by L. A. Fiore
“I think I’d spend all of my time out here.”
He gestured to the door and led me back to the dining room, a circular room with windows around the perimeter. The table was set for two people, fine bone china, crystal stemware and silver sterling utensils. A huge arrangement of flowers, done in all white, sat in the center of the circular mahogany table that was surely an antique.
He pulled out my chair, before folding himself into the chair at my right. A man appeared pushing a serving cart. He was an older man, his dark hair mostly gray, and he had kind blue eyes. He placed a field greens salad in front of me with candied walnuts, feta cheese and hunks of strawberries.
“Thank you.”
“Enjoy,” he said, then smiled.
“Thank you, Benson,” Kade said, reaching for the bottle of Riesling. He poured some of the pale wine in my glass and then his own. Lifting his, he said nothing, but my heart tripped at the look he was giving me, one he held as he took a sip of wine.
He lifted his fork; I did the same and had just taken a bite of the juiciest strawberry, when he said, “Do you often go toe-to-toe with meth heads?” There was a bite to his words, and looking at him, it was anger.
Shit. So caught up in him, I’d forgotten about that, and my telling bruises. Trying to diffuse the tension, I teased, “No, but anyone standing between me and one of Duke’s sandwiches needs to watch out.” His eyes lifted, his focus on my cheek, where the makeup didn’t hide the purpling. I put my fork down and touched his arm when I said, “No, I don’t usually go toe-to-toe with meth heads.”
His gaze moved to my hand, before lifting back to my face. His expression smoothed out a bit, and he nodded. I went back to my salad.
“Did you always want to be a cop?”
“No,” I said, earning his face. “I wanted to be a writer when I was younger, but though I have ideas, when I try to put them on paper, I can’t get them to sound like what’s in my head.”
“Where did you learn to fight?” he asked, but there was humor in his gaze.
“My father and Uncle Gavin put me in every self defense class there was and then some. When they learned I was going to be a cop, they insisted on boxing lessons, too.”
He studied me for a second, before he said, “I imagine you got a call from your dad after the video went viral.”
“I did. He wasn’t happy.”
Another knot formed at his jaw. “No, I don’t suppose he was.”
“It’s my job. If I hadn’t gone after him, the rookie would have, and he was too young and too green.”
His head snapped up at that, but he didn’t share what he was thinking and instead said, “But you wouldn’t have taken two to the face.”
“I gave back as good as I got.” Sort of.
“That you did.”
I changed the subject when I asked sort of tongue-in-cheek to lighten the mood. “Did you always want to be a billionaire?”
I was happy to see it worked when his shoulders weren’t held quite so rigidly. “I used to work for a diving company when I was a kid in Montenegro. When I was older, I owned that diving company and put the profits into buying a hotel. Saw the trend of Hollywood using Montenegro for movies, worked out deals to house cast and crew in the hotel, bought another hotel. It all took off after that.”
That explained his accent. There was clearly more to that story because how did he go from working at a diving company to owning it? I wasn’t going to press for details. Not that I wasn’t interested in the details, but he’d shared a part of his past with me when the last time he closed off. I took it as a victory and moved the conversation on. I lifted my glass, met his gaze and asked, “Do you still have the diving company and hotel?”
His focus shifted. I didn’t know what he was thinking, but I liked how he was looking at me. “I do, yes.”
I took a sip of wine, put my glass down. “That’s a great story.”
“Your parents still live in Marlton?” he asked smoothly.
I didn’t hide my surprise. “You remember that?”
“Of course.”
So simply said, but my reaction…I reached for my glass and drained it because I didn’t see this man coming, but, damn, he was getting under my skin.
He topped off my glass. “Yes, they still live in Marlton. Retired, and planning a trip to Europe.” I paused and smiled. “To be fair, they’ve been planning the same trip for decades. I don’t know that they’ll ever actually go. I think it’s just the idea of it they like.”
He looked intense, but what he was thinking I didn’t know. “Where in Europe?”
“Italy or Spain. They aren’t sure,” I said, flashing him a smile. His focus shifted to my mouth, and those eyes grew stormy. My voice was a little off from the lust that lodged in my throat, when I added, “See, the idea of it is the draw.”
He had a thought on that but kept it to himself. “How’s the investigation?”
There was the smallest part of me that recognized his interest in me could be a ruse to get me off the scent, but my gut was telling me this man wasn’t involved. Did he have secrets? Absolutely, but not any that pertained to the case, so I answered him honestly. “We’re hitting a wall.”
Benson returned, replacing the salad plates with our dinner: grilled salmon, drizzled with a dill cream sauce, asparagus and roasted fingerling potatoes. My eyes jerked to Kade. He was already watching me. “Salmon,” I whispered.
“You’re on a kick.”
In response, it was more than lust that moved through me. My voice was a little hoarse when I said to Benson, “This looks delicious. Thank you.”
He left as quietly as he entered.
“Hitting a wall?” Kade asked, bringing the conversation back.
“Yes,” I said, then lowered my fork and put my hands on the table. “I was actually going to reach out to you before I got your text.”
