by Julie Kenner
He brushed a crumb off her chin with the edge of his thumb, the softness of her skin enticing him. For just a second their eyes met, but then she looked away, pulling back from his touch, her lips parted with surprise.
“I never said structured was a bad thing,” he said. “Besides, a complete knowledge of all available cleaning products might come in handy someday if you ever get picked for Jeopardy! or The Price Is Right.”
Her lips twitched, and he felt absurdly pleased with himself. A comfortable silence hung between them, and he searched for something brilliant or witty to say, because if he didn’t say something, he’d surely lean over and kiss her.
Another shy smile. “You’re easy to talk to. I’m surprised.”
“Yeah, well, what did I tell you? A PI’s just like talking to your lawyer or your priest.”
Her eyes met his again, only this time he saw something wild burning there. “I hope you’re not like my priest.” Her voice, barely a whisper, tickled his senses.
His gut clenched, and he leaned forward, the motion almost imperceptible. Maybe it was stupid, but he wanted her. Wanted nothing more than to feel her mouth hot against his and the soft press of her breasts against his chest. A mistake? Maybe. But he could always fix a mistake, and he might not get another chance to kiss this woman.
She shifted slightly, leaning toward him, and the knowledge that she wanted this, too, spurred him forward. He reached out to stroke her cheek, amazed to find that her skin was as soft as he’d imagined.
Their eyes met. He saw the desire reflected there and inched closer.
“We shouldn—”
“Oh yeah,” he said. “We should.” He closed the distance between them, thrusting his hand into her hair as his mouth closed over hers, blocking any foolish protests she might have. She tasted sweet, just like he knew she would. But what he hadn’t expected was how solid her mouth felt beneath his. She wasn’t just being kissed, she was kissing him right back, her lips moving with his, demanding that he deepen the kiss. He plunged his tongue into her mouth, the answering thrust of her tongue and pressure of her lips making him hard as a rock.
A tiny moan escaped her, as if she feared he was going to pull back. Never. He stroked his tongue deeper into her mouth, not thinking, just reacting to the need to possess this woman.
She moaned low in her chest, the noise both demanding and desperate. An unspoken plea that he intended to answer.
He slipped his arm behind her back, holding her close as his mouth, slick and wet, slid to her ear, then teased the sensitive lobe with the tip of his tongue. A shiver rippled through her body, and all he knew, all he wanted, was to see that ripple increase ten-fold when he made her come.
Spurred by the thought and the pressure in his groin, he roughly cupped her breast, his palm tingling as her nipple tightened beneath the thin material of her halter. Her back arched in silent response, and he went for those damned buttons, his fingers itching to caress the smooth skin of her breasts. One, two, and, finally—
The door buzzer sounded.
Well, damn.
Jacey twisted out from his embrace, her eyes wide and her breath coming in uneven spurts. Her lips were still parted, her expression guilty, but aroused.
“Jace—”
She cut off his whisper with a finger to his lips. Then she pulled back, her hands immediately fluttering to her chest, as she quickly buttoned her shirt, undoing all his hard work.
As soon as she was all done up again, she smoothed her palms down her pants legs as if she was a schoolgirl straightening her skirt after getting caught behind the bleachers. “Just give a shout if you need any help,” she said, her voice tightly controlled. “Everything on the front three racks is half off.”
“I’m not buying.” Tasha’s voice. “Bob and I caught a movie on the Promenade. I figured you were feeling pretty crappy after the day you had,” she added, and David assumed Jacey must have called with the news of Al’s unfortunate demise. “I thought I’d see if you need a ride.” A rustling of clothes and then she came into view. Surprise registered on her face for half a second before clearing. “But I guess you already have one,” she said, not missing a beat.
“I figured it was only fair, since I dropped her off,” David said.
“Great,” Tasha said. She took a step back, heading again for the door. “I’ll see you when I see you.”
