by Lisa Jackson
“I suppose it’s too late.”
“For a date? Tonight?” she asked, folding her arms under her chest and allowing him just a peek at cleavage where the lapels of her robe overlapped. “I think so.”
He felt like a schoolboy as he worked the brim of his hat between his fingers. “Maybe tomorrow.”
“I’ll be out of town. It’s a working vacation. I’ll be back in a couple of days....”
“Maybe we can get together then.”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“No?” He couldn’t help himself. Something in the defiant tilt of her chin challenged him.
“Well, you know, it might not be the proper thing to do.”
“You’re worried about propriety?” He didn’t believe it.
“I wouldn’t want to do anything where my professionalism or objectivity might be questioned.”
Was it his imagination or did her eyes twinkle with a dare? The scent of jasmine reached his nostrils and he couldn’t help himself. “The hell with professionalism,” he growled. His arms surrounded her.
She gasped. “Now, wait a second.”
“And damn objectivity.” He slanted his mouth over hers. Her lips were warm and tasted faintly of wine. She moaned quietly and he kissed her harder, rubbing his mouth over hers, wrapping his arms more tightly around her body, feeling her melt against him.
The fire in his blood ignited. His fingers curled in the soft folds of her robe. He felt her quiver and it was his undoing. Deftly, he reached down, picked her off her feet and crossed the threshold.
“Hey,” she said breathlessly. “What do you think you’re doing?”
With a heel he kicked the door closed. “What I’ve wanted to do from the first time I saw you,” he said, carrying her up the stairs and unerringly to her bedroom. Candles from the adjoining bath gave off a soft, glimmering illumination that reflected in the foggy mirrors and windows as he tumbled with her onto an antique bed covered with a plush comforter.
Kelly knew she should object, that she should resist the temptation of his touch, but his lips were magic, his hands warm and persuasive. He kissed her eyelids, her cheeks and neck as he somehow shrugged out of his jacket and let it drop to the floor. Work-roughened fingers scraped her robe open and he pressed his lips against the curve of her suddenly bare shoulder.
Flames of desire licked through her blood.
He untied the knot of her belt and lowered himself onto the bed. His breath was hot against the cleft between her breasts and she tingled inside, felt the first dark stirrings of want.
Don’t do this, Kelly. Don’t. This is the biggest mistake of your life! Think, dammit.
But she couldn’t. His hands and mouth were seductive, chasing away all doubts, and try as she might, she couldn’t find credence in any of the reasons she called up that might put an end to his lovemaking. She knew that her father and mother would disapprove, that her boss would consider this an act of betrayal insofar as she would compromise the investigation and her badge, that her sister would remind her that a McCafferty was the worst possible choice of a lover and yet…and yet…his lips were so warm and seductive, the ache deep within her impossible to deny.
He pulled the pins from her hair with his teeth just as the knot holding her robe together gave way, parting as his hand skimmed her skin beneath the rich cotton. A jolt of desire shot through her bloodstream. Kissing her cheek, he glanced down at her body. “I knew you’d be beautiful, Detective,” he said, touching one nipple with the flat of his hand. “I knew it.” He squeezed the dark bud gently and her entire breast began to ache. Oh, she wanted this man. She bucked up and he leaned forward, his mouth surrounding her nipple, his teeth lightly scraping her skin, his tongue laving.
Damn, but she was melting inside, feeling warm, moist heat coiling between her legs. As if he understood, he trailed one hand lower, fingers skimming her abdomen to delve deep into the curls where her legs joined. Lower still he probed, searching her cleft expertly, finding the nub that drove her wild, kissing her breasts as lust stormed through her blood. She moaned deep in her throat and shifted, anxiously wanting more…so much more…everything he could give…everything he would. Her skin was on fire, sweat dampening her forehead.
