by Jamie Denton
Duncan worried about pushing her too close to the edge of her comfort zone, but she was so open, so willing to go where he wanted to take her, he couldn’t stop. Not without paying a price all his own. His dick throbbed painfully, the need to fill her and feel the clench of her body surrounding him with her heat had him breathing as hard as her.
He sat on the bed, then moved her over him so she was facing away from him. On her knees, she straddled his legs with her back arched and her bottom lifted high in the air; she was parted for him, open for his pleasure as well as hers. He slipped his fingers inside her and her nails dug into his calves as she emitted a low, rough sound reminiscent of a primal growl. He’d pushed her, made her wild with need, but tonight he pushed her further, harder and wanted more. He wanted all of her.
He stroked her, slow, then increased the tempo and pressure until the sound of her breathing changed, indicating she was close to falling apart. Without mercy, he slowed down, never letting her go too far or allowing her to cool, holding her close enough to the edge where she couldn’t quite reach it.
She widened her stance, demanding more, then dug her nails into him when he refused. He held her hips and lay back against the mattress, bringing her with him. With one hand on her bottom and the other pressing open her folds, he tongued her swollen bud, teasing then pressing against the throbbing pulse.
“Oh, oh,” she whimpered, and her legs began to tremble. She reached, but he pulled her back, slowly lapping her, sliding his tongue over every part of her until her whimpers became pleas of frustration.
Her hand slipped around his cock, followed by the heat of her mouth over the head. He nearly exploded. “Not yet, baby,” he said and rolled her onto her back.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
He leaned over her. “Doing what? Loving you?”
“Making me so hot,” she cried. “Too hot.”
She reached for him, but he moved down the bed and parted her legs. “Tell me what you want?”
“I don’t care.” She threw her arms over her head and turned her face to the side. Her breasts rose and fell with the rapid pace of her breathing.
“Do you want this?” He dipped his head and tasted her.
Her hips bucked. “Yes,” she said, her voice strained.
“Or this?” he asked, holding up the flesh-toned dildo.
“You promised me,” she whispered on a strangled cry. Her hips moved, rocked and he wasn’t even touching her. Her feminine flesh glistened, her need flowing from her and he knew she’d never be more ready or so completely mindless.
He slowly drew the dildo down her folds and she released a hiss of breath, her hips lifting, searching. He answered the demand of her body, sliding the toy inside, then withdrawing it with the same agonizing slowness.
“Duncan,” she cried out, her voice hoarse.
He entered her again, the thrusts slow and easy, her hips lifting higher, demanding more. He was mesmerized by her, by the way her sheath tightened around the shaft as she pulled it deeper inside. He stilled, letting her stroke the toy with the give and take of her body, riding closer to the orgasm he held just out of her reach. She set her own pace and her cries grew louder, more insistent, rocking her hips higher and faster as she drew the dildo deeply inside.
She was so hot and wet, and he had to taste her one last time before made her completely his. Still holding the toy for her pleasure, he dipped his head and lapped at her. The rise and fall of her hips grew frenzied, her body frantically demanding release.
Unable to hold himself back much longer, he withdrew the toy and moved over her. She cried out in frustration because he’d changed the pace on her again, then sighed as he buried himself inside her to the hilt.
She rose up off the bed, and rammed her fingers into his hair, grabbing a fistful. “Now.” She sank her teeth into his bottom lip, then looked at him with such raw, naked emotion, he wondered if he’d pushed her too far. “Now,” she demanded again between hard pants of breath. “Damn you, now.”
He took her there as swiftly as possible, the microthin thread of control beginning to fray as he saw the beauty of her flying apart beneath him. When her back arched off the bed, and her eyes widened with wonder, he fulfilled his promise to her. The sound of his name tearing from her lips filled his ears seconds before he joined her.
17
HOPE TEMPLETON reminded Sunny of an Eliza Doolittle wrapped in a steel magnolia. She lacked the innate sophistication of Margo Wilder, didn’t have the advanced educational benefits of Joy Tweed, but there was just something open and honest about the twenty-six-year-old widow of Darrin Templeton that Sunny found amazingly refreshing.
