“I’d like that.” She looked at him from beneath her lashes. “About last night…I’ve never done anything that…reckless before. I’m not impulsive.”
He smiled, charmed and oddly humbled. “What we did wasn’t that reckless.”
“For me it was.”
“Sometimes reckless is good.”
“Most times it just gets you into trouble.”
He wanted her so badly he was shaking. He wanted her with heart and soul and everything that made him a man. The physical need pulsed through him, settling low in his groin, where his erection strained painfully against his trousers.
Cupping her face with his hands, he lowered his lips to hers. Her mouth opened, welcoming him. Surprise rippled through him, followed by a small explosion of pure lust. He felt her hands on his back, then his buttocks, and his control tumbled away. He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, tasting heat spiced with his own frustration. Need clawed at him, sending fire to every nerve in his body. His fingers splayed through her hair, skimmed down her back, then lower. Her waist was narrow. Her backside was firm, high and curvy.
An involuntary shudder went through him. He hadn’t been with a woman since his divorce last year, and the power of his reaction to Michelle stunned him. It had never been like this with Whitney, not even in his wildest dreams.
Holding Michelle’s hips firmly in his hands, he pressed himself against her, and an involuntary groan rumbled up from his chest. “I want you. Here. Now.”
Looking at him through heavy-lidded eyes, she worked the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers. Her hands slipped past the buttons, brushed across his nipples.
His vision blurred, dimmed. He wanted her beneath him, writhing and wet and open. If he didn’t get inside her right now, he was going to explode.
He tumbled her onto the futon, feasted on her mouth like a starving man on a banquet of sweet, succulent fruit. He couldn’t get enough, would never get enough of Michelle. Slipping his hands beneath her T-shirt, he molded his palms to her breasts. They were wide and incredibly full for such a slight woman. A soft cry broke from her mouth, and he kissed her harder, deeper. He struggled for a moment, trying to find the fastening of her bra, felt a tug of embarrassment when he couldn’t.
“It’s a rear closure,” she whispered in a breathy voice.
“I’m a little out of practice.” Philip grinned, unfastening the hook when she leaned forward. “In a lot of areas.”
“Yeah, Betancourt, me, too. Think we can manage this?”
“No doubt about it.”
Her bra snapped open. Leaning over her, Philip tugged her T-shirt over her head. His heart beat wildly in his chest. Blood roared like a waterfall in his ears. He’d never seen such beauty. He cupped her breasts, trapping her small nipples between his thumb and forefinger.
Michelle arched up, a cry breaking from her lips. Philip felt her stiffen, then relax back onto the futon. Pulling back, he trailed kisses down her throat. The tempo of her breaths increased. He took a nipple into his mouth, suckled hard, teasing the hardened tip with his tongue. Her hips moved against him, and he thought for sure it was all over for him, but he maintained his control if only by a thread. That would have been a hell of a way to end the most erotic experience of his life.
Raising up on his knees, Philip fought the jacket from his shoulders, tossed it on the floor. His shirt went next. He looked down at Michelle, saw her as he’d seen her in his fantasies. Dark eyes glazed with pleasure. Anticipation etched in every feature. Her mouth bruised from his whiskers. Her generous breasts bared, the nipples hard, dark peaks. He reached for the snap of her jeans, wondering if she was already wet, pulsing for him….
The knock on the door had Philip reaching for his shoulder holster. Damn, it wasn’t there. Michelle jerked beneath him, her eyes flashing to the front door.
“Expecting company?” She looked wildly around for something with which to cover herself.
“Hell no.” Philip sprang off the futon, snagged his shirt from the floor. He was dizzy with passion, and stood there for a moment, taking a lingering look at her, letting his head clear.
Who would be knocking at his door in the middle of a weekday?
He slipped into his shirt, then walked to the door and checked the peephole. Cory stood on the other side, looking like he wanted to throttle someone. Philip cursed, knowing that someone was him.
