Alias: Daddy

by Adrianne Lee

  When she approached the bathroom counter, she saw the clothes she’d left there were gone. In their place were three brand new pairs of panties, her size, and a sleep T-shirt with a Seattle SuperSonics decal. Next to them was a new hairbrush and her favorite perfume.

  She put her hand over her mouth to catch the gasp that slipped from her throat, and blinked hard against the tears that instantly sprang into her eyes. How could she have remained so tough through the past twenty-four hours only to be brought to her knees by one thoughtful gesture?

  “Save me from this man and his effect on me,” she murmured. She uncapped the bottle of perfume and drew in a deep breath. The sweet scent did what nothing else had been able: chased the stench of smoke from her nose. She closed her eyes and daubed perfume on her pulse points. “The woman who wins your heart, Roman Donnello, will be one lucky lady.”

  FORTITUDE, Roman thought, as Kerrie came into the room. Loverboy had taken her home from her, but he hadn’t taken her spirit. It hovered around her like an invisible mantle, an aura. Roman admired her for it. And yet, he realized, it was the very quality that made her too strong for her own good on occasion, a quality that made her build walls he couldn’t penetrate, a quality that both attracted and repelled him.

  Although, at this moment, it seemed impossible that anything about her could repel him. Her fiery hair, still damp from her bath, curled gently around her face, whispered over her shoulders, and sweetened the air with its heady fragrance. The neck of the sleep shirt filled the V of the tightly belted terry-cloth robe that ended just above her knees—a look both innocent and seductive. Her shapely feet were bare, her toenails painted an enticing shade of coral pink.

  He felt an immediate and fierce stab of desire. How could a woman, no, he corrected, why did this woman affect him so? Why had he always been more attracted to her than any other? Why had he never been able to get her out of his blood? Off his mind?

  “Thank you. For…the clothes.” The words seemed to choke her.

  He nodded, feeling suddenly self-conscious in his own knee-length robe. “I sent our clothes out to be cleaned and pressed. We’ll have them back by morning.”

  An awkward silence hung between them. Finally Roman moved toward his own room. “It’s late. You really should get some sleep, Irish.”

  “’Night,” she said, sounding more like one of her twoyear-old girls than their mother.

  The need in her eyes tugged at his soul. He ached to hold her, to comfort her and join with her. What he didn’t want was meaningless sex. Not tonight. Not with Irish. He wanted to make love to her, with her. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to step into his own room and begin to close the door.

  “No.” Her stricken look stopped him.

  “You want me to keep the door open?”

  “I—I don’t want you to go.”

  He wasn’t sure he could share the same space with her and not touch her. Not love her. Somehow he would have to manage it. He stepped back into the room.

  Kerrie bid him to move closer. Every wall she’d ever built between them had shattered into oblivion with the destruction of her house. Right now, she needed him with the same hungry need she’d seen in his eyes earlier tonight. She wanted him to hold her, to kiss her until every inch of her tingled with feeling, with life. If he couldn’t give her his heart, she would take whatever he could give.

  As though she’d said this aloud, Roman strode straight for her and pulled her into his arms. She clung to him, her hands flattened against his back. The thrum of his accelerating heartbeat pulsed beneath her palms, sending its life force through her like some bizarre surge of electricity. It seemed to say she was not alone. Would never be -alone as long as he was with her. That together they could vanquish all their foes.

  She wanted to believe that Needed to believe it If only for the moment “Make love to me, Roman.”

  He pulled back from their embrace, gazing down at her with a querulous expression. Desire radiated in his golden eyes, but reluctance mingled with it. Why did he study her face so intently? What was he looking for? His hands moved into her hair, his fingers dipping gently against her scalp. She sighed, “I need you so.”

  Her words dissolved his indecision. His mouth descended on hers, not fiercely as always before, but gently, reverently, as though she were something delicate…or something so delicious he wished to savor every taste, every touch.