Hope hadn’t grown up under the influence of wealth and privilege, but was a small-town southern girl from Petal, Mississippi. After high school she’d taken a secretarial course, then moved as far away from her country roots as possible and landed a job as a secretary in Darrin Templeton’s prestigious Chicago law firm. Within eighteen months, Tempie, as Hope called her late husband, had divorced his wife of twenty years and married his young, pretty secretary with her pouty pink lips and voluptuous body.
Because she lacked higher education and spoke with a heavy accent, Sunny suspected most people mistook Hope for ignorant white trash trying to better herself by marrying a rich man. Within five minutes, Sunny knew that Hope was a sweet, down-to-earth woman with down-home values whose only mistake was falling deeply in love with a married man, who’d done her best to fit into a world that would never fully accept her as anything more than the trophy wife of an older man.
Sunny covered her butt this time by making her unit chief, Clint Burrows, as well as Reece Klabo, aware of the tip she’d received from Duncan. Burrows hadn’t been happy when she’d asked if Duncan could sit in on the interview with the vic. Yes, she and her team would’ve been in Chicago thanks to Ned’s incredible find, but without Duncan’s tip, it may have taken weeks before they’d learned about Hope Templeton. The Chicago P.D. was so backlogged, the incident report Hope filed hadn’t been entered in their computer system two weeks after the theft. In Sunny’s opinion, Duncan had earned the right to accompany her to Hope’s interview.
Burrows started spouting Bureau regulations, but Klabo had shut him down and gave her the green light. She figured he was more accustomed to bending the occasional rule based on the urgency of the cases his unit handled.
After spending most of the morning at the Chicago field office and arranging for Ned and Georgia to oversee a search of the suite used by the Seducer at the Drake Hotel, Sunny and Duncan had driven out to the palatial home of the late Darrin Templeton. The home itself wasn’t all that different from the grand estate of Margo Wilder or any of the other victims, but rather than stately, the Templeton home was just that—a home. They sat in the kitchen, where Hope had personally served them sweet tea—just like her mama used to make—and attempted to stuff them full of homemade cakes and pastries she’d baked herself.
Sunny and Duncan were seated across from each other while Hope sat at the head of the oak kitchen table. Sunny recorded the session and was already on her second tape.
“Hope, are you certain you’d never seen Peter Seville before the bar association dinner?”
Hope sniffed. “The thieving bastard, you mean. Did I mention he drugged me?”
“Yes, you did mention it.”
“I should’ve listened to my housekeeper. She didn’t like him. That’s why we went to a hotel to…you know.”
Yes, Sunny did know, but couldn’t assume facts. She needed Hope to be as specific as possible and to answer the questions to the best of her recollection. “Why did you go to the hotel?”
“You know.” Hope cast a nervous glance in Duncan’s direction. “Did the deed,” she said, looking back at Sunny. “Got it on. Had sex.”
“I realize how uncomfortable this is for you, Hope, but it would be helpful to our investigation if you could provide me with the details of your liaisons w
ith Mr. Seville.”
“Oh, my,” Hope’s big blue eyes widened. “You really have to know all that?”
“I understand the sensitive nature of what I’m asking of you, however the smallest detail can sometimes be what leads us to the suspect’s arrest.”
“I don’t care what you do to the son of a bitch, I just want my Harry back.”
“That would be the Harry Winston wreath Mr. Seville removed for your neck while you were sleeping sometime between Friday night and Sunday morning?” Sunny clarified.
“He drugged me and stole it,” Hope said sharply. She looked at Duncan. “You can get Harry for me, can’t you?”
“That’s why I’m here, Hope.”
Sunny didn’t miss how Duncan’s own lazy Texas drawl had become more pronounced. Whether it was Hope’s Mississippi accent bringing it out or he was using it to charm the young widow into giving them the information they sought, she couldn’t be certain. She highly suspected the latter.
