by Jill Shalvis
No, that didn’t compute. It wasn’t being touched by a man that had taken over common sense.
It was being touched by him.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said again. “We’ll talk then.”
All right, she was game for that, and she rattled the handcuffs. “Key?”
He shifted his weight and she guessed he was searching his pockets, a suspicion confirmed when she heard him patting himself down with growing agitation. “Ian?”
“Yeah. Hold on.”
More rustling, accompanied by a roughly uttered, “Ah, hell.”
“What?”
“Just a second.”
Okay. But the longer she stood there listening to him fumble around in his pockets, the more she knew. “Let me guess.”
“Don’t.”
“You lost your keys.”
“I did not lose them.”
“Uh-huh.” She felt like laughing. How that was possible was beyond her. “Then, where are they?”
“Obviously, they’re in the last place I had them.”
“So you’re still absentminded,” she said, and let go of the laugh in her throat.
“Yeah. And you’re still a smart-ass.” He said this utterly without annoyance.
In fact, it sounded pretty darn affectionate.
A flash of lightning lit the room in a blue-white glow, followed by a heart-pounding boom of thunder. In that split second, her gaze locked with his.
Not all of that flash of electricity came from the storm—not even close. Nope, most of it came from the combustible, explosive, chemical-like attraction between the two of them, and quite frankly, after all this time, it shocked her. “Can you still do that layup?” she whispered.
“If I say yes, are you going to kiss me again?” He let out a rough breath. “No. Don’t answer that. Look, the handcuff key is a small one, all by itself. It must have dropped from my pocket in the shuffle. We need another flashlight.”
“I have a spare in my office.”
“Let’s go.”
She wanted to know why it was such a bad idea to kiss him. She wanted to know a whole helluva lot of things, like why he was really here and why every time she took a step forward, he took one back.
She moved toward the door, forgetting that one of the drawers was still open. She’d have fallen flat on her face if he hadn’t encircled her waist with an arm and hauled her back against him.
“Careful,” he said in her ear, his voice low and thrillingly gravelly.
She could have told him that the only thing in danger was her heart, but they shuffled their way out of the antiquities office together, which meant lots of banging into each other to keep their balance in the dark.
Chloe had never been so aware of a man in her life. “Here,” she said when they finally got down the hallway to her office. She opened the door. Candlelight still flickered on the walls, relieving the darkness they’d had in the hallway and the auction house.
She glanced at Ian standing at her side, letting her gaze drift over his wavy hair, his furrowed eyebrows indicating he was deep in thought as he took in her office.
He caught her staring. “What?” he asked.
“I just can’t believe that it’s you. You’ve changed, Ian.”
“Grown up, I hope.”
Yes, and developed a razor sharpness that suggested he was no longer all fun and games. His face was tanned, more rugged now than baby smooth, and carved in classic lines that were admittedly drool-worthy.
He’d definitely changed. Where he’d once been lanky and lean to the point of being too thin, he’d bulked up some, all corded muscle and sinew wrapped in an undeniable masculinity. There was something else, too, something about him that suggested a will to walk into danger, a readiness to face whatever came his way. She grabbed her spare flashlight out of a drawer, watching as he leaned over her desk and blew out her candles.
“Fire hazard,” he said, and when he’d blown out the last one, plunging them back into darkness, she gripped the flashlight but didn’t turn it on.
Truth was, she liked being in the dark with him. She didn’t know what that said about her, but ever since he’d appeared at the party outside, she’d felt more alive than she had in a long time.
“Let’s go get the key,” he said, taking the flashlight, heating her skin everywhere they touched. Oblivious to that fact, he led her back to the antiquities office.
Together, they hunkered down by the desk searching, and Chloe stared into his profile.
He hadn’t shaved today, and maybe not yesterday either, but the intriguing growth on his jaw made her fingers itch. He had laugh lines around his eyes and bracketing his mouth, a mouth she happened to know curved with slow, wicked intent, making his amusement contagious.
Also, he smelled…wonderful. Knee-weakeningly wonderful, which didn’t seem fair since she probably smelled of fear and stress—not wonderful at all.
His hair was still lush and unruly, and as thick as ever, and she couldn’t help it, she reached up and brushed a lock from his forehead.
Lifting his head, his gaze met hers, full of heat and a testosterone that oozed trouble. “Chloe.” His voice held warning and that sexy hunger as he looked into her eyes, his utterly unfathomable.
“What?” she whispered.
He just shook his head. “Nothing.”
But she knew it was something. She knew it with every bone in her body. “No key?”
“No. We’ll have to get one from my place.”
His place. That probably shouldn’t have given her a shiver of thrill. “Okay.”
They made their way out of the office and to the stairs, which they took in silence, close but not touching except for where they were linked by the cuffs. She had so many questions she didn’t know where to start, and she wished she knew him better, like she used to, so she could press him for answers.
“Where’s your car parked?” he asked.
And it hit her. They were going to go through the outdoor party to the lot, and all the way to his place—wherever that was—handcuffed. She knew this. She should have been upset by this. Furious.
