“Have you heard anything more about Chief Moyer and Dr. Henderson?” she asked.
He raised her knuckles to his lips for a fleeting kiss. “Rumor has it charges are pending.”
“Because of the bad press, most likely,” Becca offered with a grimace of disgust. If not for the media coverage, the two men would have escaped repercussions for their part in the cover-up.
But the media had gotten a whiff of the story through the police scanner. Within days they’d broken the story wide open and pressure from the public had mounted to hold Moyer and Henderson accountable for their actions. Both men claimed they hadn’t known Rachel Blaine had been murdered and had only attempted to hide the woman’s pregnancy.
Not that their protestations would save them. They’d lied, destroyed evidence, allowed a murderer to roam free—something the reporters investigating the story had reported on ad nauseam.
Which reminded her. She turned to Rio as they started down the slight incline. “Is the press still hounding you?”
They’d become minor celebrities once the story of her mother’s murder and their own attempted murders had hit the news. The Rachel Blaine story had all the elements of a compelling blockbuster: adultery, politics, money, cover-ups, high society.
Rio had been put on desk duty thanks to his broken ribs and the fact he couldn’t step out of the station without being mobbed by reporters.
“It’s died down.” He glanced at her and raised a dark eyebrow. “How are your clients handling the attention?”
After a three-week hiatus spent recovering from the reopening of her gunshot wound beneath Emma’s care while wallowing in Rio’s attention, she’d returned to Olympia and her practice.
“I didn’t lose as many clients as I’d expected.” Which was almost a shame.
Losing her client base and having to start over would have made the decision looming over her easier. This unfurling relationship between her and Rio was fragile. Would it survive the commute between San Diego and Olympia? Would it survive two days together followed by five days apart? Would it survive two busy careers and two separate lives?
“How’s your shoulder?” He shot her a gleaming look.
“Good as new. Your ribs?” She smirked slightly, sudden effervescence pushing aside what remained of the earlier sorrow.
She knew where this line of conversation was going. The hungry glitter in his eyes was a dead giveaway that he was interested in taking their relationship to a more physical level.
Thank God. So was she.
Heck, she’d been craving this next step for weeks. But there had been his ribs and her shoulder and twelve years of separation between them. They’d spent the past five weeks letting their bodies heal and getting to know each other again while the sexual tension kept winding tighter and tighter. Sure, they’d indulged in some light petting, plenty of cuddling, and lots of kissing—at least before she’d returned to Olympia. Not to mention the hours of phone flirting since she’d arrived home, but none of that was cutting it anymore. After weeks of stimulation and no satisfaction, her libido was in danger of overload.
When his arm settled around her shoulders with nary a flinch or a groan, she smiled in anticipation. He wasn’t hurting anymore. That had to be a good sign.
“I’m thinking lasagna, ciabatta bread, a Caesar salad for dinner.” His arm tightened around her shoulder.
“Are you offering to feed me?” A grin tugged as anticipation flooded her.
“I figure you’re as hungry as I am.” His glittering eyes announced loud and clear that he wasn’t talking about food.
“I am. I’m starving. And lasagna is Emma’s favorite. She’ll be thrilled to hear you’re making it for us.” She kept her expression completely deadpan, even though she wanted to shriek with laughter at the way his expression collapsed.
He stopped in his tracks, his forehead wrinkling in consternation, his gorgeous blue-gray eyes suddenly wary. “Uh… Becca.”
She burst into laughter, the peals of merriment echoing through the cemetery. His eyes glittering again, he dragged her into his arms and sealed the laughter between them with his mouth.
A very long time later, after her breathing turned raspy and her lips sensitive and her body about to undulate out of its skin, he lifted his head.
“Babe, I’m about to explode. Let’s table this until we get home.”
It pleased her immensely to hear the raspy tenor to his voice and see the heave of his chest. You’d think he’d run a marathon, a clear indication she wasn’t in this alone.