He looked over his shoulder at Michelle. “It’s Cory,” he said quietly. “I’m, uh, sorry. You can get dressed in my bedroom if you want.”
She already had her shirt on. Philip stared at her, thinking he’d never seen a woman look quite so beautiful.
The doorbell blasted.
With an oath, Philip swung open the door. “This better be good, Sanderson.”
Cory pushed his way inside without greeting him, without speaking. He took a look around the room, then turned accusing eyes on Philip. “I came to save your butt, my friend.” Anger resonated in his voice. He poked a finger into Philip’s chest. “From the looks of you, I’m too late.”
Philip shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Damn, he was still aroused. How much more obvious could you get? But he wasn’t sorry for what had happened between him and Michelle. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do about it—or how it would affect the case—but he wasn’t sorry. The only thing he was sorry for at the moment was that they hadn’t finished what they’d begun.
“I’m not in the mood for a lecture, Cory. What do you want?”
“Montgomery’s looking for you and he’s on the warpath. Said he’s been paging you for the last two hours.” Cory’s eyes swept to the pager lying on the floor next to a lacy white bra.
Philip’s eyes followed his gaze. Chagrined, he let out a pent-up sigh and cursed. “Do you know what he wants?”
“I don’t know exactly, but I’d guess it has something to do with a certain suspect you’re getting involved with. For a police detective you’ve been pretty damn stupid.”
Philip knew he was right. He’d laid his career on the line for Michelle. But, dammit, he no longer saw her as a suspect. The problem was, Commander Montgomery did.
“Thanks for the heads up.”
“Do yourself a favor, Betancourt. Get it out of your system. Get her out of your system. Go down to the Quarter and find yourself a whore, if you have to. Then pull yourself together and get back to work, else you’re going to screw your career up big-time.”
“I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“I’m not sure I want to hear one.”
Shoving his hands into his pockets, Philip looked at Cory long and hard. “She didn’t do it, Cory.”
“Next you’re going to be reciting poetry.”
“I’m serious. Something about this case stinks. I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”
Cory raised his finger, punched Betancourt’s chest again. “Do it on your own time, my friend. I ain’t going down with you on this one. Understand?”
Without another word, Cory turned on his heel. Philip watched him leave, wondering what in the hell he’d gotten himself into.
Chapter 10
Michelle knew better than to tempt fate, even if Betancourt didn’t. If it hadn’t been for that fateful knock on the door, they would have made love. Her emotional side knew how glorious that lovemaking would have been—she’d wanted him with a fierceness she hadn’t known existed—but her intellectual side knew giving her heart to a man like him would be a fatal mistake.
She’d sworn the day she left Bayou Lafourche she’d never make herself that vulnerable again.
Unlocking the front door of her apartment, Michelle walked inside, trying not to notice the mess left behind by the police, then turned to watch Betancourt drive away. She didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to face the horror of knowing what had happened in this very room. But she didn’t have anywhere else to go. She didn’t have a job, couldn’t afford the hotel another night.
So Betancourt
had brought her here.
The ride from his house had been tense and silent. She’d heard every word his partner had said, knew how bad the situation was. She couldn’t help but wonder what Philip faced at the precinct.
As much as Michelle didn’t want to admit it, she cared for him. A devastating reality, considering a relationship was the one thing they could never share. She refused to get involved with a cop, especially a cop with an agenda, no matter how attracted she was to him. Deputy Frank Blanchard had taught her that lesson long ago.
Her body wasn’t happy about the situation. The responses Betancourt provoked left her shaking and weak. He’d nearly brought her to fulfillment again, and they hadn’t even undressed. A blush heated her cheeks at the memory of her wanton reaction. How on earth was she going to handle this?
She and Betancourt came from different worlds. He was a career cop; she was a woman from the wrong side of the tracks, with a damaged heart and a criminal record to boot. A volatile mix to begin with, but sex would only make things infinitely worse. He would turn her world upside down. Michelle knew she would be the one who ended up hurt.