Her fingers tore at the buttons of his shirt, delving beneath the cotton to touch a hard-muscled chest covered in springy black hair. She touched taut, sinewy muscles, felt him tremble, but it wasn’t enough. She needed to feel him, all of him, rubbing against her—skin on skin, heartbeat to heartbeat. And still he touched her deep inside. She gasped. Gripped his shoulders hard.
“Oh…oh…” She swallowed hard and felt as if her entire being was centered in that small spot that he rubbed intently. She writhed, sweated as if in a fever, felt the storm brewing hotter, and wilder.
“That’s a girl,” he whispered across her breasts, fanning the flames. “Just let go…”
The world seemed to spin. His lips found hers again, his tongue rimmed her mouth, his breath hot and wild against her already flushed skin. “Please,” she murmured, her voice so low she didn’t recognize it. “Please… Matt…oh, please…”
“Anything for you, darlin’.”
She reached for the waistband of his jeans, felt his erection straining against the worn denim. “Then…”
With his free hand he grabbed her wrist. “In time, darlin’, in time.” His ministrations increased and she lolled back, closed her eyes, writhed and cried out as the first spasm jolted her, sending her skyrocketing through space, her soul streaking through the heavens.
“Oooh,” she sighed, gasping, trying to take in any air.
But he wasn’t finished. His fingers delved again, deeper, faster, pushing her to the limits again. Her fingers dug into his bare shoulders and she cried out as convulsion after convulsion ripped through her.
“Matt…oh…Matt…” She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, but knew she needed him, all of him, wanted the feel of his hard body joining with her.
She found his belt and her fingers fumbled with the huge rodeo buckle that held the strap together. Before he could protest, she kissed him, touched the tip of her tongue to his, invited him to enter her.
Groaning, sweat sheening his skin, he stretched out beside her, giving her better access, no longer fighting her.
Click.
The buckle was open.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
His fly gave way.
He felt a rush of cool air against his skin and bit his lips as her fingers brushed over his bare shaft.
Ding.
Somewhere a bell began to chime. A doorbell.
“Oh, no.” Kelly’s hand fell away. She turned a dozen shades of red.
“Expectin’ someone?” he asked lazily, amused.
“No.”
The bell chimed again. Insistently.
“Someone wants to see you real bad.”
“Oh, damn. Karla! I—I left her a message earlier, on her machine…she’s probably got her sons with her.” She shoved her hair out of her eyes.
“Who’s Karla?”
“Oh. My sister. Just…just wait.” Kelly hurled herself off the bed, dashed to the closet, grabbed a shirt and a pair of jeans, then darted to the bathroom.
Matt zipped up his pants. Hooked his belt. The damned bell rang again and this time a woman’s worried voice followed after it. “Kelly? Are you there? It’s me.”
“I know. I know,” Kelly grumbled as she emerged from the bathroom. Barefoot but dressed, she was snapping her hair into a rubber band. Then, spying Matt still lounging on the bed, she hissed, “You, go sit in the living room for goodness’ sake and pour yourself a glass of wine or something. Look like you’ve been in there all the time. Make it look…like we’ve been discussing the case, for crying out
loud, and then…and then—” she stopped short at the foot of the bed and sighed loudly, then sent him a rueful glance “—and then brace yourself.”
She disappeared out the door of the bedroom and he heard her footsteps hurrying down the stairs.
Matt hitched up his jeans, sauntered into the living room and, finding an open bottle of wine, went to a cupboard, plucked a long-stemmed glass from the shelf and heard the door open somewhere downstairs. Female voices reached him.
“Jeez, Kelly, didn’t you hear the doorbell ring? I darned well froze my tail off waiting for you!” Footsteps pounded up the stairs. “What took you so long to…” A small woman with short red-blond hair and wide green eyes that landed full force on Matt appeared. “Uh-oh.” She stopped dead in her tracks and the playful smile that had been tugging at the corners of her mouth faded. “Kelly…what’s going on here?” Her eyes narrowed a fraction and zeroed in on the wineglass in Matt’s hand.