His brow rose.
“This could be way out of left field, but I saw the report on the news about CyberTech.”
Kade put his fork down, his focus completely on me.
“I could be barking up the wrong tree, but murder usually stems from greed…money.”
“I agree.”
“Our case took a strange turn.” I shouldn’t be sharing the details of the case with him because he was a person of interest, not that I thought he had anything to do with Samantha’s death, but I really wanted to use him as a sounding board.
“And you’re hesitant to share with me and not just because of protocol.”
The man was astute.
I answered without thought. “I don’t think you have anything to do with Samantha James.” His expression shifted again, stirring warmth that moved through me slowly, seductively. “Even in light of our new direction, I crossed you off the list after our interview, before even verifying your whereabouts.”
I couldn’t discern his reaction, but something stirred behind his eyes, before he reached for his wine and took a sip. I wanted to know what he was thinking. Almost asked him, but then he said, “Whatever you choose to share won’t go beyond this room.”
It was a risk, but one I was willing to take. “Are you familiar with the story of the movie star, Katrina Dent?”
He looked thoughtful before he said, “Doesn’t sound familiar.”
“She was very big in the eighties. She died in 1989, a believed suicide. Samantha James met up with a man who was working on a story about Katrina Dent. He seemed like a fanatical fan, but he was murdered, as was his friend.”
“And Samantha was killed, who met with him,” Kade finished.
“Yes. Her boss, Milton Teller, used to represent Katrina Dent.”
Kade caught on immediately. “Katrina Dent is the link.”
“Yes, that’s where we went, too, and we’d really like to find her fiancé, so
he can fill in the missing pieces, but we did discover that there are those who worked the case, back in the day, who didn’t think it was suicide. They were being pushed to close the case, though.”
“And someone digging into her now ends up dead,” Kade said. “As well as those he spoke to.”
“Exactly.”
“What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Well, back to motive. If it’s money…” I paused, because if he was involved, I was tipping him off. I took a shot that my gut was right. “The timing of CyberTech’s news and the murders bother me. Samantha was at Rothschild’s event, days before the announcement by CyberTech. We know Frank found his story, but what if it’s not so much Katrina Dent, but the blowback Frank’s story could have on CyberTech?”
“So someone involved in CyberTech has a link to Katrina Dent.” Kade didn’t miss a thing.
“It’s a theory. That’s why I wanted to talk to you, find out what you knew about the project, background, players, etc.”
“That makes me a person of interest.” Like I said, the man missed nothing.
“I meant it. I don’t believe you have anything to do with Samantha.”
There was that look, again, before he settled back in his chair. “I was brought in two years ago. They needed capital. The testing, as you can imagine, is extensive. I was given a high level overview, but had my own people look into the soundness of the theory. They were excited, pioneering they called it. Actually regenerating a person’s own tissue, being able to offer that to those who put everything on the line for their country. As soon as they gave the green light, I offered the funds.”
Altruistic, and yet, he downplayed that when he kept himself in the shadows. I wondered if anyone ever really got to know him. I wanted to be the one who did, every part of him.
“The launch is scheduled in two months, a huge fanfare. All the investors will be there.” I was hoping we’d have the case closed by then, but that was good to know. “What was her fiancé’s name?” he asked.
“Jason Benjamin.”
“I can have my people look into it.” He saw my look of concern, before he added, “Discreetly.”
It’s not like we were having much luck on our own. And sure, it went against protocol, but I’d gone this far. “Thank you.”
He studied me, for a few seconds, before he asked, “Why did you share with me? I’m sure your partner has me on the top of the suspect list.”
“Zac has reasons for why he’s the way he is. It’s why we work so well together; we check and balance each other.” I reached for my wine, took a sip before I told him, straight up, another risk, but I was in it too far now. “I shared with you because despite the possibility this could come back and bite me in the ass, I trust you. I don’t know you well, but I trust you.”
Chills danced down my spine. For someone I believed to be stoic, during our first meeting, the man had smoldering down. He pulled his focus like it took effort, and we finished the rest of dinner in silence. After dinner, he took me to the library. Books lined the walls, a thick rug under our feet, buttery soft leather furniture. I settled on the sofa, he moved to the bar.
He lifted a decanter with a honey-colored liquid. “Would you like some?”
“No, thanks.” I’d had enough wine at dinner. Any more alcohol and I might act on my need to taste him.
I watched him: the way his muscles flexed under his shirt and the deliberate way he moved. He turned to me, lifted the glass, my eyes drifting to his lips and how I wanted to feel them on mine. I hadn’t meant to ask, but the words fell past my lips. “When you were called away on Sunday, was everything okay?”
He put the glass down and pushed his hands into his pockets. “It will be.” His gaze moved down my body. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head.”
It was possible to be rendered mute from lust because I was. Frozen on that soft leather sofa, staring at a man that my path never should have crossed, and yet, here I was in his home, listening to him telling me he couldn’t get me out of his head. If he closed the distance, I wasn’t going to be able to say no. I didn’t want to.
