by Tess Diamond
He was her exception. And now he knew it, just as she did.
She went, not helpless to resist but instead tired of resisting. Tired of denying herself this, denying herself him.
The second she was in reach, his hands were on her hips, pulling her to him fast and hard, his lips capturing hers. She sank into him, her head spinning, her body lighting up everywhere he touched. His fingers skimmed underneath her sweater, traveling up to cup one of her breasts. When the pads of his fingers brushed teasingly against her nipple, her head tilted back, and she moaned as his lips trailed up the exposed length of her neck. He backed her up across the room, and the back of her knees hit her bed, making them come to a halt.
“Fuck, Grace,” he rasped out, his voice deeper than she’d ever heard it.
“That’s the general idea,” she said and she could feel his smile press against her cheek in the darkness.
“Cracking jokes is my job,” he whispered, tumbling her expertly down onto the mattress. She fell against the wide expanse of her bed, his hand cupping the back of her head as he lowered himself over her.
Kissing him was like a drug—one that she never wanted to quit. Her fingers—clumsy with desire—slipped the buttons of his shirt free, and then the expanse of his chest was exposed to her. Beautifully cut muscle, with a smattering of gold hair across his chest, narrowing into a tantalizing trail down his ripped stomach. Her fingers followed the trail down, flirting with the waistband of his pants.
He bent down and kissed her again, the hand that had been at her hips moving to her front, grabbing the hem of her sweater, and pulling it up and over her.
Grace’s head rolled back against the mattress, desire building in her stomach. Her nipples tightened against the lace of her bra as he pulled back to study her, his gaze intense and heated. His finger traced the delicate edge of her lingerie, excruciatingly slow.
“What do you need, Grace?” he asked. “Do you need this?” He bent down, his tongue running along the sloping curve of her breast that was exposed by the demicup of her bra.
She moaned, her hips rising to meet his, desperate for friction, for more, for anything.
“All you have to do is ask,” he said, and there was the tease in him again. That devil-may-care smile as his fingers stroked over her nipple through the lace, making her fingers clench into his shoulders.
“Please,” she said.
“What was that?” he asked, kissing her neck as his hands wandered from her breasts to her stomach, then down her thighs, gripping her ass. He made a noise when he realized she wasn’t wearing anything underneath the yoga pants, his hips pushing deliciously into hers for a second as he groaned.
Yes. Finally.
“Just tell me what you need,” he whispered, his voice hoarser now. His fingers trailed up the inside of her thigh, making her squirm.
For some reason, his using the word need instead of want made her even more crazy. He was right. This wasn’t just desire. This wasn’t just lust.
She needed this. She needed him.
No one else would ever do.
His palm pressed against her through the soft, thin fabric of her yoga pants and she moaned, the delicious pressure sending waves of pleasure through her. She grabbed the back of his head, pulling him forward and bringing their mouths together with a desperate kind of hunger. She needed everything. His touch. His heart. His body. She was filled with need for him, frantic for the feel of his bare skin against hers.
“I need you,” she gasped, her hands finding the button of his pants. All she could feel was the heat of his body against hers, the frissons of electricity that went off every time they kissed. She wanted more.
He grabbed the waist of her yoga pants and she tilted her hips up, allowing him to pull them off her.
He pushed away, just for a moment, to deal with the condom and then she could feel him against her. She gasped, suddenly aware of how incredibly wet she was.
“You need this, Grace?” he asked, his eyes on hers. The moment was unbearably intimate, because she did. More than anything, she needed him.
She wrapped her legs tight around him, pushing forward with her hips, moaning as he slid into her.
“Oh, God,” she said, just before his mouth came down on hers and he kissed her tenderly. He moved inside her, his lips still on hers, his hands roaming over her body as he spun her senses with his kisses.
She was so close, so fast. What they felt had been building for hours. For days.
Maybe even for years.
She wound her fingers through his hair, bringing him closer. She needed him closer.
“God, look at you,” he groaned against her skin. “You feel so fucking perfect.”
His hand traced the long line of her thigh, up to between her legs, his thumb dragging in slow circles against her clit.
Her fingers fisted in his hair and he kept the pressure on her clit as he thrust strongly into her at an angle that made her cry out. It was too much. It wasn’t enough.
It was everything.
He was everything. She was ignorant to everything else but the sensation of his fingers rubbing in maddening circles around her clit, his cock moving inside her, hitting her G-spot, making her start to climb toward orgasm.
His breath quickened against her ear and just when she didn’t think she could bear the pleasure any longer, Grace stiffened, her orgasm taking her by surprise. She pulsed around him, gasping through the bliss as it rushed through her in waves. He groaned as her body clenched around his, thrusting one more time before he came.
For long moments, they clung to each other, not wanting to part. Not wanting the moment to end.
Grace placed her head on his shoulder, her body still singing with endorphins and sensation. She closed her eyes, thinking she’d never felt so safe.
The next morning, she found herself in her kitchen, making breakfast for a man.
It was a situation she had never put herself in, she mused as she finished cooking the eggs. But as she heard the telltale creak of her stairs, she realized she didn’t have much time to freak out over the sudden change.