“Oh. Well. Matt came over to discuss the case.”
“Matt?” the woman repeated.
Kelly entered the room and despite the circumstances seemed cool. “Yes. Matt McCafferty, this is my sister, Karla.”
“Pleased to meet ya,” Matt drawled as Kelly’s sister seemed all the more disconcerted. He had the manners to reach across the counter and clasp Karla’s reluctantly offered hand.
“Oh, yeah, me, too,” Karla said, rolling her expressive eyes before catching a hard look from her sister. “Wait a minute, is this for real?”
“What do you mean?” Kelly said. “Is what for real? Matt and I were going over—”
“Whoa.” Karla held her hands up, the fingers of her right pointing into the palm of her left. “Time out, okay?” She skewered both Kelly and Matt in her hard glare. “Don’t give me any garbage about the case. I’ve got eyes, Kelly.” She gave her sister an exaggerated once-over. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Of course I do.”
“Care for something to drink? A glass of wine?” Matt offered as he grabbed another stemmed glass from the cupboard and began to pour from the bottle of chardonnay.
“I think I need something stronger, but yeah, okay.”
“There isn’t anything stronger. I already asked.”
Karla didn’t so much as blink, just took the drink from Matt’s hand and, with one last condemning glare at her sister, plopped down in a rattan chair covered with a plump green cushion. “So how is the investigation going?” she asked with more than an edge of sarcasm.
“There are some snags, of course, and we keep coming up against dead ends, but I think we’re making progress.”
“Ummm.” Karla swirled her wine but obviously wasn’t buying her sister’s story.
Matt emptied the bottle into another glass and gave the drink to Kelly.
“I’m leaving for Seattle tomorrow,” she explained, and fielded the questions Karla shot at her. From the gist of the conversation he gathered that Karla, after hearing Kelly’s open invitation left on her answering machine, had decided to stop by. The younger Dillinger sibling had pawned her kids off on her folks and driven over, only to find Matt already here. For some reason his presence rankled Karla, and there was more to it than disappointment at having to share her sister for the evening. No, there were undercurrents of resentment running through the conversation and pooling in her eyes.
Rounding the kitchen bar, he joined the women in Kelly’s small living room. He’d expected her apartment to be neat and tidy, functional yet spartan, but, as with everything about this woman, he’d been dead wrong. The row house wasn’t cluttered but definitely had a lived-in feel. A raised counter separated the living room from the kitchen. Along with the rattan chair, there was an antique rocker, a tan couch with floppy pillows and a beveled-glass coffee table that appeared to match a lawyer’s bookcase, crammed with all manner of paperbacks and criminology texts. A fussy walnut secretary occupied one corner and a collection of candles and photographs graced the mantel of a small fireplace.
“You said in the phone message that you’d be back in time for Thanksgiving,” she said to her sister.
“That’s the plan.”
“Good.” Kelly’s sister relaxed a bit, sipping from her wine as Kelly took a seat on the couch and Matt leaned against the counter. “I wouldn’t want to explain to Mom and Dad that you weren’t going to show up at the house because of work.”
“Dad would understand. He was a cop.”
“Eons ago.”
“So you come from a family tradition of fighting crime,” Matt observed.
“Mmm. Dad, his father and, I think, my great-grandfather.”
“It beat mining,” Karla said. “Until Dad got shot and had to retire early. Disability.” She finished her glass of wine with a flourish. “So, how about you?” she asked him, though she expected she knew a lot more about his family than he did about hers. Like it or not, the McCafferty name was nearly legendary around this part of western Montana, and Karla was fishing. The smile on her face was about as warm as the bottom of a Montana well in the middle of winter. “What is it your family does?”
She didn’t bother to hide the bite in her words.
“Dad was a rodeo man turned rancher, bought the Flying M over fifty years ago and expanded that to include some other businesses around Grand Hope.”
Karla’s lips compressed and she cast a hard, darting glance at her sister. “He doesn’t remember, does he?”