Home.
She smiled quietly. Contentment swelling.
Him. Her. The two of them together. This time she was the one to raise his knuckles to her lips. “Sounds good to me.”
Chapter Sixteen
Rio pulled into a street-side parking space next to one of the few family grocery stores remaining in San Diego. He shoved the truck’s gearshift into park and turned in the seat toward Becca. The cemetery visit had hit her hard, understandable considering she hadn’t been back to her mother’s burial site since the funeral. But she’d relaxed since leaving the grave. That tight, sorrowful look had lifted enough to allow teasing, even some heavy kissing. Which boded well for the rest of the evening.
She straightened in the passenger seat and stared out the window as he pulled the key from the ignition. “Isn’t this where your grandmother worked? I can’t believe it’s still around. Most of these mom-and-pop places have disappeared.”
“Luigi’s daughter and grandson took it over.”
Luigi had been the original owner and his grandmother’s boss. She’d worked the cash register for three decades and had known the ins and outs of the store as well as Luigi. Even now, after all these years, the store didn’t seem the same without his grandmother behind the counter. He glanced up and down the street before exiting the vehicle.
Becca was waiting for him on the sidewalk, studying the store with a dreamy expression. “It’s so quaint, you know? Like we stepped back in time. I used to love coming here with you.”
It did look old-world, straddling the edge of the block like it was. The original canopy still covered the wide, curved entrance. Baskets of fresh fruit hugged the outside wall beneath the canopy, scenting the air with sweetness.
They wandered narrow aisles with wood shelving, grabbing what they needed for the night. At the deli he picked up a pound of fresh pasta and ricotta cheese… at the bakery he added a loaf of ciabatta bread and a couple of pastries for the morning… at the wine rack he placed a bottle of pinot grigio in the cart.
Becca raised her eyebrows when she saw the label and looked impressed. “My favorite. I see you’ve been paying attention.”
“I’m paid to be observant.” He pulled her close for a lingering kiss, before nibbling his way to her ear. “I’ve noticed for example that you melt when I do this,” he murmured and tugged her earlobe with his teeth.
Sure enough she groaned and softened against his chest.
But it was a two-way melting… his muscles and lungs were dissolving right alongside hers. Stepping back, he rested his hands on her shoulders to steady her. Once she regained her balance, he dropped his hands.
“How about we save the taste testing until we get home.” It shocked him how raw and raspy his voice sounded.
This woman did things to him, things he hadn’t felt in… hell… twelve years.
Emotional things… physical things…
The three weeks they’d spent together had proved once again how much she’d changed. He genuinely liked the woman she’d grown into—liked her sass, her sense of humor, and her intelligence. Liked her openness to trying new things and taking on new challenges. Liked how willing she was to shoulder her friends’ problems. She’d stepped up to help Adele with all the complications stemming from the canceled wedding. And she’d gone out of her way to distract Emma and lift her spirits since Lucas had deployed.
With Adam in jail and Lena exposed, Becca
had been free to leave. Free to go back to Olympia to heal or lounge around in a premier hotel, being waited on by staff. Instead, she’d stuck around that claustrophobic house because Emma had needed company.
Becca had a good heart… which was so damn rare in people these days.
It had been eye-opening how much he’d missed her after she’d returned to Olympia. Sure, they’d talked on the phone, but it wasn’t the same. She wasn’t there beside him—he couldn’t breathe in her fresh, sweet scent, feel her warmth against his side, watch the way her forehead knitted while she was reading.
These past two weeks had been among the longest of his life, and he hated the thought of her leaving again.
The cashier at the counter didn’t know or recognize him—thank Christ—so he was able to pay for their purchases and they escaped to the truck without stopping to socialize.
The anticipation built during the short ride to his apartment. After they retrieved the paper grocery bags from the back of his truck, Becca paused to stare at his apartment building.
He studied the surprised, maybe even disappointed look on her face and raised an eyebrow. “What?”