Instead, a frisson of arousal went through her. “Back parking lot.”
They stepped out of the building into the courtyard, and it was as startling as if they’d walked onto another planet. In one blink they went from utter darkness, back into the festive lights, music and sounds of laughter and people conversing.
The rain had stopped. The temperature had dropped quite a bit, making her wish for her sweater, which she’d left upstairs.
Had it been only a few minutes ago that she’d been down here herself, standing on the dance floor, laughing over Madame Karma’s predictions?
True love is going to walk into your life.
She squirmed a little at that thought, and glanced at Ian over her shoulder.
He was holding her handcuffed hand in his so that they didn’t draw any attention to themselves.
Your karma has gone south for the winter.
So which was he, Madame Karma’s first prediction, or the second?
And why did she suddenly believe what the fortune-teller had said at all? “Are you sure your date—”
“Gone,” he said with certainty.
Who would ditch him? And why? She couldn’t imagine…But looking into his tense face, she knew she was missing more of his story, and that made her nervous. Still, she led him through the throng of people, past the dance floor where only a short time ago she’d stood next to him, thinking about gobbling him up from head to toe.
She was still thinking about it.
They left the courtyard out the back of the building, and into the parking lot.
At her car, he waited until she unlocked the door, then pulled it open for her. She stood in the V of the opened door, and he stood just behind her, his free hand on the roof of the car, the other linked to her, surrounding her. His body heat seeped into her, through her, and she closed her eyes to
savor every second, because she knew that when she took him home and they were unlocked from each other, he was going to vanish again.
Maybe for good this time.
Unable to stand the thought, she turned to face him. Cupped his jaw.
“Chloe—”
In answer, she kissed him, kissed him until his hand left the top of the car and came down to her waist.
When she opened her eyes, his held surprise and that intoxicating heat that made her knees wobble. “I just wanted to do that one more time,” she whispered.
He stood there a moment, and then, when he opened his mouth to say something, it began to rain again. He nudged her aside so he could slide into the car, moving slowly across the passenger seat to allow her the time to keep up with him.
They drove in silence except for Ian’s giving her directions to his condo complex. When she’d parked and turned to him, he was already looking at her.
“Ready?” he asked.
Yes. Yes, she was. The real question was, what was she ready for?
The rain topped its earlier show, coming down in thick sheets. They ran up the path to Ian’s front door, where he quickly slapped his pockets for his keys while they got soaked. Finally, he dropped his head and swore.
“Let me guess,” she yelled over the sound of the rain hitting the roof. “You misplaced your house keys, too?”
He looked at her, the irony and a good amount of wry amusement in his eyes. She could do nothing but laugh.
He joined her, until the sky lit up with a strobing bolt of lightning, followed by a booming clap of thunder that made her squeak.
“The back!” He led, and by the time they ran around the building and through a gate, they were both a soggy mess. Chloe could barely see through her streaming hair. Shoving it back, she looked at Ian, who was also trying to see, and laughed.
His eyes laughed, too.
It was true. His eyes laughed, which brought another silly smile to her face, because suddenly she felt like a kid.
No, scratch that. Not a kid. A teenager.
A rather horny one.
“Sorry,” he said, reaching up into a potted plant, and then the next thing she knew she was standing in his kitchen. He had hardwood floors and pale green walls with gorgeous trim, and like a real guy, dishes piled in the sink, a fact that made her want to smile as she dripped all over his pretty floor.
Ian dripped, too. Water ran down his temples, in his face, making his dark eyelashes inky-black and spiky.
He was looking at her, slowly taking in her wet clothes, including her thin tank and gauzy skirt that had to be clinging to her like a second skin.
And his smile slowly faded.
So did hers.
His was replaced by a heat that singed her every erogenous zone, of which she apparently had a lot more than she remembered.
Lifting the hand that was connected to hers, he pulled, and she found herself in his arms, staring at his mouth as he slowly lowered it to hers.
“Stop me,” he whispered. “Stop me now, Chloe, because I can’t seem to do it.”
Instead she lifted her free hand to his chest, gliding it up around his neck, cupping his nape to tug his head down to hers.
6
AH, HELL, IAN HAD TIME TO think as Chloe’s soft lips touched his. The kiss, her kiss, felt better than anything had in a damn long time.He’d been working around the clock, neglecting pleasure for so long that it whipped through his veins, demanding more, more, more.
Never mind that he shouldn’t.
They shouldn’t. She was a possible suspect, a definite witness, and hell, he couldn’t take his hands off her.
With Chloe, he had no resistance, not when her curvy body had shrink-wrapped itself to his, not when she’d slid her warm, sweet tongue inside his mouth….
At this rate, he wouldn’t survive if they stopped. “Chloe…” His fingers sank into her hair, gently tugging her head back so he could look into her eyes, but instead he pressed his mouth to her bared throat and made his way along her wet skin, to her jaw, her ear.
She let out a shaky exhale and held on. “Ian…why were you really in that office?”