“Tash!” Jacey called, and David grabbed her hand. He didn’t know what she intended to say, but if she was going to take Tasha up on her offer of a ride, he wanted to nip that plan in the bud. Maybe he was coming on too strong, but he didn’t really give a damn.
Tasha reappeared. “What?”
Jacey licked her lips, then looked from him to Tasha and back to him.
“I’m driving you,” he repeated.
She took a deep breath, then nodded. She turned back toward Tasha. “Thanks for checking on me.”
Her friend grinned. “Any time.” Her gaze darted to him. “Drive carefully,” she said, and David nodded, wondering if there wasn’t a hidden meaning.
Because where Jacey was concerned, David had the feeling he needed to be very careful indeed.
While David went to wash his hands, Jacey stacked the paper plates, her head spinning a little, and not just from the beer.
David had kissed her tonight. Kissed her, and so much more. Hell, he’d practically undressed her, and instead of being righteously indignant, she’d cursed Tasha’s supremely bad timing.
Maybe David wasn’t the kind of guy she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, but he was right—she’d had a crappy day. And when she’d pushed through the rounders and seen him standing there…well, somehow the day’s ickiness had just melted away. He’d come there for her. For no other reason but to make her feel better.
And that was just about the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her.
She finished stacking the plates, topped them with the plastic utensils and chopsticks, then put the whole pile back into the brown grocery store sack he’d arrived with. She’d just finished cleaning up when David returned. She looked up in time to catch him watching her, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, a slightly bewildered expression on his face.
She rubbed her mouth, wondering if she had sauce on her chin. “What?”
He nodded to the bag. “We’re just throwing that stuff away.”
She frowned. “Yeah. That’s why it’s in the bag.”
He shook his head.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
She scowled, then dropped their napkins into one of the plastic bags, tied the ends, and dropped the whole thing into the paper sack. When she finished, David was still staring. She rolled her eyes. “I’m going to carry this out to the Dumpster. Will you go lock the front doors? There’s a deadbolt at the top I can’t quite reach. The key’s hanging next to the cash register.”
“Wouldn’t you rather shelve it and label it?” he asked, his eyes dancing.
“Huh?”
“Nothing.” He headed toward the front.
She picked up the bag and moved toward the back door, her mind on David. The man was an enigma, but an undeniably cute one. He drove her nuts, but he also drove her to distraction. And if the feeling in the pit of her stomach when he’d kissed her was any indication, he could drive her a whole heck of a lot further than that.
She propped the back door open with a step stool, her body tingling as she remembered the feel of his lips on hers. His tongue had danced inside her mouth, tasting and tempting, and she’d welcomed him. Encouraged him, even. Her nipples hardened as she imagined what would have happened if Tasha hadn’t interrupted. David’s hand would have slipped inside her shirt. His palm would have grazed her breast, teasing her nipple and sending a red-hot coil of fire shooting straight down to the apex of her thighs.
She let out a low moan, her whole body getting with the program. Oh God, she was in trouble now.
Troubl
e.
She scowled, realizing that the alley was unusually dark. The Promenade was about as safe as Los Angeles got, what with all the people milling about and the constant police patrols. But even so, Gregory had replaced the bulb behind his store with a souped-up one that discharged light with the intensity of a small sun.
Apparently, the sun had burned out.
She was heaving the bag into the Dumpster when the hair on the back of her neck stood up. She didn’t know why, but she had the urge to scream, and that wasn’t an urge any sane woman fought. Opening her mouth, she sucked in air, then let loose with a high-pitched wail. “Daaaav—”
From out of nowhere, a hand clamped over her mouth, and she kicked, trying to get some leverage against the human wall pressed against her back. No luck, and she was getting light-headed, too. She realized the hand covering her mouth was also covering her nose. In a panic, she pounded on her assailant, kicking and clawing as he dragged her, the heels of her Keds scraping against the pavement.
