way his gaze lingered on her. Well, maybe she did.
After last night, who could blame him? She’d certainly been wrong about one thing. Conor wasn’t even close to being out of her system. The memory was too vivid.
And she wanted him again. She wanted the thrill, the excitement. Once was supposed to be enough. That wasn’t the case. Hell, she wanted him more than ever. He was like a bag of chips—she couldn’t eat just one.
“Damn it!” she muttered. Both ends of the plastic wrap were firmly stuck to each other.
“You don’t have to be nervous about the cookout tonight. I won’t let anything happen. In fact, I can tell Trudy you have a headache if you’d rather stay here. That might be the wisest move, anyway.” He took the plastic wrap from her and quickly covered the food they were taking, flattening the edges with the palm of his hand.