He’d expected the questions. What he hadn’t expected was to be so completely blindsided by needing her that his guard was down. Down, hell. It was flat-out gone.
“For a case, I’m guessing. Right?”
He sank his teeth lightly into her earlobe, then soothed the spot with his tongue.
“Ian.” Her voice was wobbly, her free hand clutching at him, as if she was having trouble standing. The handcuffs clanked, reminding him again of their presence. They were a tool of his job, not a sex toy. He’d never really been into bondage. Yet he couldn’t have begun to explain how unbearably erotic it felt to be handcuffed to her.
“Are they in trouble?” she asked. “The guys?”
It took a moment to get past the sexual haze and be able to talk. “Guys?”
“Steve and Al? I do their books.”
Against her deliciously wet, warm skin, he sighed.
And she went still. “I suppose you probably already know that.” Lifting her head, she stared at him. “Talk to me, Ian.”
He knew the regret was all over his face. “I—”
“Can’t.” Her worried smile broke his heart. “Or you’d have to kill me, right?” She lifted their handcuffed wrists. “Key?”
“Yeah.” He backed her to the countertop and opened a drawer at her hip.
“Um…” She rocked her hips to his, making his eyes cross with lust.
“Chloe,” he said on a low breath. “You’re killing me.”
“It’s like we were never apart. Do you remember?”
He looked into her eyes. “Everything.”
“Our first time…?”
Especially that. He’d driven them through the Angeles Crest forest, to an overlook where they could see the lights of sprawling Los Angeles far beneath them.
Neither of them had noticed the view. Instead they’d ravaged each other in the front seat of his truck, and then the bed of his truck, stretched on a blanket beneath a sky littered with a million stars…. “I remember.”
He’d had plenty of sex since then, some really good sex, but looking into her eyes now, he knew the truth—nothing had ever quite lived up to his time with her.
No one had ever come close to touching his heart the way she had.
How to explain that to her, much less to himself, he hadn’t a clue.
“Today, it was like you appeared out of thin air.” She leaned in close as he searched the drawer. She brushed a wet strand of hair from his temple, letting her fingers linger on him.
His gaze locked on hers as his fingers closed over the key.
She smiled and somehow the simple gesture warmed him. “You grew into your skin quite nicely, Ian McCall.”
“Not nearly as well as you…” Straightening, he ran his fingers over her bare shoulders, playing with the spaghetti strap of her very wet tank. “You’re wet.”
Her eyes widened, maybe wondering if the double entendre had been intentional, which actually it hadn’t, but now he could think of nothing else.
“So are you,” she whispered, running her free hand over his shirt, then under. Her fingers brushed his nipple, and he actually dropped the key.
The pulse at the base of her neck was racing. She wasn’t breathing all that steadily either, but then again, neither was he.
Neither of them bent for the key.
Send her home, his brain ordered. He had to, before he did something stupid.
She was still touching his chest, sliding her hand back and forth over him, lingering. “Chloe—”
She shivered.
He could see her white lace bra—it was playing peekaboo with the wet cotton of her tank, blowing his mind. So were her nipples, pebbled to two hard points, clearly outlined and defined, making his mouth water. “You’re beautiful, Chloe,” he breathed. “So damned beautiful.” His finger
slid beneath one of her straps, and then, oops, look at that, it fell to her elbow.
Stop, he told himself. Seriously, stop.
But then Chloe lifted their joined hands and slipped the other strap off…and then the top slid down so that it was just barely, oh, God, barely covering the very tips of her breasts. “Chloe—”
“That’s my name,” she said in a soft, whispery voice that reminded him of long, achingly deep, toe-curling sex. She tugged on the hem of his shirt, leaving him no choice but to lift up his arms and let her pull his shirt all the way off.
No choice at all.
Now his shirt hung between them, caught on the handcuffs. And then she was working on the button fly of his jeans, and he was trying to find the zipper on her skirt, but their hands were getting tangled up. Breathless with anticipation and with a hunger so all-consuming neither of them could talk and make any sense, they fell back against the counter, mouths fused, bodies still damp from the rain and practically steaming they were so heated up.
Unable to get her skirt off, he bunched the light, gauzy material in his fingers. She broke off the kiss to drag hot, wet openmouthed kisses down his throat and over his chest.
He found her panties.
She got his buttons undone.
Being with her like this felt like a homecoming in ways he couldn’t really wrap his brain around, except that stopping was no longer an option—
And then he heard something that snapped him out of it like nothing else could have.
“What?” she murmured, her mouth on his pec.
“I thought I heard something—” His brain had gone hazy. “I heard—” She sank her teeth into him and his knees nearly buckled. “Hold on—”
She slid a hand into his pants. “I am.”
His head came up as he realized two things at once. One, he loved feeling her hands on him again. Two, someone was in the house with them. And he was standing here with his hand down the back of her panties, more than half-undressed himself, still handcuffed to her, and shockingly, frustratingly helpless. “Be very quiet,” he said in her ear. “I’m going to—”
That’s when the lights went out.