A loud clap of metal against metal rang out, followed by the sound of running feet. The next thing she knew, she was on the pavement, her butt bruised, and David was in front of her, straddling her attacker and landing punch after punch in the big guy’s gut.
“David!” The instant the word was out of her mouth, she wished she could take it back. She’d distracted him, and in the half second that he’d taken to look at her, the oaf had reared back, pushing David off.
David rallied, but the guy punched him in the face, then grabbed him around the waist. Jacey held her breath as they both tumbled to the ground in a flurry of arms and legs. David landed another punch, but the guy pummeled David in the chest, then scrambled to his feet. As the thug took off running, David started after him.
“David! No!”
He stopped short, his head twisting from the fleeing mugger to Jacey and then back down the alley. She could see the dilemma in his mind. Did he go after the creep and save her honor, or did he stay with her and protect her?
Jacey hoped like hell he stayed, because she really didn’t want to see him shot, and for all she knew the creep was sporting a gun.
“Shit!” He aimed one last frustrated look down the alley, then headed toward her, kneeling in front of her. His finger brushed her cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle. “You okay?”
She nodded, then started patting herself down. Her heart was still pounding, but all her parts seemed to be in order. Her butt was pretty sore, but under the circumstances, she could live with that.
A trickle of blood oozed from his nose, and she grimaced, her heart picking up speed again as she realized how much worse he could have been hurt. “Is it broken?”
He wiped the back of his hand under his nose, then scowled when he saw the blood. He helped her up with his clean hand and swung an arm around her waist as they headed back toward the shop. “I don’t think so,” he said, gingerly pressing at his nose. “No big deal if it is. It’s been broken before.”
He led them back inside and locked the door behind them. He was still scowling when they reached the front of the store.
“What?” she asked, then realized that sounded like a stupid question. “I mean, what specifically?”
“I shouldn’t have let you go out there alone.”
She stifled the urge to roll her eyes. “Don’t be silly. It’s not like I was strolling naked down an abandoned alley. All the stores open up to back there, and we all share the Dumpster. It’s a high-traffic area. I mean, it’s not the safest place on the planet, but this was just one of those things.”
“Did you get a look at him?”
She shook her head. “He came from behind. I didn’t see him until you knocked him off me, and then I couldn’t get a good look at his face.” Her attacker had been wearing a dark jacket and from her angle, the hood obscured his face. “Did you?”
“Not really,” David said. “A white guy. Couldn’t see much else in the dark. And I was more concerned with saving my ass than memorizing his face.”
He took a deep breath, then put one hand on either of her shoulders. “You sure you’re okay?” His eyes bore deep into her, and she trembled slightly, feeling warm and safe under David’s protection.
“Yeah.” She nodded. “Absolutely,” she added, this time with more conviction. “But what if he…” She trailed off, not too thrilled with the idea that the guy might still be hanging around.
“I doubt he’ll be back,” David said, reading her mind. “Probably a transient who wanted your purse for his crack fix.”
“I didn’t have my purse.”
David shrugged. “Purse, jewelry. Whatever. I don’t think a desperate crackhead’s going to analyze the situation too closely.” He smoothed her hair, his smile gentle.
“Thanks for rescuing me.”
“Hey, no problem.” He grinned, then pulled her into his embrace. “If you go and get yourself mugged, how will you refer any new cases to me?”
“Good point,” she murmured. She pressed her cheek against him as he stroked her back.
“You okay?”
She nodded. Considering what had just happened, she was just fine. Warm and safe and, suddenly, pretty sleepy. She tried to stifle a yawn and failed.
“Do you want me to call the cops?”
She shook her head. “No. He’s gone and I’m tired.”
“I can tell.” He slid a finger under her chin and tilted her head back. “You’ve had a hell of a night. You need a hot bath and bed,” he said. “Let’s get you home.”
Right then, nothing sounded better. But she also didn’t want him to leave. “What about my ice cream?”
“Rain check,” he said, with a smile.