Shoving the thoughts aside, she walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower, going heavy on the cold water. She couldn’t think of him in physical terms. She definitely didn’t want to think of him in terms of a relationship. Both were impossible; either would destroy her. For now she had to concentrate on clearing her name and on unraveling the mystery surrounding Armon.
How was it that Armon had hired a private detective to find her before she’d ever met him? Michelle couldn’t quite bring herself to believe it was true. What possible motivation could he have had, when she’d been a complete stranger? In the years she’d known him, Armon had never lied to her, never given her a reason to doubt him. Still, the questions remained. Why had he written a check to Tulane? Had the money been a simple donation? Or had he, as Betancourt suspected, financed her scholarship?
As the water pounded down on her, Michelle considered contacting the Landsteiners. But she knew they probably wouldn’t help. The next logical step would be to find the private detective Armon had supposedly hired, but she didn’t even know the name of the firm. Another dead end.
Sighing in frustration, she turned off the water and tugged on her robe. Restless, she paced to the living room, hating it that the only other person who might be able to help her was the one person she didn’t want to see. Nicolas. The brother she’d loved with all her heart—and betrayed for the likes of a cop. She’d thought of him a thousand times over the years. Often enough for her to know the past hadn’t tarnished her love for him. Often enough for her to know it was guilt that kept her away. Would he help her?
Betancourt had told her the private detective made mention of Nicolas. Was it possible her older brother had been somehow involved? If he was, would he put aside his hatred for her long enough to help unravel the mystery surrounding Armon?
Michelle knew he’d been released from Angola just six months earlier. She’d checked on him periodically over the years and knew he’d resettled in Bayou Lafourche. Though she’d never had the courage for a face-to-face meeting, a small part of her had hoped Nicolas would seek her out after his release. He hadn’t.
She looked down at her hands, realized they were shaking.
The clock above the stove in the kitchen chimed. She still had time to rent a car. Foreboding churned in her stomach as she crossed to the coffee table. Snatching the phone book from the drawer, she flipped to the car rental agencies and picked up the phone. If she hurried, she could be in Bayou Lafourche before dark.
“Sit down, Lieutenant.”
Philip’s palms were wet with sweat as he took the chair opposite Commander Hardin Montgomery’s desk. He’d known the instant he walked in that something was dreadfully wrong. That feeling of doom had augmented a hundred times when he’d spotted Lieutenant Ken Burns of the Public Integrity Division lounging in the remaining chair.
“What’s this about?” Philip asked.
“I think you know what this is about, Lieutenant.”
Philip noticed Burns’s smug look and squashed his temper. “Humor me.”
Frowning, Montgomery took off his bifocals and tossed them onto his desk. “PID is bringing formal charges of sexual misconduct against you in relation to the Landsteiner case.”
The words hit him like a sledgehammer. He’d expected repercussions from his improper contact with Michelle, but he hadn’t expected this. Sexual misconduct meant a mandatory administrative leave. His caseload would be passed to another homicide team.
Philip’s chest constricted as the full meaning of the action struck him. “Wait a damn minute—”
“Effective immediately, you are on administrative leave with pay, pending further investigation. Your current caseload has been turned over to a cold case team.” Montgomery looked at his watch. “A felony warrant has been issued for Michelle Pelletier.”
Philip flinched as the words tumbled over him. “She didn’t do it.”
The commander’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve lost your objectivity, Lieutenant, and I won’t have you jeopardizing this department the way you did with the Rosetti case. You can leave your sidearm and badge with me.”
Rising, Philip put his hands on the other man’s desk and leaned forward. “What’s really going on here, Hardin?”
“You heard me, Betancourt. Your gun and your badge. Now.”
Philip’s temper spiked. A nasty curse slid from his lips. “I’m in the middle of a case, for God’s sake. I can’t turn it over to someone who isn’t familiar—”
“You’ll pass on all your notes and pertinent reports—”
Philip spun, faced Ken Burns. “Who pointed you in my direction, you sniveling lapdog? How much are they paying you?”
