“Chay?”
He swung towards her. Then he smiled, put down the mug and got to his feet.
“I made coffee,” he said. “Want some?”
She walked straight to him, wound her arms around his neck, tilted her head back and laughed.
“What I want,” she said, “is you.”
CHAPTER TEN
He made perfect coffee.
She, it turned out, made perfect scrambled eggs.
Chay was at the kitchen table. His chest was still bare, but he’d pulled on his now-dry jeans and he was sitting back, his long legs stretched out, his feet crossed at the ankles and his arms folded over his chest as he watched Bianca poke through the refrigerator in a search for something or other.
He hadn’t really paid attention to what she’d said she was looking for.
He’d been too busy looking at her.
Perfect coffee. Perfect eggs
Or maybe it was simply being here that was perfect. Having breakfast with a beautiful woman, enjoying the sight of her as the sun rose over the city.
And, damn, she was one lovely sight.
All that tousled golden hair loose on her shoulders, the totally non-sexy dark blue terrycloth robe made sexy by the fact that he knew what lay beneath it—knew it intimately. The delicate fullness of her breasts, the flatness of her belly, the sweet essence his tongue coaxed from between her thighs.
Hell.
He shifted his weight in the chair.
They’d made love twice during the night and again this morning, but his body was telling him he’d be happy for a repeat performance.
He couldn’t seem to get enough of his Tigress. And it turned out he’d given her the right nickname. He’d dubbed her that because of her determination. Her toughness. And now, to his unabashed delight, he’d discovered that she was also a tigress when it came to sex.
When she’d walked into the kitchen an hour ago, he’d felt a momentary wariness. She’d seemed surprised to see him.
Had she hoped he’d have left by now?
He had no intention of going anywhere. Not just yet.
Then the look in her eyes had changed. He’d tried to read it, but he couldn’t. So he’d risen to his feet, wondering which Bianca was he going to see—the Tigress who’d gone wild in his arms, or the one who was determined to keep tight control over her world.
Coward that he was, he’d opted for caution. Want some coffee? he’d asked.
And she’d smiled, gone straight into his arms and said that what she wanted was him.
Those simple words had been enough to make him hard.
Seconds later, they were on the living room sofa because the bedroom was too far away.
Yes, and the sofa was too short.
But it didn’t matter. Not once he was buried inside her, her legs wrapped around his hips, her cries of passion, the slap of their bodies against each other rising into the predawn silence until she sobbed his name and he collapsed against her.
Damn.
Chay shifted his weight again.
He’d had sex with a lot of women. And—why be modest?—he’d never needed much recovery time between sessions, but this… This was a new experience. This nonstop need, not just for sex but for her. Even just sitting here, being in the same room with her, watching her do something as ridiculously mundane as peer into the refrigerator—
The fine hairs rose on the nape of his neck.
Domesticity was not his thing. It was most definitely not his thing. Neither was confusing good sex—okay, great sex—with anything but what it was.
Sex.
Although he knew women preferred the term “making love.”
He used the words, too. Why not? They were interchangeable. Okay. Maybe one meant something more casual and the other meant taking your time, slowing things down.
What he’d never considered was that it meant more than that. That maybe it meant letting yourself feel more than the obvious things as you touched a woman. As you kissed her, caressed her, moved inside her until her response was, hell, until your response was beyond anything you’d ever known.
Until you couldn’t stop thinking about her. Wanting her.
And, dammit, there was a way to get past that.
Chay kicked back his chair and rose to his feet. The kitchen was not much bigger than a walk-in closet. He crossed it in two quick strides, clasped Bianca’s shoulders and whirled her towards him. He’d startled her; he saw it in her eyes.
“What?” she said, and then, as her gaze swept over his face, she took a quick indrawn breath. “Chay?”
She never finished speaking his name.
His mouth captured hers.
He swept the robe from her shoulders. Lifted her. Sat her on the kitchen counter. Something clattered to the floor. Silverware. The napkin holder. He didn’t know. Didn’t care. All that mattered was the kiss, the heat and savagery of it; all that mattered was unzipping his jeans, sliding his hand between her thighs and, God, and finding her hot and slick and ready, so ready.
And then he was inside her. Hard inside her. Thrusting deep. Deeper. Deep enough so there was no way to know where he ended and she began.
She grabbed his shoulders. Then she pressed her palms against the countertop and her head fell back. Her body arched like a bow.
His hands dropped over hers.
“Now,” he groaned, “now, now…”
She came on one long, glorious cry as he emptied himself into her.
And he thought, Jesus, what have I done?
His arms went around her. He gathered her in, one hand in the center of her back, the other cupping her head.
“Baby,” he whispered, “honey, I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry. I never meant to—”
She jerked back. Clasped his face between her hands. Her eyes were the color of blue flame.
