His parents had done the best they knew how. Tom understood that. He’d even told them that. But he couldn’t say it on Michael’s birthday. Not on this day. So he’d call Wendy tomorrow, and today he’d think about something else.
He meant to turn his mind to Saul Stevenson, retreating into his work as he always did, but for once it was no escape. Isabelle West kept intruding, her ass swaying as she glanced over her shoulder.
Tom smiled at the memory and figured that was as good an escape as any.
CHAPTER SIX
ISABELLE SLIPPED ON FLIP-FLOPS, tugged on her gloves and glared menacingly at her messy kitchen. “It is on,” she growled, trying to pump herself up as she held the yellow latex gloves high in the air like a surgeon prepping for an operation.
She paused and frowned. “Music,” she muttered, looking around. She needed music first. Slipping off the gloves, she went in search of her phone and the stereo connector.
Thirty minutes later, she’d finally gotten the music hooked up, tracked down the gloves she’d set down somewhere during the search for the auxiliary cable, and she was poised in front of her kitchen again. “Let’s do this.”
Lauren had called with the news that afternoon. Sophie had just ridden into town and girls’ night in was a go for the next day. It was time to catch up and get drunk, not necessarily in that order. But drinking or not, no one wanted to look at the week-old macaroni noodles stuck to her stove burner. Isabelle didn’t want to look at them, either, which was why she’d been ignoring them this whole week.
But the loud music got her dancing and singing and sipping beer as she worked, and before long the kitchen was gleaming.
She moved on to the living room, tossing out magazines she’d been hoarding for months and scaring Bear out of the corner, making him hiss in fury before he disappeared into a back room. “You’re the one leaving fur everywhere!” she yelled after him. He didn’t deign to reply.
It was a good thing he’d taken off, though. She had to vacuum the rug, and if she dared to do that near him, he’d disappear for a week. They were too much alike, she and Bear.
She was feeling good tonight, though. Really good. That chaotic scene at the courthouse had actually soothed her fears. This whole thing with the judge truly was a big deal. Tom hadn’t lied about why he was sneaking around the neighborhood and knocking on doors. This had nothing to do with her, and her relief was bubbling over into giddiness. She danced around with the vacuum, singing along to Elvis Costello at the top of her lungs.
It took her only a few minutes to vacuum, but after she brought in wood from the porch and piled it next to the fireplace, she had to vacuum again. Before she was done with the second pass, Bear was screeching. Loudly. She glanced over to see him stretched up on his tiptoes, clawing at the front door. She shook her head. He kept clawing.
“Stop that!” she yelled over the vacuum. He ignored her then yowled louder when she switched off the vacuum.
“You know it’s dangerous out there,” she scolded. “There are coyotes. Mountain lions. Foxes.”
He shot her a nasty look. Yeah. He could probably take a fox. And maybe a coyote.
“There are cars sometimes,” she tried. He didn’t relent. “All right, Bear, but please come home. Don’t get lost. Okay?”
He paced in front of the door until she opened it, then shot through the narrow space, his massive body forcing its way through. “Rude,” she snapped then lunged back in shock when she saw the dark shadow looming above her.
“God!” she screamed, reaching toward the door to push it closed again.
* * *
“YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO ask who it is before you answer,” Tom said as she caught the door at the last minute and glared at him.
The terror on Isabelle’s face quickly narrowed into irritation. “Yeah, no shit!” She snapped on the outside light. “I didn’t know you were there.”
“Sorry. I knocked.”
She waved weakly toward the living room. “I had a lot of stuff going on.”
“I noticed.” He’d noticed when he’d pulled up and seen her dancing in the living room window, both with the vacuum and without it. Between the warm light shining around her in the dark and the tight orange tank top clinging to her breasts, she’d been a fucking vision. He’d watched for only a minute, though. Then he’d started to feel like a creep.