With a frown and slight shake of her head, she shrugged. “I don’t know… I guess after seeing the grocery store, I just expected you to live someplace more… unique.”
He studied the building himself. She had a point. The units were boxy, stacked on top of each other with outside staircases that allowed entrance and exits. It was modern. Professional. And reminiscent of a thousand other apartment complexes around town. There was nothing quaint or charming or unique about it. But then only one quality had been important to him back when he’d rented the place.
“It’s five minutes from the station.” Which pretty much summed up his life for the past twelve years. He’d lived the job.
Rio looked at the building again and tried to imagine Becca living there. He couldn’t.
It was a three-story climb to his apartment. When he unlocked his door and escorted her inside, the noncommittal expression on her face told him just how unimpressed she was with the place.
“You don’t like it.” It wasn’t a question.
“Well… it’s just…” She wandered farther into the room and set the paper bag she was carrying down on the antique table he’d inherited from his grandmother. “You don’t have any pictures on the walls. I mean none. And there’s no color. Everything is kind of monochrome. You need to brighten the place up. Give it some character.” She pasted on a positive expression. “It’s spotless though. I don’t see a speck of dust.”
“I have a woman come in twice a week to clean.” He scanned his apartment again, trying to see it through her eyes.
She was right. His apartment looked dull as hell. The only interesting thing in it was the woman by his side.
They worked in tandem in the kitchen, the sensuality building with each fleeting brush of their bodies in the tight space. An arm here. A hip there. Soon desire permeated the small space, mingling with her scent and her heat until his body was fixated on her.
Hungered for her.
But he was damn well going to feed her first. Prove to her that he wanted more than a drive-by bang. That he wasn’t going to abandon her like he had last time.
His resolve might have lasted if she hadn’t brushed up against him again and again, too often and too deliberately to be a coincidence.
Fuck, his kitchen wasn’t that small.
When she delivered an entirely too long—and too sensual—shimmy against his ass, Rio’s self-control snapped. He tossed the cheese grater onto the counter and grabbed her hand, towing her toward the bedroom. The food could wait; other appetites needed feeding first.
He’d prove his intentions later.
“But I’m hungry.” The protest purred from her, stoking his desire.
“So am I.” His voice was all growl, no purr whatsoever.
His mouth found hers in the hall on the way to his bedroom, and their famine took over—breaths caught, hearts raced, muscles quivered, hands tugged and tossed, fingers unbuttoned and unzipped.
They lost their shirts in the hall, their pants and shoes at the foot of the bed. Entwined, they fell onto the mattress. Her panties ripped as he dragged them down her legs.
Slow down. Take care of her.
This isn’t a wham bam, dammit—we have all night.
Hell, they had all weekend and long after that if he had any say in it.
He forced his hands to be gentle and unhooked her bra, pushing it aside. Her breasts were plumper than he remembered, the nipples a darker pink.
“You’re so beautiful, even more now than you were at eighteen,” he said, stroking his finger across her nipple.
When it puckered at his caress, he smiled. She’d always been responsive to his touch. Good to know some things hadn’t changed. Settling on top of her, he took the puckered nipple in his mouth and suckled. He groaned as the taste of her flooded his mouth. Jesus, she tasted like he remembered. Delicate, like apricots and cream. Like a rain-drenched rose.
Her body from legs to shoulders quivered beneath the tug of his mouth. But he needed to push her higher, closer to the edge—because damn, he wasn’t sure how much more of this he could handle. His cock was already fully engorged, and his balls were aching like holy hell. Fuck, even the base of his spine was tingling, a sure sign he was on the final countdown. Much more of this sensual play and he’d go off like a rocket.
She needed to be ready to fly with him.
With that in mind he kissed and nibbled his way down the silky skin of her chest and belly. Jesus… even her skin tasted sweet. And smelled sweet and quivered so sweetly beneath his lips.