She nodded, then leaned back against him and closed her eyes. She was going to see David again. And—against her better judgment—the prospect suited her just fine.
Chapter 6
I made Mallory a gin and tonic, then poured straight gin into a glass for me. I don’t see the point in diluting the stuff. If I’m going to get drunk, I want to get drunk quick.
And right then, that’s what I wanted.
She took the glass I offered, looking up at me with big, blue eyes. The kind of eyes a man could get lost in. “How could this happen?” she asked. “Who did that to him?”
“If I knew that, babe, I wouldn’t have to work for a living.”
She took a sip of the drink—dainty, just like a female—then dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “But you’ll find out, Mr. Monroe. Won’t you?” She tilted her head up to look at me. “And you’ll find out if whoever killed Sal has my sister.”
“That’s my plan, sweetheart.” I tossed back the last of my drink as I headed for the door.
I left her curled up on my couch, the bottle still beside her. I didn’t know if she’d be there when I got back, but right then I didn’t care. The night was still young and I had work to do.
I don’t know why, but something rattled me, and I walked a little faster as I neared my heap.
He came from behind. Snuck up on me with light feet and a heavy gun. I know, since he whacked me across the head with it. And as the world started spinning, I heard him whisper, “This isn’t your fight, Mr. Monroe. Drop the case before you or the girl gets hurt…”
David headed home after leaving Jacey in Tasha’s care, then stripped down in his bathroom and surveyed the damage. Not bad, all things considered. His ribs were already turning purple, but he didn’t think anything was broken. Except for his nose. Jacey might have been right about that.
He poked at it, decided the pain was bearable, and figured a hospital wouldn’t do anything more than tape it up. He took a couple of Tylenols for the pain, then got into bed. The clock read 2:15.
His mind drifted from Jacey to her mugger to the unfinished kiss. So much for relaxing; now he was all tense again. Below the waist, anyway. He punched a fist into his pillow, adjusted the covers, and started counting backward from one thousand.
W
hen he got to one, he was still awake.
He gave up and opened his eyes: 2:47.
This was going to be a long night.
By the time he repeated the whole process, it was 3:17. Yup. A very long night.
Giving up, he threw the covers back and slid out of bed. He rummaged through the piles on the floor until he found a clean T-shirt—he sniffed it just to be sure—then pulled it on and headed for the kitchen.
An hour later he was parked in front of his computer, a soda sitting next to the monitor and a slice of warm chocolate torte teetering on a pile of Millie’s bills that he foolishly hoped would evaporate into thin air. He flicked the computer on, prayed it wouldn’t crash, then set off on the information superhighway. He wasn’t crazy about computers, but he was willing to concede that they were good for something. At the moment, they were good for snooping around about Jacey’s pseudo-boyfriend.
Probably stupid—okay, definitely stupid—but he wanted to find out about the bozo that had caught Jacey’s attention. This man who fit her personal little is-he-normal checklist to such a T that Jacey had gone out and hired a detective to track the guy down.
David stifled a mental groan, toying with the unwelcome realization that he was jealous of the dearly departed. He shook his head. No way. He was just half-asleep, dead on his feet, and nosy.
Nosy, he could handle. He was a journalist, after all, and he was happy to grab onto that excuse to poke around on the Internet looking for information on Albert Alcott or the explosion that killed him. He surfed for about an hour, turning up next to nothing. Apparently the reporter who covered the explosion wasn’t interested in exploring the human interest angle. Nothing about poor, dead Al other than his name and the fact that he worked for Melvin Clements. The name rang a bell, but at 4:45 in the morning, David couldn’t work up the enthusiasm to try and remember why.
He considered going back to bed, but made the mistake of clicking on the television. The Big Sleep was just starting. The restored version, complete with the documentary about why the studio had butchered the original theatrical release. What the hell? He kicked his feet up on the desk, leaned back, and told himself he was researching his book.