By the time he’d gotten to the porch, there’d been shouting and feline howling, plus the loud music, and all of it roaring over the vacuum.
“Elvis Costello,” he said as she closed the door behind him. “Nice.”
“He’s great to clean to. You want a beer?”
“Not today. Too much going on.”
“Well, I need something cold. I’m hot as hell.”
Yeah, he’d noticed that, too. Her cheeks were pink, and there was the faintest hint of moisture glinting off her cleavage when she moved. Jesus. He tried to look away, but then she raised her arms to pull her hair off her neck and twist it up. Her breasts rose with the movement. His eyes didn’t.
“Come on,” she said, turning away and breaking the spell. She grabbed something metal off a table as they passed and stuck it into the knot she’d made of her hair.
“The place looks nice,” he said, following the sway of her hips to the kitchen and trying to keep his mind off her curves and on the real reason he’d come.
“Thanks. I’m having a little girls’ party tomorrow.”
“I heard.”
Her head popped up over the open fridge door. “Did Jill invite you?” She didn’t sound exactly pleased.
“To girls’ night? No. But we got word from Veronica Chandler that she’d like to come.”
“Oh, that’s right. Lauren told me she was going to invite her. Are you okay with it?”
He nodded. He was more than okay with it, because it would give him an excuse to poke around this place some more. To solve this mystery. The longer he knew her, the more he thought she was hiding from something, and the more he wanted to help. “We’ll have to send a couple of agents along with her, though. We’ll try to stay out of your way.”
Her eyes narrowed a little. “I don’t want strangers in my house.”
“I’ll do it myself, if you’re more comfortable. And my second-in-command is a woman. I could bring her.”
She shrugged one shoulder and opened a beer. “I suppose that would be all right. Veronica probably needs to get out of the house if she has a bunch of you people underfoot all the time.” Isabelle took a long draw of the beer then shivered a little as she wiped the bottle over her brow. Her nipples tightened. He watched, despite that his brain was screaming at him to look away. Look away! But God, they were...perfect.
“Are you staring at my breasts, Marshal Duncan?”
He jumped as if he’d been touched with a live wire. He couldn’t deny it, and he couldn’t excuse it. “Shit. Um. I’m sorry.”
She shrugged again, and to his complete shock, she smiled. “It’s all right. If you were standing there in workout shorts, I’d stare at your ass. I guarantee it. Your thighs, too.” Her gaze slid down his body to the aforementioned area, and Tom’s face flamed. He hoped to God the enthusiasm he could feel swelling his dick wasn’t enough to be noticeable.
“Plus...” Her gaze rose slowly back up until it met his. “I’ve got nice tits.”
Her eyes didn’t waver. She didn’t look coyly away. She watched him as though she wasn’t even flirting; she was only letting him know because it was true.
But she was flirting. Clearly. And Tom fucking liked it. He liked it more than he’d liked anything in a long while.
Isabelle wasn’t beautiful in some striking way, but there was something gorgeous about the way she held herself, the way she moved. As if she didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought. You could accept her or you could move on, but either way, she’d still be here, in her place. This was where she belonged. Tom was the interloper, and it felt like an honor to be let in.<
br />
He looked at her hazel eyes, tight at the corners with amusement, and her too-strong nose, and that wide mouth, tipping up just a little at the edges. She was daring him. Tom knew he shouldn’t; he had a hundred reasons not to, but he still stepped forward and slowly raised a hand to her jaw. His fingers slid along her warm skin, tracing her, feeling the way her head tipped ever so slightly into his touch.
She rose to meet his mouth, and though he meant to keep it careful, she wasn’t interested in care. Her lips immediately softened against his, parting slightly, teasing him with her hot breath. Her tongue touched his mouth, one little lick of fire.
He couldn’t help his sound of surprise. Not surprise that she’d licked him, but that the heat of it shot through his body. Isabelle smiled against his mouth, and then she laughed. That was how he kissed her, taking a taste, touching his tongue against hers until her laugh turned to a groan, and she kissed him back.