“I thought I was going to die,” she said breathlessly. A look he knew he would never forget lit her entire face. “And oh, Chayton, what a glorious death it would have been.”
He stared at her. He wanted to say something, to tell her that he—that he—
He kissed her instead. Cradled her in his arms. And faced the slowly dawning truth.
No matter how many times he made love with his Tigress, it was never going to be enough to drive her from his head.
Or from his heart.
• • •
They showered.
Dried each other off and fooled around doing it, and then Chay wrapped Bianca in an oversized bath towel, swept her into his arms and whirled her around in a tight circle. A very tight circle, because of the size of her bathroom.
“Stop,” she pleaded. “You’re making my head spin.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, Ms. Wilde.”
“There’s that ego of yours again, Lieutenant.”
He grinned and she giggled, and the sound of that giggle shot through him. Who would have imagined his I-Am-in-Complete-Control queen of the universe giggling? Who would have imagined all the fire inside her?
He kissed her, and she sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder.
“I should be doing Saturday chores,” she said after a couple of minutes.
He pressed a kiss to her temple. “For instance?”
“Mmm. Grocery shopping. Straightening up.”
He drew back and looped his hands at the base of her spine.
“Huh. Standing up, you look pretty straight to me.”
She punched him lightly in the biceps. “Cleaning up. You know what I mean.”
He smiled and dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Tell you what. We’ll go out. Have breakfast.”
“We already had breakfast.”
“Hey, what can I tell you? Exercise builds a man’s appetite.” She blushed
. God, he loved that blush. “You’ve worn me out,” he said, pressing his lips to her throat. “And if you want to wear me out again, I’ll require fuel.”
Her smile was the smile of a very contented tigress. “That’s exactly what I want,” she said softly, touching her finger to his lips.
“See?” He caught her hand and kissed the palm. “So, breakfast first. Then we’ll take care of those other things.”
“Groceries? Straightening up? You?”
“Me. I have a secret plan.”
She tilted her head and smiled. “You do, huh?”
“The woman doubts me,” he said, trying his best to scowl. “Damn right I do.”
“And your plan is…?”
“After breakfast, we’ll go to my hotel. Groceries? I’ll phone for room service. Straightening up? I guarantee that someone will have already done all the straightening you could ask for. How’s that sound?”
Bianca smiled. “It sounds decadent,” she said. “And absolutely perfect.”
There it was. That word again. Perfect. Her using it this time, not him.
The hairs on the back of his neck did that stand-up routine again. Before he could think about it too long, he gave her a quick kiss, set her on her feet and got to his.
“Go on, honey. Get dressed. Then we’ll find a place where we can get eggs, waffles, pancakes, sausage, bacon, bagels, biscuits…”
She laughed.
He grinned, spun her in the direction of the bedroom and stepped over to the sink.
Bianca had given him a toothbrush. He squeezed a ribbon of paste onto the bristles and began brushing.
Man, he needed a shave. As it was, he’d left red marks on her breasts and her thighs. When he’d tried to apologize for his dark stubble, she’d stopped him.
“I love the feel of it against me,” she’d said softly, and a weird kind of feeling had swept through him as he thought of how those light abrasions marked her as his.
Chay frowned at his reflection, spat into the sink, turned on the water and cupped his hand under the flow.
What was with him? So many crazy thoughts in his head… But why question it? He was happy, happier than he’d been since he’d come back from that last deployment. Happier than he could recall ever being.
His Tigress was happy, too. He could hear doors and drawers opening and closing in her bedroom. She was singing, too, something in Italian. Her voice was sweet and warm and—
She screamed.
It was the kind of scream that almost stopped his heart.
Chay ran into the bedroom.
Bianca was standing in front of the dresser. The top right-hand drawer was pulled out. She was staring into it, trembling, her hands clapped over her mouth.
“Baby? What happened?”
She nodded at the open drawer.
Something in the drawer. Okay. A big bug was his first thought. Women didn’t do well with big bugs. Or a mouse. Hell, this was an old building; this was New York City…
Chay froze.
The drawer held neatly folded bras. And neatly folded panties.
And something else.
A condom. A used condom. He could tell by the slightly bulbous shape of it. A used condom that the thoughtful user had knotted so the contents wouldn’t spill.
If anyone had ever asked him if a man could really go blind with rage, he’d have laughed and said no. But he was blind now. Blind, and crazed with rage.
His hands knotted into fists. His pulse roared in his ears.
And then he heard Bianca, and the little sounds she was making. Not sobs. Not cries. Not anything he’d ever heard before except from the throat of a wounded animal back in the Dakotas.
He reached for her, tried to gather her against him, but her body was rigid. “Bianca,” he said, and he pulled her to him, wrapped his arms around her, held her to him with a ferocity born of fury and desperation.
“Ohmygod,” she whispered, “ohmygod,” and that she was speaking in English somehow only made the reality of what had been waiting for her in that drawer more potent.