His breath caught as she undulated beneath him, her quick, gasping cries filling the air. By the time he reached the damp thatch of hair at the junction of her thighs, he could barely hear her moans through the blood pounding in his ears.
He paused long enough to drape her legs over his shoulders and then spread her sex open. His entire body hardened, throbbing like a muscle cramp at the sight of her silky, wet flesh. Clamping down on the urge to grab a condom from the bedside table, sheathe himself and sink into her, he pressed his mouth to her glistening, pink sex.
She tasted like nectar with a side dish of heaven.
With each thrust of his tongue and suckle from his lips, she cried out. He tracked her progress by her breathless screams and the pressure of the thighs squeezing his neck.
By the time the convulsions finally seized her, he was hanging on through grit and determination. It took seconds to grab the condom and roll it into place. With his first thrust, she took him to the base of his balls, her wet warmth hugging his cock from head to base.
Christ… she felt perfect. Like heaven. Like he’d found home again after a long… long absence.
He groaned as her warm, swollen flesh contracted and released, squeezed and relaxed—milking him. He managed one more retreat and thrust, before the orgasm ripping through her triggered his own.
And then a volcano erupted inside him, every cell, every nerve, every muscle exploding in unison until he was nothing but heat and sensation encased in quaking muscles.
A hot, heavy weight pinned Becca to the bed. It crushed the air from her lungs and slowed the beat of her heart. It had already smothered her common sense, because rather than shoving that heft aside, she lay basking in the heat and hardness surrounding her.
Slowly the sensation of someone watching her registered. Rough, masculine fingers idly brushed her hair from her sweaty forehead.
She sighed and fought to keep the smile at bay. “Well, that was certainly a big disappointment.”
The fingers on her face stilled, then slowly trailed their way down to her chest and cupped her breast. “So that’s what all the screaming was about. You were expressing your disappointment.”
The dryness in his voice was a dead giveaway that he didn’t believe her.
“That’s right.” She pause
d to smooth the rasp from her voice as he flicked her nipple. Damn, she was sensitive there. “It was barely worth the wait. All that anticipation for nothing,” she added stoutly.
Okay, she might have overreached on that last claim.
She squirmed, her body kindling like a slow-burn firecracker as his mouth dropped to the side of her neck and started nibbling.
“Nothing, huh?” He nipped the skin where her neck blended into her collarbone and soothed the sting with a slow, erotic swipe of his tongue.
“That’s right.” She quivered, her attention split between the mouth nipping and nibbling its way across her shoulder and the hand so stealthily sliding down her abdomen and between her legs. “It’s barely worth repeating.”
“That so?” His hand slipped between her thighs and parted the soaked folds. She about came off the bed when he rubbed her clit.
Holy shit… her nipples weren’t the only things sensitive!
Between the nibbling, nipping, and stroking of his mouth and that wicked finger, he had her writhing beneath him in no time—her breath erupting in urgent pants. Her body rocketing up that steep climb to ecstasy.
And then he stopped.
His mouth and hand retreated simultaneously.
What the…?
“I suppose if it’s not worth repeating, continuing would be pointless.”
It took her a second to realize how neatly he’d turned the tables on her. But then she hadn’t expected him to call her bluff.
We’ll see about that…
Twisting beneath his weight, she shoved him off her. He rolled onto his back beside her much easier than she’d expected. When she climbed on top of him and straddled his prone, naked body, he filled his hands with her breasts.
“Jesus, you’re beautiful.” He rasped the words out like he’d forgotten how to speak or breathe or both. But his gaze wasn’t on her breasts, it was locked on her face, intently focused, as though he were memorizing her.
Her chest went soft and hot beneath a burst of emotion, although she could think of several things much more beautiful than she—for example his chiseled chest and muscled abdomen. Or the hard, urgent planes of his face… or the emotion in his eyes.
Loyalty Under Fire (Operation: Hot Spot Book 3) Page 18