Whoever she’d gone home with the night before hadn’t satisfied her, because she pushed up to take more of his mouth, more of his tongue. Her hand, cold from the beer, sneaked up his neck and into his hair, as if she’d hold him in place if he wanted to leave.
He wasn’t going anywhere.
Slanting his mouth over hers, he gave her what she wanted with a deep, slow kiss. Their tongues slid against each other with a rhythm that had him rock hard in no time flat. He must have moved closer, because she eased back until her hips were caught by the kitchen counter.
He held her there, his hands sliding over those sexy hips, feeling the fascinating curve of her body from ass to waist. That primal geometry told his hands and cock and brain that this was right and good. Yes, they urged him, this was the best part of life. This curve and heat and her mouth open and taking him.
Only a minute ago he’d been mortified that she might notice her physical effect on him. Now he wanted her to feel it. He wanted to press his hips to hers and ease some of the ache in his cock. He wanted her to know what he needed, what she’d done.
But fuck... He lifted his head. “Fuck,” he murmured, hands still clutching her hips.
Her throaty laugh chased over his jaw. “Yeah. I agree. That was very nice.”
His laugh was a little more pained than hers. Then again, it’d been longer than a day since he’d done this. More like eight months. Not that he was counting.
She pressed a kiss to his cheek then his chin, and then her teeth closed gently over his bottom lip. “Mmm,” she murmured before letting him go. “Let’s do it again.”
“I can’t,” he said, but he kissed her anyway. He could control himself, no question. It was just that he didn’t want to. Not when she’d tugged him a little closer, so that those gorgeous breasts were pressed against him, and her mouth drew him deeper, and if he just pressed his hips a little tighter...
He groaned into the kiss as he eased away. “I can’t get distracted right now. I’m sorry.”
“Oh. Am I distracting you?” Her smile told him she knew the answer, even before she pulled his hips into hers.
“You know you are.”
“Well, I wasn’t sure until just now.” She pressed snug against him.
Tom laughed, loving her boldness and the challenge in her eyes. “Thank God you’re not still uncertain.”
“No,” she said, pressing her hips tighter. “Not at all.” She raised one hand to slide it up his stomach to his chest, watching her hand explore until it disappeared beneath his suit jacket. “You feel really good.”
It had been a slow build before, starting with the sight of her, then her teasing, her taste, her curves. But this...this frank appreciation for his body? His heart thundered in his chest, and his cock was suddenly painfully hard. He wanted that hand of hers to slide lower. He wanted it to unzip his pants and curl around him and tighten. And he wanted her telling him how good it all was. So damn good.
“Isabelle,” he said, and just that, just her name, reminded him that he shouldn’t do this. “Stop trying to make me crazy.”
That husky laugh burst from her, and she gave him a friendly shove. “Fine. But only because you’re being cute.”
He didn’t feel cute. He felt bereft and a little betrayed that she wasn’t keeping his cock warm anymore. But that was what he’d requested, wasn’t it?
“As you can see,” she said as if normal conversation wasn’t difficult after that kiss, “everything around here is fine. You can get back to work.”
He frowned and looked around in confusion for a moment, not quite recalling what he’d meant to do. “I know how you are about your privacy, but if Veronica is going to be here for a few hours, would you let me take a closer look? Windows, doors, that sort of thing? There was a threat against the family. In fact—” he rubbed a hand over his face “—maybe it’d be better if you disinvited her.”
“No way,” Isabelle said immediately. “That girl needs a night out. Look at whatever you need to.” Her eyes narrowed just a little. “I don’t have anything to hide, Marshal.”
Damned if she didn’t lie almost as well as she kissed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
HE STILL SEEMED slightly out of sorts. She liked that look on him. The big, tall lawman confused by a simple little kiss.