“But to find Harry for you, Sunny needs your help. Okay?”
If the man said pretty please, she was going to have to resort to violence. A swift kick under the table should do it.
Hope nodded and adjusted the straps of her bright yellow sundress. “I can do that. It’s embarrassing, but for Harry, it’ll be worth it.”
“You told the Chicago police that following the bar association dinner, Mr. Seville accompanied you home,” Sunny prompted Hope.
“He said he knew Tempie when they had a big case together years back. I remembered the name, because I used to be Tempie’s secretary and all, so I thought he’d be okay.” Her darker blond eyebrows pulled together in a frown as she looked at Sunny. “I’ve never been the kind to bring home strange men, if you know what I’m sayin’. It just isn’t smart. But I sorta knew him, and he was talkin’ about Tempie, I felt real lonely all of a sudden.”
“What happened after Mr. Seville accompanied you home?”
“We had some wine, er, some sherry. Talked a bit, about Tempie mostly. We didn’t do it then, but we did fool around a little, but he got embarrassed and left. Oh, and he asked me to supper the next night.”
Sunny reached for the glass of tea. “What do you mean by ‘he got embarrassed’?”
“Well,” Hope said, and blushed. “When we were foolin’ around, it went kinda far. But he was such a good kisser, I couldn’t help myself. If he’s good with the lips, he knows how to move the hips, you know what I’m sayin’?”
Did she ever.
Duncan coughed and tried to hide his smile. Sunny thought real hard about that swift kick. “Yes, I know what you mean,” she said to Hope.
“That’s just a little thing we girls used to say back home. Anyway, I…I…” Hope’s soft round cheeks turned a deep shade of pink and she fanned herself with her hand. “Do you really have to know all this?”
“Yes, I do,” Sunny told her. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard—”
“No,” Hope said suddenly. “That’s just it. It wasn’t.”
Sunny frowned and ignored Duncan’s second cough. “Excuse me?”
“I felt him up, and it wasn’t hard,” Hope said in a low voice. “That’s why he got embarrassed. He was a real gentleman about it, like it was his fault, sayin’ he was sorry for takin’ advantage of me, because I was missin’ Tempie.”
Shock rumbled through Sunny. The Seducer couldn’t get it up? “He couldn’t sustain an erection?”
Hope slowly shook her head.
Sunny cleared her throat. “When did you see Mr. Seville again?”
“The next day. Friday night,” Hope said. “I met him at The Drake for supper. He made reservations at the French restaurant, but I started thinkin’ that maybe fresh oysters would help him, you know, with his little problem. I told him I didn’t like French food, and we had supper at the Cape Cod Room. If you’re gonna be in town long, you should go. Best seafood in Chicago.”
“What did you discuss at dinner?”
“Me, mostly. Growin’ up in Mississippi, stuff like that. He didn’t mention Tempie once. I thought that was why he couldn’t…you know…the night before, so I was okay with it. After supper he said he would be honored if I would accompany him to his room.”
“You stated earlier that you went to the hotel with Mr. Seville because your housekeeper didn’t like him,” Sunny said.
“When he was here, Stella gave him the evil eye.” The way Hope said evil eye, rushed together, made it sound like one word. “She doesn’t really have an evil eye. Not like my grandma on my daddy’s side, but Stella likes to think she does. But I think that’s why he didn’t want to come here.”
“What happened once you reached his room?”
“Peter ordered champagne from room service, we started foolin’ around again, drank some more champagne and fooled around some more. That’s all I remember until I woke up around three o’clock Sunday morning. The doctor said the pills Peter put in my champagne act different for different people, that’s why I slept so long. Rema-something.”
“Remeron?” Duncan clarified.
“That’s right,” Hope said. “Remeron.”
“It’s an anti-depressant,” he said to Sunny. “Sometimes it’s used to treat sleeping disorders.”
Hope made a little huffing noise. “You won’t get any argument from me.”