  Her blood began to stir and heat, and an odd tingling sensation moved through her veins, her nerves, as though her circulation were being reawakened, as though her body was emerging from the desensitized lethargy that had held her in its grips for hours now. It felt painful at first, a sweet sharp ache from her head to her toes, a wet hot throbbing from her mouth to her womb.

  He stepped back, his gaze steadied on her, his eyes like liquid gold as he slipped his robe off his shoulders, letting it slide from his arms onto the floor. He stood there, permitting her to drink in his glorious nakedness. She caressed him with her gaze, then closed the gap between them and laid her hand on the soft ebony hair across his chest, and gradually trailing a fingertip down his belly and into the denser, springy hair at the core of him.

  Roman moaned, “Irish, you drive me wild.”

  “Show me.” She couldn’t resist touching him, holding him, his desire hot and hard and throbbing in her hand.

  He moaned again, the sound low, feral, pleasing, pleased.

  “Not so quick. Not this time.” He stepped back, and reached for the belt on her robe, deftly loosening it. He grasped the lapels and eased it off her shoulders. When it lay pooled at her feet, he smiled and moved to her again, kissed her again, and soon his hands were skimming her back, her waist, her bottom. He pulled her against his erection, pressing his hips to hers, his desire to hers, igniting tiny explosions of pleasure and need in the very essence of her.

  His hands slipped under the T-shirt and he lifted it up and over her head, tossing it aside as his gaze feasted on her breasts. “You are the most beautiful woman, Irish. I could never tire of seeing you like this.”

  The compliment sent a heating blush’ into her face and hardened her nipples as though he’d teased them taut with his tongue. He did touch them now, delicately as if they were breakable crystal, and the sting of desire she’d felt earlier heightened to such intensity she didn’t think she could contain it a moment longer. “Please, Roman, now.”

  “Patience, my love.” He ducked to taste her breasts, his demanding mouth capturing one, then the other. Impossibly Kerrie’s need leaped higher, and a honeyed groan slipped from her throat. Roman ran a hand lovingly over her flat tummy, then dipped his fingertips inside the elastic waistband of her panties and fondled the thick curls nestled there. Soon his finger was inside her, stroking her.

  Kerrie could barely breathe. Her own hands were busy, exploring, caressing, bringing her joy in the very feel of him.

  Roman stripped her panties off, lifted her onto the center of the king-size bed, and stretched out beside her. In the middle of his palm he held a condom. Where he’d produced it from she couldn’t say. She arched an eyebrow at him and grinned wryly, spoke breathlessly, “Prepared this time?”

  “I thought…” His gaze was glazed with desire, his voice husky with passion as breathless as her own. “…since I can’t trust myself around you, Irish…”

  His confession went straight to her heart. She reached up and kissed him, her tongue twining with his, plunging and thrusting, a mini rehearsal for the full-blown gala ahead. As she slipped the protection onto him, she parted her legs. Roman found the heart-shaped birthmark on the inside of her upper thigh and gently traced it with his fingertip, then kissed it, then tasted her, teased her, and finally, raised his body over hers and pushed into her with one hard, luscious lunge that sent her over the edge of ecstasy.

  She wanted this to continue forever, feared they would both give into the rush of need that usually made up their lovemaking, but he was in no hurry. Every thru
st was slow and loving and pleasure-giving. The affection in his eyes as he gazed down at her seared her very soul, healed her emotional wounds, filled her empty, lonely heart, lifted her to heights of passion she had never before reached.

  Inside her, ardor swelled, and she cried out for release, cried out his name, a sweet song of the love she felt for him. She reached the pinnacle seconds before him, and when he joined her there, she stayed at the peak, shudders quaking through her in never ending shock waves of rapture.

  The downward spiral was slower than the ascent, sweeter, more languid. For a long time after, Roman stayed joined with her, raining tiny kisses across her face, at her temples. Eventually he rolled to his side and held her close, until she fell asleep in his arms.