He knew, he knew that some sick piece of shit had done this to terrify her.
“Shh,” he said, rocking her in his arms. “Shh. Come on, baby. Take some deep breaths. That’s it. That’s the way. Just breathe.”
He scooped her up, carried her to the bed, sat on the edge of it with her in his lap. She was shaking so hard he could feel it, and breathing like a runner at the end of a hard race.
He held her close. Stroked her hair. Kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her lips.
“It’s okay,” he crooned. “Honey. Sweetheart. It’s okay.”
After a few minutes, she gave an enormous shudder. Her breathing slowed, then steadied.
“Good girl,” Chay whispered.
“That was—it was a condom?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
Another shudder. “You need to know that I have no idea—”
“No,” he said quickly. “I didn’t think you did.”
She sat up in his arms and looked directly at him. “I have never had a man here, Chayton. Not in my apartment, and certainly not in my bed.”
Chayton. It was the second time she’d called him that. It was years since anyone had used his full first name. And what she’d said, about never having a man in her bed... What kind of scum was he that he even noticed those things at a moment like this?
“I know that,” he said softly.
She nodded. “Who would—who would do such a thing?”
A lunatic. A maniac. A freak straight out of a nightmare.
“I don’t know,” Chay said. “But I’m going to find out.”
She nodded again. She was too compliant. Was she going into shock?
“Bianca. Do you have brandy in the house?”
“Brandy?”
“Brandy. Liquor. Whiskey.”
“A bottle of wine. I think. In the back of the refrigerator. The last time Alessandra was here…”
Chay eased her from his lap and stood up. She grabbed his hand.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to get you a drink.”
“No! I will come with you.”
He helped her up. Kept his arm tightly around her, led her to the kitchen and sat her down.
The wine, a half-bottle of white, was tucked behind a quart of milk. He poured her an inch of it, then thought about it and almost topped the glass. He squatted before her, but her hands shook when she reached for the glass.
“Let me,” he said, holding the glass to her lips.
She took a couple of sips. Then she turned her face away.
“I feel as if I am going to be sick,” she whispered.
Chay set the glass aside and gathered her into his arms again. He held her for a long time. A very long time. Then he drew back and cupped her face in his hands.
“I’m going to call the cops, honey.”
She nodded.
“They’re going to ask you questions…”
“They can ask whatever they have to ask.”
He stroked a strand of hair back from her forehead. “I’ll be with you all the time. Okay?”
She looked at him. Her face was still pale. Her eyes were damp. But she managed a quick smile.
“Okay.”
• • •
The police came.
A pair of them, one who Chay figured was too young to be on the job, the other too old to give a crap about anything but his retirement.
Not that it mattered.
It took no time at all before it became obvious that they’d decided this was a nasty joke—and that maybe Chay was the joker.
He took them into the bedroom. They peered into the drawer, exchanged a What the fuck? look, and headed back
to the kitchen where Bianca was waiting.
“So. Missus… Wilde?”
Bianca looked at the duo.
“You have any idea who might have done this?”
She shook her head. “No.”
The older cop scratched his jaw. “An unhappy boyfriend?”
“No.”
“A boyfriend with, you know, a grudge?”
“No. I do not have a boyfriend.”
Both cops looked at Chay. He was standing next to Bianca’s chair. Her hand was clasped tightly in his.
“What she means,” Chay said, “is that I’m her boyfriend. There’s no one else.”
The young cop nodded. “You spent last evening with Ms. Wilde?”
“Yes.”
“Here, I mean.”
“Yes.”
“The night too?”
Chay’s jaw tightened, but he’d been trained in interrogation techniques. Not this kind, no, but the same principles applied.
“Yes.”
“So you were, ah, intimate?”
To hell with the principles of interrogation.
“That has nothing to do with the situation,” Chay said coldly.
The younger cop glanced at the older one. The older one shrugged.
“That’s a condom in that drawer, Mister. If you spent the night—”
“It’s lieutenant,” Chay said, even more coldly. “And before you ask, I’m not in the habit of leaving calling cards.”
Both officers nodded. “And your former boyfriend?” the older one said.
“She told you,” Chay snapped. “There is no former boyfriend.”
“Maybe the lady would prefer to answer questions with you out of the room, Mis—Lieutenant.”
“No,” Bianca said quickly. “Chayton. Don’t leave me.”
Chay looked at the cops. “Are you done?” They nodded and Chay brought Bianca’s hand to his lips. “Just let me see the officers out, honey. I promise, I’ll be right back.”
He strode through the kitchen, through the tiny hallway and to the door. The policemen hurried after him.
“The thing is,” the older one said, “there’s not a lot we can do.”
Chay nodded. “I understand.”
“If the lady says there haven’t been any other guys here—”
Privilege: Special Tactical Units Division: Book Two Page 15