The widow may have been taken in by the Seducer, but Sunny found her attitude toward him admirable. No wistful sighs, no weepy statements and no denial. A testament to Hope’s upbringing. What she lacked in sophistication and breeding, she more than made up for in street smarts and common sense.
“Do you have any recollection of having actual intercourse with him?” Sunny asked. She thought about Margo Wilder calling Justin Abbott a master of foreplay. Was that all that had occurred?
“Oh no,” Hope shook her head. “We never did it that way.”
“You’re certain?” Sunny asked. “When you woke up Sunday morning, there was no evidence that he might have taken advantage of you while you were unconscious?”
“No,” Hope said. “Nothin’. He has his little problem. I think it’s sad. He is real good about pleasin’ a woman, even if he is kinda finicky about it.”
Sunny sat back in the chair. “What do you mean, finicky?”
“He never touched me…down there. Not with his hands.”
Sunny thought about Margo’s statement again and how the suspect had seduced her with warm oil and paint-brushes, using her body as a canvas. Alicia Dearborn had mentioned a similar interlude involving a mink stole and a vibrator, and then there was the wine bottle involved in Maddie Bryson’s seduction. Even Celine Garfield had spoken of an erotic encounter involving a pearl necklace. Sunny would have to check the statements to be absolutely sure, but she couldn’t help wondering if the UNSUB’s masterful seductions consisted only of his mastery at foreplay as Margo had suggested.
“Did Peter happen to use any props when you were together?” Sunny asked her.
Hope turned scarlet. “A shower massage,” she said in a hushed tone. “And he liked to watch.”
Duncan’s foot brushed Sunny’s under the table. She shot him a warning glance. He sat quietly, giving her a look of pure innocence when she knew better. She could kick him, anyway, just because she knew exactly what he was thinking. “Hope, thank you, I know this has been difficult.” No way was she saying hard in front of this woman again. “You have been extremely helpful.” More than she knew, because the profile that had been evading Sunny began to form in her mind.
“If you could do one more thing for me, I’d like to arrange to have one of our sketch artists visit you,” she said to Hope as she began to gather her things. “Would tomorrow morning be convenient for you? It’d help us out if we had a better idea of what the suspect looks like.”
“I can show you what he looks like.”
Sunny’s hand stilled over the opening of her briefcase, her tape recorder slipping from her fingers. “You have a
photograph of him?”
Hope nodded and stood. “Tempie had a security camera put in after 9-11. It has sound and everything.”
Hope led them from the kitchen to another room toward the front of the sprawling home with comfortable sofas and chairs arranged around a big-screen television set. Hope opened a massive cabinet and pulled a black video cassette case from the shelf. “Do you want to see it now or take it with you?” she asked.
“Can we view it now?” Duncan asked.
“Make yourself at home,” Hope said and handed him the video and the remote control.
Sunny was nearly beside herself at a chance to finally get a real look at the UNSUB. Hope Templeton was quickly becoming one of her favorite people.
“There,” Hope said suddenly. “That’s him. That’s Peter.”
The camera had been set up so that anyone who came to the front door would be easily identified. Duncan paused the tape, and other than a few fuzzy white lines, the clarity was good enough to provide them with a perfect full-frontal shot.
Sunny stared at the image of the UNSUB. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy. It was difficult to tell from the video, but he looked to be around five-nine or ten, with sandy-brown hair. He didn’t have what she thought of as the bored, useless look of an attorney, but if Hope sat with a sketch artist, she suspected that was how the composite would look.
“When was this taken?” Duncan asked. Like Sunny, he stared hard at the image on the screen.
“Thursday night. He’s leaving here. There’s another shot earlier, but you have to rewind some more.”
“How old would you say Seville is?” he asked Hope, his attention glued to the screen.
The sharpness of his tone drew Sunny’s attention and she looked at him curiously. Tension emanated from him and he seemed much paler than usual.
“Not as old as Tempie,” Hope said. “’Bout forty, forty-two. Sometimes I thought maybe younger, you know the way the light would hit him, but then it’d be gone. Oh, he says somethin’ in French here.”