  Roman’s reluctance to leave her, further convinced him that what he shared with Kerrie had deeper meaning than either of them had admitted. He wanted to talk to her about it, make her acknowledge what he had just faced: that their sexual encounters were more than an itch being scratched. But life and reality had played enough tug-of-war with her emotions in the past twenty-four hours. .Having her children wrenched from her, her house destroyed, along with every material thing she owned except her car, was more than most people could stand without collapsing totally. Kerrie was stronger than most, but everyone had their limits.

  He gazed down at her sweet expression and knew that he had put it there, that he had provided her some inner peace. The knowledge warmed him, gave him the courage to confront his feelings for her. He loved this stubborn, contrary woman.

  But did she love him? He gazed at her contented expression. It gave him hope. “First thing tomorrow, Irish, we’re going to talk about us.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Hey, sleepyhead. Wake up.”

  Roman forced his gritty eyes open. Kerrie stood over him, looking freshly showered. His first thought was, Too bad she’d dressed. He kept the thought to himself, struggled to his elbows and grinned at her. “Good morning, Irish.”

  “’Morning, yourself.”

  He arched a brow at her. He’d had more cordial greetings from archenemies. What was going on? He took another look at her, noticing this time that her glorious mane lay tight against her head in that fancy braid she favored, as controlled as her demeanor. He considered grabbing her wrist, hauling her back into bed and giving her attitude a carnal adjustment.

  “Our Continental breakfast was just delivered.” Kerrie swept out of his reach, strode to the table and helped herself. Her energy was palpable. “While you’re showering and eating, I’ll call Mom.”

  She carried a sweet roll and coffee…into the next room and kicked the door shut with her foot before he could protest. Or insist on the talk he wanted to have with her. Roman grunted in frustration, threw off the covers and sat up. Their lovemaking had restored her all right—back into Ms. Efficient Cop with all her impenetrable walls repaired.

  His cleaned clothes lay on the unused bed across from his. He shook his head Breakfast on the table, his clothes readied, she was acting more like his mother this morning than his lover. He definitely didn’t need a mother. He definitely would set her straight on that fact.

  He headed into the bathroom, returned a minute later and downed a cup of steaming coffee. Feeling better, he ate two pastries with the second cup of coffee, then showered, shaved and dressed. As he poured a third cup of coffee, he realized he felt somewhat restored this morning, too. Best night’s sleep he’d had in a long while.

  Kerrie interrupted the thought. “Are you ready?”

  “Just about.” As before, his blood quickened at the sight of her, but this time he noticed there was a freshness about her that he hadn’t seen in days. She was remarkable. Her kids taken away, her house in ashes, and she kept focused on their goal of bringing in Loverboy. Admirable. But there was another, equally important issue she seemed eager as hell to avoid. “Irish, we should talk about last night.”

  “Not now. I have to get to the station.” She had her purse and was dragging on her coat.

  “Fine.” Roman set his cup down and grinned to himself. Run away, my love. But you can’t run forever. We will have this talk at the first opportunity. Today. He put his coat on and hauled his cell phone out of his pocket. It had gotten crushed when he’d knocked Kerrie to the ground last night. He held it out to her. “I need to stop and pick up a new cellular phone on the way. This one’s on the blink and I’m expecting some agents to call in.”

  “No problem.” Kerrie glanced at her wristwatch. “Cage won’t beat us in by much.”

  “DETECTIVE CAGE isn’t here,” the fifth-floor receptionist told Kerrie, pointing to the. sign-in/sign-out board. “But he is on line one. I was just writing down his message for you.”

  “I’ll take the call at my desk.” Kerrie hurried to her phone with Roman close behind. She motioned him into Cage’s chair. “Use his phone.”

  She dropped into her chair and snatched up her receiver. “Donnello is with me, listening in. Where are you, Tully?”

  “I’ve taken the stakeout at Springer’s house.” The phone connection sounded odd, as though he were actually calling from some greater distance than Mercer Island.

  “And?” Kerrie asked, hoping he had something to report that would advance the case.

  “He hasn’t shown yet.”

  She sighed with disappointment. Where was the wily CPA? “How about his BMW?”

  “Still sitting at the curb,” Cage said. “Locked up tight.”

  Roman asked, “Anybody been there at all?”