Okay, so it hadn’t been little. Or simple. She’d been turned on before he’d even pressed his mouth to hers. And judging by the lovely size of his cock, he’d been pretty excited, too.
She’d found him attractive before, but now she knew how firm that stomach was and how his hard chest curved up so nicely into his shoulders. She looked him up and down, and her mouth watered.
“Stop it,” he muttered, taking another step back.
God, he really was adorable. “You don’t have to stand here and let me ogle you. Go on. Look around.”
He glanced past her toward the studio doors. “I’d rather you come with me.”
“You’re not seriously scared of my paintings, are you?”
“No, I’m scared of the photographs.”
It took her a moment to recognize the dry humor in his voice. “I’ll protect you. Try to think of them as part of a case file.”
“I want you to come with me because I know your privacy is important to you.”
She drew back a little in surprise that he even cared. “Okay,” she agreed and followed him back to the living room, where he spent a lot of time checking her window locks.
“Living here alone, you might want to invest in some pin locks. They slide into the frame of the window.”
“I’m too isolated to worry much about that. Anyone who wants in can just break the glass. Even Jill wouldn’t hear that.”
He grunted, not looking pleased. “You’ve got a dead bolt on the door, at least.”
“It was here when I moved in.”
“Any weapons?” he asked.
She hesitated long enough for him to stop his inspection of the door and look at her. “Yes. I’ve got a 9 millimeter.”
“Legal?” he asked, clearly wondering if that was why she’d hesitated.
“Yes.” But the Luger wasn’t. Tom didn’t need to know anything about that. Her father had given it to her. She didn’t even have ammunition for it. Still, she assumed it was illegal in more ways than one.
“Well,” he finally said, “don’t shoot any of my people if you see them poking around on girls’ night.”
“Deal.”
His eyes swept over the living room one more time before he moved on to the garage and laundry room and finally the kitchen.
“You don’t have any family?” he asked as he did a quick check of the window above her kitchen sink. She hesitated again. She could feel herself doing it and couldn’t stop it.
“I don’t see any photos,” he added.
“They’re all gone,” she said, and that was true enough. Her father was gone for good, whether he was alive or not.
“No pictures, even though they’re gone? I guess you weren’t close?”
“It’s com
plicated.”
“Yeah?” he pressed.
“Yeah.”
“So you don’t want to talk about your family.”
She set her jaw, preparing to lie or tell him off for prying or...something. She should never have kissed him. This was not a man whose curiosity could be easily brushed aside. But while she was chastising herself, he became distracted, staring down the double doors to her studio as if he were steeling himself.
“Come on,” she said. “The easel lights are off. It’s not so bad.”
He rolled his eyes as if he hadn’t been watching the doors as if they’d burst open and zombies would come shuffling out. She noticed he waited for her to open them.
“Don’t you have nightmares?” he asked as soon as he stepped in.
“Of course not.” Not because of her work, anyway.
He took a breath and moved quickly past the first few easels to the two-story wall of windows. “This is the weakest point in your security,” he said, testing the lock on the French doors that led out to a small deck. “But at least you have a slide lock here.”
He engaged the lock at the top of the door, pushing it into the frame. “Where does this lead?” he asked, flipping the light switch next to the door. Nothing happened.
“Sorry. It’s burnt out.”
“Could you replace the bulb tomorrow?”
“Sure. There’s a deck out there.”
He pressed his hand to the glass to see past the lights of the room. “Stairs?”
“Yes.”
“If it’s—” Something slammed against the glass. Before Isabelle could even yelp, Tom had shoved her behind his back and drawn his weapon. “Out of the room!”
“It’s just Bear!” she cried.
Tom was backing up and forcing her toward the door. “What?”
“It’s the cat.”
Bear batted at the glass slightly more gently this time. His big paw pressed against the window, the pink pads splaying out on the glass.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Tom barked. “That goddamn cat.”
Flirting with Disaster & Fanning the Flames Page 7