“I thought you ditched me again,” Gavin said, coming to sit on one of the tall stools she had grouped along one side of the kitchen island.
She rolled her eyes, trying to hide her smile. “But here I am, making you breakfast instead,” she said, trying to come off as nonchalant. She slid the plate down on the counter in front of him, along with a mug of coffee.
She sat across from him with her own plate, trying not to think of how comfortable this was as she picked at her eggs.
Gavin took a bite of bacon, his eyes fluttering shut in an almost pornographic way as he moaned. “Is there anything you don’t do well?” he asked.
“I can cook,” she said. “But if I try to bake anything, it tends to explode.”
“Good thing I’m an excellent baker,” he said, chomping down on the sourdough toast she’d made and slathered with Irish butter. “You know, you aren’t going to be able to get rid of me if you keep cooking for me like this.”
“A baker, huh?” she asked, trying not to imagine him in her kitchen every morning, sleepily affectionate, rumpled, just a little scruffy.
The idea was much too appealing.
“My mom was very big on us boys knowing our way around the kitchen,” he said. “My sister didn’t come along until my brothers and I were already out of the house. She had all boys for twenty years and then her little surprise, as she likes to call Sarah.”
“So your little sister has four older brothers?” Grace asked.
“Who are all law enforcement,” he said.
“Oh, God, poor girl.”
He laughed. “Not that she really needs our help. My dad’s been taking her hunting with him for years. I wouldn’t be surprised if she became a cop too.”
“Well, I guess it does run in the family,” Grace said, getting up and clearing her plate. He snagged the final piece of bacon off his plate before sh
e took his and dumped them both in the sink. He stood, pressing up against her back, his hands cupping her shoulders. She couldn’t help but lean into the solid weight of him—he ran so hot it was like being next to a fire. She wanted to whirl around and kiss him. To hike herself up on the edge of the sink and have him step into the cradle of her thighs, where he belonged.
“Thank you for breakfast,” he said. He was so close she could feel the words vibrate in his chest where it touched her. “Normally, I’d thank you in a better, more naked way, but we’ve got to meet Paul at the car wash.”
She swallowed hard, squeezing her thighs together. “I’ll go change,” she said, but he didn’t move away from her. “Gavin,” she said, trying to make it sound like a warning, but it came out more like a plea.
She didn’t have to be facing him to know he was smiling.
His right hand moved from her shoulder to her neck, where he gently brushed her hair off her nape, his lips grazing over the sensitive skin. She shivered at the light touch, remembering how talented those lips were last night.
“You play so dirty,” she gasped out, twisting in his grip, ducking under his arm with a laugh. “Don’t you dare chase me!”
His eyes darkened and her stomach jolted as she realized she’d inadvertently tapped into a desire that maybe he hadn’t even realized until now. Suddenly, all she could think about was him playfully chasing her through the house, her laughter drifting behind her, teasing him until he caught her.
He stepped forward before she could bolt and put his mouth on hers, biting down just a little on her lower lip, making her body sing.
“Talk about playing dirty,” he said when they parted.
Leckie’s Motors was a large outfit, with car wash bays and a garage to change oil and whatnot. The place was already bustling and the early morning sun bounced off the car windows, making them glint.
Men and women in red polos and black pants with towels slung over their shoulders were hard at work cleaning cars in the wash bays. The office was set at the far end of the parking lot.
Grace got out of the car, pulling her red trench coat over her shoulders as she and Gavin walked across the lot. She waved when she saw Paul arrive and a group of agents get out of his SUV.
“You have a good night?” he asked.
“What?” Grace said, her cheeks turning red.
Paul shot her a confused look. “Everything was uneventful? No more surprise packages?”
“Oh. Right. Everything was fine.”
“I’m glad you got her to agree to you staying over,” Paul said to Gavin.
“Yeah, me too,” Gavin said.
If possible, Grace turned even redder at the double meaning in his voice. The agents who had driven over with Paul were already spreading out, stopping the workers and asking them to step away from the cars.
“I’ll go start the initial interviews, if you’d like,” Paul said. “That way you two can talk to the manager.”
“Sounds good,” Grace said. “Let’s go.”
As Paul headed over to the wash bays, Grace started to walk across the lot to the office, but Gavin reached out, his hand settling gently on her arm. She looked down; the heat of his skin seeped through the thin blue silk of her sleeve, but instead of warming her up, it made her shiver.
“Why don’t you let me take the lead?” Gavin suggested, giving her arm a light squeeze before breaking the touch. “Mechanics, guys who work with cars . . . they tend to be pretty macho. He’ll probably talk to me more than you. The whole bro-code bullshit.”
“You think the bro code’s bullshit?” Grace asked.
That twist of a smile was back, devilish and pleased that he had surprised her. “I think a lot of dudes underestimate the hell out of women like you,” he said.
“Men underestimate all women,” she said dryly.
He laughed. “Okay, fair enough,” he said. “But I’m pretty sure it takes longer to get information out of them when they think you’re an airhead.”
“Depends,” she said. “If they get distracted enough, the criminal ones tend to slip up.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “But let me run this one. I’ve been following your lead this whole time. Well, except for last night.”