Burns started to laugh.
Montgomery rose. “Lieutenant!”
Fury had him turning on his superior. “Someone doesn’t want the Landsteiner case solved, Hardin. I’ve done some digging. Michelle Pelletier is no longer a suspect in my mind. There was a new will drawn up, but no one can find it. The lawyer who—”
“Sit the hell down, Betancourt!”
Neither man sat. Breathing heavily, face suffused with temper, Montgomery opened a brown clasp envelope, opened it and passed the contents to Philip.
A wrecking ball of dread dropped into Philip’s stomach as he accepted the photographs. He didn’t have to look at them to know what they contained. They’d been taken through the French doors of his house the night of the funeral, when Michelle had ended up at his place. The images were clear and damning. Shame and fury cut him. Michelle in his arms, head thrown back. He closed his eyes, let the remaining photos drop to the desk.
Hardin cleared his throat.
Burns chuckled. “That’s some interrogation technique you’ve got there, Betancourt. Maybe you could give a seminar.”
In an instant, he had Burns by the collar. “You son of a—”
“Get your hands off me!” Burns bared his teeth.
“You can’t use those photos!”
“I don’t need to!”
Philip shoved him toward the door. “Get out before I throw you out.”
Burns opened his mouth to say more, but Philip grabbed him by the collar once more and hauled him to the door.
“I’ll have your badge for this,” Burns squealed.
“You already do.” Philip kicked the door open and shoved him into the hall, where a dozen eyes looked on. Wordlessly, he slammed the door and turned back to Montgomery.
The commander swallowed. “You’re in trouble, Betancourt. What you just did to Burns isn’t going to help matters.”
“Screw Burns. I want to know what the hell is going on with the Landsteiner case.”
“PID isn’t going to publish those photos, Philip. That would be a PR nightmare for the whole department. You are on administrative leave. I can’t help you. My hands are tied.”
“Who’s pres
suring you, Hardin? Baldwin Landsteiner?”
Montgomery rose, leaning forward until his face was mere inches from Philip’s. “You’re out of your league, my friend.”
Despite the fury pumping through him, Philip smiled. It felt like a snarl on his face, but the effect was the same. “So are you, Hardin. Watch your back.”
The door behind him opened. Philip turned, spotted Burns and the two uniformed police officers. He looked at Burns, tamped down a burst of rage. “I see you brought backup.”
“He was just leaving,” Montgomery stated.
Philip pushed past the three men without saying a word.
Michelle wasn’t home, and Philip was in no mood to wait. He’d been trying to call her for an hour, had spent the last twenty minutes parked on the street in front of her apartment, waiting. Where the hell was she?
He told himself his need to see her stemmed from what had happened at the precinct. That he wanted her to know there was a warrant out for her arrest. Only he knew better.
A curse escaped him, his voice sounding hollow and strange in the silence of his car. The truth of the matter was he couldn’t stay away from her. She’d gotten under his skin, something he’d promised himself he’d never allow. He’d never been one to put much weight in relationships with women. With two ex-wives under his belt, he hadn’t the inclination to try again. His first love was his job, always had been, always would be. He could count on his job. He was good at it.
The hell of it was he’d thrown it out the proverbial window for the likes of a woman who couldn’t seem to tell the truth. The irony stuck in his craw like a tack.
He told himself the tightness in his chest would go away if he could do like Cory said and get her out of his system. A night of mindless sex, and come morning he’d walk away and never look back. Lust was simple, easy to understand. His feelings for Michelle were anything but simple.
Another harsh sound escaped him, and he realized with some surprise that he’d laughed. Who was he fooling? Not himself. He was in chest deep with her and getting sucked in deeper every time he laid eyes on her. For the first time in his life, he needed someone. A woman. He damn sure wasn’t happy about it.
Remember the Night Page 15