And then he closed the distance. I could hear my pulse pounding, felt my blood rushing through my veins, heating as it did. He reached me, his stare so intense and direct, and pulled me to my feet. Before I could inhale, his mouth was on mine. Not a gentle, exploring kiss, but all consuming. His tongue pushed into my mouth, his fingers curled into the back of my head, as he held me there for his assault. And that was what it was, an assault, in the best possible way. My hands sought him, moving over his stomach, around his back, where I fisted the cotton. I moaned when his flavor saturated my tongue. His arm banded around my waist, pulling me up against his hard body. I sighed, and he took advantage, sweeping my mouth again. I felt his fingers on the lacing of my tank, and all I could think was go faster. I pulled his shirt from his pants, my hands moving under it to feel his smooth, hot skin. I felt the air on my back before he pulled from me, his hot gaze dropping to my breasts, when he pulled my tank off. He didn’t touch me, even though I wanted his hands and mouth on me. He just stared his fill before he took my mouth again. His hands moved over my skin, softly, like he was blind and needed to touch me to see me. I’d never had anyone so focused on the discovery, but that’s what he was doing. He was discovering me, inch by beautifully excruciating inch. My breathing grew labored when his hands moved up my stomach, his finger brushing the underside of my breast. My knees went weak when he dragged his thumb over my nipple, the softest, lightest touch, but heat pooled between my legs. His hands circled my throat, the pads of his fingers applying the littlest bit of pressure, as he kissed me deeper, longer. This was a marathon, and he was taking his time. My body was on fire. I had aches in places I didn’t even know could ache. I wanted him to put me out of my misery, as much as I wanted him to keep doing exactly what he was doing, because he was killing me softly.
His mouth pulled from mine, his hands moved to the button on my pants. Our breathing matched, harsh breaths filling the silence, as he held my stare and slowly worked the button. My thoughts were on him taking his time, exploring between my legs. I drew my lower lip between my teeth because I really hoped he explored me with his mouth, too.
Slowly, he pulled the zipper down. I was completely at his mercy. He wasn’t even touching me, just his fingers working the zipper, but I was caught in the spell of his making. Clay at the hand of a master, ready to be worked and molded, however he saw fit. I’d never experienced anything like it and knew he was ruining me. No other man would be able to pull from me what he was so masterfully pulling.
His fingers brushed along my stomach, my heart slammed into my ribs, as my breath caught. He moved lower, running a finger along the edge of my panties. I moaned, he growled, and then my cell went off.
Anger raged with lust. “No,” I whispered brokenly. I didn’t move. Was unable to get my body to react because I didn’t want to. Kade moved, though, retrieving my purse and handing it to me. I stood before him topless, my pants undone, but he was completely dressed. I was a bundle of nerves, and he looked completely composed.
“Molly,” I said, my voice betraying my raging emotions.
“You okay?” Zac asked.
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“We got a body. I’ll text you the address.”
I dropped my head. “Okay.”
Kade moved into me, slipped my top back on, worked the laces. Some of the heat faded because he seemed almost too calm and then he curled his hand around my chin, held my gaze on him and that’s when I saw it. Everything I was feeling, buried in those eyes. He was just better at hiding it. “We’re not finished, Detective.”
I could only nod because we weren’t, not even close.
He finished dressing me, then walked me to the elevator. “Be careful,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over my cheek, be
fore he kissed me. “Text me when you’re home.”
Warmth moved through me at that order. “I will. Next time, I feed you.”
In answer, his lips tipped up.
The doors opened, I stepped in, didn’t take my eyes off him until the doors closed, then I leaned back against the wall and cursed. I loved my job, but tonight…“Fuck.”
I took a cab to the residence in the garment district. Zac and Julia were already working the scene when I arrived.
“What do we have?” I asked.
Zac glanced over, and then did a double take, because I hadn’t changed. “Look at you.”
“Seriously, I’m not in the mood.”
“Date that bad?” he asked.
“No, it was that good.”
“Ah,” he said, then grinned, but he moved it along. “Looks like a robbery gone wrong.”
I didn’t get home until after two in the morning. There was enough evidence left at the crime scene that we were able to identify the perp, a repeat offender, had an APB out on him. I kicked off my shoes, poured myself a glass of water and texted Kade that I was home. He responded with simply: Sweet dreams, Detective.
I was going to be dreaming about where we left off, so my dreams were, most definitely, going to be sweet.
Ten
Kade stood in front of the windows of his office, looking out on Manhattan, but his thoughts were on last night, on Molly Donahue. He’d only wanted a taste, but a taste wasn’t enough. God, she was sweet. His fingers curled into fists in his pockets, a growl rumbled up his throat. He hadn’t meant to take things where he had, but after she shared so openly with him, after she told him she trusted him, even not knowing much about him, he needed a taste, and now, he wanted to finish what he started, a craving, one that could make him reckless, one strong enough to snap his control. And that made Molly Donahue dangerous because she could be a weakness, and he didn’t have weaknesses.