She glared at him, which made him smile even wider.
“You’re impossible,” she hissed, hating how pleased she felt, deep down.
He shoved playfully at her shoulder with his own and once again, that tantalizing image of him chasing her through the house flitted through her brain. It had been a long time since she’d been able to play with someone, since she’d been that much at ease with a man. Sex was wonderful. Fantastic. She loved sex.
But the last few years, everything had seemed terribly rote. Beautiful, successful men tumbled her into their beds for one night of intense, athletic sex, but it was all serious and so, so obvious they were trying to impress her.
Gavin didn’t need to impress her, because he just innately knew. And not just her body, her mind and heart.
Her desires. He keyed into them like she keyed into a killer’s mind, and the connection both scared and thrilled her.
“Fine,” she said as they reached the office. “You can take the lead. But I’ll jump in if I need to. And I’m still in charge.”
“I wouldn’t dare to think otherwise.”
They walked into the office together. A short man with a bad comb-over was standing behind the desk, his thin eyebrows drawn together in irritation.
“Hey, man,” Gavin said. He flipped open his badge and pushed it across the counter. The manager picked it up and examined it closely, as if he expected it to be fake.
“You’re disrupting my workers’ day,” the man said, gesturing outside to where Paul and the officers had pulled all the employees from the wash bays. “Do you have a warrant? Because I’m losing money here by the minute.”
“I’m really sorry about the disruption,” Gavin said, leaning against the counter, loose-limbed and seemingly unaffected by the man’s frustration. “I promise, we’re gonna get out of your hair as soon as possible so all you hardworking folks can get back to your day. I’m Agent Walker.” He nodded his head at Grace. “This is Agent Sinclair. She’s my partner. She’s got some questions, and I’m thinking you’re the guy with the answers. You’re in charge of this whole deal, right?” he asked, waving around the office and out the windows at the parking lot.
Something flickered in the manager’s eyes at Gavin’s casual confirmation of his power. “Yeah, that’s right,” he said, his shoulders relaxing.
“Then you’re the man Agent Sinclair needs,” Gavin said. “She’s after a really bad guy. Some scary shit. And she’s got this thing called a profile, you know, like a sketch of a person?”
“I know what a profile is; I watch TV,” said the man.
“Of course,” Gavin said. “I keep forgetting there’s a dozen shows about people like her. Well, Agent Sinclair’s the real deal, you know? You mind answering some of her questions?”
He glanced at Grace, calculating. “I guess not.”
Grace smiled, her charming, grateful smile that had brought men to their knees, falling easily into the role that Gavin had so expertly set up. “I really appreciate it,” she said. “So, what I want you to do is think about your employees,” she said, her voice soft and soothing. “I’m looking for a man. Probably early forties. Maybe late thirties. Most likely white. He’s physically fit but not overly jacked or obsessed with fitness. He’s a loner but not the weird type. He’s polite, on time, he gets his work done, and no one complains about him, but he keeps to himself. He’s not the kind to go out for beers after a long shift, but he’d pick up extra shifts if asked. And he would’ve been working the last two weeks in June.”
“That sounds like Raymond,” the manager said. “But he’s not in his forties.”
“Age is often the hardest thing to pinpoint,” Grace assured him. “Tell me about Raymond.”
“He’s
a good worker, but he’s really quiet. I thought he had a stutter or something, the first few months. But then I realized he just doesn’t like to talk.”
“Is he here today?” Grace asked, looking over her shoulder to scan the vicinity, where Paul and the rest of the agents were beginning to conduct the interviews.
“No, actually, he hasn’t shown up for the past few days,” the manager said. “And didn’t even call in sick, which is kinda weird for him.”
“Do you have a picture?” Grace asked.
The manager shook his head.
“What about a locker?” Gavin asked.
“Yeah, in the break room. I guess you want to see?”
“That’d be great,” Grace said.
“You might want to step back, just for safety,” Gavin told the manager as Grace snapped on a pair of gloves.
The manager whistled as Gavin pulled out a small mirror on the end of a silver stick and handed it to Grace. “What the hell do you think is in there?”
“You can never be too careful,” Gavin said.
Grace, using the manager’s key, opened the padlock and cracked the locker door open wide enough to insert the mirror. She angled it, exploring the inside. Nothing but metal walls. She grabbed the door and swung it fully open.
“Nothing,” she reported back. “It’s empty.”
“Guess he cleared it out,” Gavin said. “You think this is our guy?”
“Could be,” Grace replied. “Do you have an address for Raymond?” she asked the manager.
He shook his head, sweat crawling down his forehead.
“Didn’t he fill out paperwork? Give you a résumé?”
The manager looked over at Gavin, his eyes desperate.
“You paying him under the table?” Gavin asked, clueing in.
“Look, times have been tough . . .” the man said nervously.
“No worries,” Gavin interrupted casually, clapping him on the shoulder. “We’re not interested in busting you for taxes, man. We’ve got a lot more important stuff to worry about than some cash under the table, trust me.”
“I’ve always paid him in cash,” the manager admitted. “I don’t know where he lives, but I know he takes the thirty-six bus sometimes, so maybe he lives somewhere on that route.”