  “Not this morning.”

  Roman frowned at Kerrie. “Not even his assistant, Cindy Faber?”

  “What’s she look like?”

  Kerrie described her.

  “Nope, haven’t seen anyone like that,” Cage answered. “But why would she come back if she knows he’s not here? More likely she’d telephone or leave a message on his answering machine.”

  “Or,” Roman added, meeting Kerrie’s gaze, “she could have left him a note before she locked up yesterday.”

  Both those suggestions were logical, Kerrie realized. But so was something else. “Or maybe Mike called her.”

  Roman’s look was questioning. “Why don’t we check on that?”

  Kerrie nodded.

  “Hey, Muldoon.” Cage broke in. “I’m sorry about your house.”

  Kerrie felt as if he’d choked her. “Thanks.”

  Roman hung up, giving her a modicum of privacy.

  “Last night’s news report said no one was injured,” Cage continued, his accent prominent “None of you were, were you?”

  “Not physically.” She shoved the demons back into the corners of her mind. She would not deal with them right now. Not until they had Loverboy sitting in a cell, awaiting prosecution.

  “Was it arson?”

  She knew Cage was really asking whether or not Loverboy had set the fire. “Won’t have any answers for a few days.”

  There was a weighted pause, then Cage said, “If you need anything…”

  “Thanks, partner, I’ll keep that in mind.” She hung up.

  Only someone who knew her as well as Roman would realize that she was rocked by having to talk about the fire. A sadness she couldn’t quite hide flickered in her eyes, but she quickly squared her shoulders and stuck out her chin as though daring Fate to punch it.

  Roman leaped to his feet. “Looks like we’ve got a house call to make.”

  “Two, actually.” Kerrie gathered her purse again and strode toward him. “I want to talk to Cindy Faber and Joe Springer again.”

  He handed her the Mazda keys.

  The address Cindy Faber had given them was for an apartment house in Ballard, about twenty blocks from Joe Springer’s place. The complex was old, but someone had tried maintaining it and now it had the look of an aged actress who’d had one too many face-lifts—the outer skin smoothed too tightly over the sixties modern-chic bone.

  “Naturally, since there’s
no elevator, she’d be on the top floor,” Kerrie complained.

  “Don’t tell me you aren’t in good enough shape to climb four flights, Irish.” Roman leaned seductively close to her. “I know better.”

  Kerrie blushed, picked up her step and stayed slightly ahead of him until she reached the fourth floor. Last night had been wonderful. Roman had delivered her from the horrors threatening to engulf her. He’d made her feel alive, given her comfort and compassion, restored her sense of self as nothing and no one else could.

  But he hadn’t declared any undying love. She wouldn’t fool herself into thinking his tenderness was anything more than technique. He could no more help that he was a lusty, sensuous man, than she could help being a natural redhead. She just wished she wasn’t so susceptible to him.

  The sharp tang of fresh paint floated on the air, getting stronger as they approached number 4G. The door to 4F hung open, the obvious source of the pungent fumes. Drop cloths covered the carpet and hung across the threshold, and the slap of a paint roller hitting a wall echoed from within.

  4G was the last apartment on this floor. When their knocking went unanswered after three minutes, Roman glanced down at Kerrie. “We should have called first.”

  “Guess I was in too big of a hurry.”

  What she’d been was antsy. Roman understood. Cops were trained for action and during high stress cases like this one, with the stakes as personal as they were, the tension was relentless, the need to do something unbearable. Plus, she hadn’t wanted to talk about last night—and she knew that’s exactly what they’d be doing if she didn’t focus on the case.

  Kerrie stepped away from the door. “Maybe we’ll have better luck with Joe Springer.”

  As they started back down the hall, a middle-aged woman stepped into the open doorway of 4F. She was nearly as tall as Roman, skinny and long legged, with a bandanna covering every speck of her hair. Thick blond eyebrows dominated the features in her long face. She wore paint-splattered jeans, sweatshirt and sneakers. “By any chance you folks wouldn’t be looking for an apartment to lease?”