“Remember what?” Matt demanded.
Little lines of irritation surrounded Karla’s lips but it was Kelly who answered. “Mom worked for your dad for a few years.”
“Not just a few,” Karla said, setting her empty glass onto the table. “She dedicated her life to that man, to her job as his secretary, or personal assistant, yeah, that’s what he called her.” She snorted. “And what happened when things started to go bad for your father’s businesses? Mom was history. Just like that.” Karla snapped her fingers for emphasis and her cheeks had turned a bright, hot scarlet. “No job, no retirement fund, no damned golden parachute. Nothing.”
“Wait a minute—you said she was his secretary?”
“And more. She was like his right-hand woman, his executive assistant. Surely you remember her. Eva. Eva Dillinger.”
“Eva?” The name did have a familiar ring, but Matt had never spoken to the woman. He’d only heard her name a couple of times in passing when John Randall had mentioned her, but Matt hadn’t paid much attention. He was too self-involved at the time. “I guess Dad did mention her once in a while.”
“Once in a while? I hope to shout he did,” Karla said with a shake of her head. She glanced at the open bedroom door where Kelly’s yellow robe was sliding off the messed bed. Her lips puckered even more. She seemed about to say something, then thought better of it and stood. “Maybe I’d better leave,” she said, and some of her anger dissipated. “I think I interrupted something.”
“You stay.” Matt glanced at his watch. “It’s time I was heading back, anyway.” He drained his glass and set it on the edge of the counter. Reaching for his jacket, he said to Kelly, “Just let me know if you learn anything else about what happened to my sister.”
“I will.” Kelly walked him to the top of the stairs where he paused to zip his jacket.
“I’ll talk to you later, oh…” He held up a long finger. “There is one more thing.”
“What’s that?” she asked, visibly tensing.
“Have a good trip.”
“I will.”
He turned to Karla. “Nice meetin’ ya.”
“You, too,” she said, though the words seemed to strangle her. She was watching him as if he were the devil incarnate and Matt couldn’t let it go.
With an exaggerated wink toward Karla, he turned on his heel, slipped his arms a
round Kelly’s waist and dragged her close to him. “Thanks for the hospitality, Detective. Now, don’t you forget me.” He leaned forward and kissed her. Hard. Like he intended to ravish her body and never stop. She stiffened, then slumped slightly. He let her go, she stumbled back a step, then he winked at Karla again and headed down the stairs.
“Oh, my,” Karla whispered, her gaze following him as he disappeared. Her eyes rounded and one hand covered her heart. “Oh…my.”
Kelly steeled herself for the barrage she was certain was headed her way.
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Karla accused, but some of the fury had left her voice and it was replaced by an emotion akin to awe.
Downstairs the front door opened, then slammed shut. Matt McCafferty was gone. A few seconds later an engine sparked to life.
“Well…you are, aren’t you?” Karla demanded.
“No, of course not,” Kelly snapped, stunned as she found her wineglass, polished off the last drops of chardonnay and gathered her wits. In love? With Matt McCafferty? Her heart pounded a million beats a minute at the thought. Oh, God, was she? Could she possibly have fallen for the smart-aleck, rogue of a cowboy? “That’s ridiculous.”
“I see it in your eyes,” Karla countered as she walked to the window and peeked through the blinds to the wintry night outside. “I can’t believe it, Kelly. Someone’s managed to melt the ice around your heart and he’s a damned McCafferty.” Folding her arms across her chest, she clucked her tongue, cocked her head and eyed her sister as if she’d never seen Kelly in such a state. “Another time, I’d say we should celebrate, but since the man of your dreams is John Randall’s son, I think it would be a better idea if I called a priest and asked for an exorcism.”
“Very funny,” Kelly grouched.
“It’s not, I know, but really, are you out of your ever-lovin’ mind? Mom and Dad are gonna flip when they find out and your boss will probably fire you. I mean, come on, what about the investigation?”
