by C. J. Miller
She finished her beer and signaled to Danny for another. “Anyway, it’s a big mess and it all kind of came to a head today. Sorry to vent to you.”
He reached across the table and placed his hand over hers. “It’s no problem—that’s what I’m here for.”
She smiled at him as he pulled back, then cleared her throat. “Enough about me and my crappy day. How are you? What’s new with you this week?”
“Not much to tell,” he said, nodding at Danny as the bartender set down fresh bottles. “I’m still working on the pipe-bomb case, and Carmichael is breathing down my neck for results.”
She winced in sympathy. “Any leads?”
“Yeah, a few.” He shrugged, wanting to tell her more but knowing he shouldn’t really talk about the details of the case. “I think it’s going to turn out to be one of the kids.”
Her eyes widened as she sipped her beer. “Why would a kid bring a pipe bomb to school?”
“To show off. To scare someone. Because they thought it would be cool. Why do teenage boys do anything?”
“Good point.”
“I’m just glad it didn’t explode,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “The last thing we need right now is more tension, and you know an explosion at a local school would freak people out.”
Kelly shook her head as she watched him. “Why did they bring you guys in on this in the first place? Shouldn’t the D.C. cops have handled it?”
He sighed, suddenly tired. “It all comes down to appearances. The police don’t want to be accused of not taking the threat seriously, so they ask the FBI to join the investigation, to make sure they’re not missing anything. Since we don’t want to be accused of the same thing, we conduct a full investigation, even though this really is a matter better left to the locals.” He shook his head. “It’s all very circular, and at the end of the day, I’m not sure it really makes a difference.”
Kelly studied him a moment, her head cocked to the side. “Are you saying you’re tired of working for the bureau?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know.” He shrugged, raising his bottle to his lips for another swallow. “Some days I feel like I’m really making a difference, and then other days I feel like I’m just spinning my wheels.”
“Not to be a Debbie Downer, but I’m pretty sure everybody feels that way at one point or another, regardless of their job. I know I do.”
He nodded, picking at the label on his bottle. She was right, of course, but lately he’d had a string of bad days, making him question if he was really doing any good at all. He should probably take a vacation, get away for a few days and clear his head.
Kelly clapped her hands, jerking him out of his thoughts. “You know what we need? Irish car bombs.”
He shuddered in mock horror. “Please don’t say bomb too loudly.”
She grinned back at him. “We’re in a bar. I’m pretty sure Danny isn’t going to call the police when I place this order.”
A moment later, Danny appeared at the table with the requisite ingredients. James stifled a groan. Irish car bombs were a sneaky drink—they tasted like a chocolate milk shake, and more than once he’d been seduced into drinking several of them. It was only after he stood up that he realized how much of a wallop they packed.
“Ready?” Kelly asked, holding up her shot and reaching across the table to clink glasses with him.
Her expectant grin had him smiling in return. One car bomb couldn’t hurt, and it was a good way to celebrate the end of the week. “Ready.”
The dual thump of the shot glasses hitting the bottom of the pint glasses signaled the start of the race, and they both chugged the frothy mixture. He set his glass down first, wiping the bubbly residue off his lip with the back of his hand. An instant later, Kelly set her glass down as well, saying that she’d let him win.
“Not likely, princess,” he said, grinning at her. “I’m a car-bomb champion from way back.”
She laughed, her tongue darting out to lick the foam off her lips. The action sent a zing of awareness through his system, and an unbidden thought popped into his mind: God, she’s beautiful.
He’d found her attractive from the start, but since he’d been buried in work and she had been, too, he hadn’t tried to strike up anything more than a friendship with her. By the time his schedule had cleared up, they’d been friends for so long he didn’t think she’d be interested in anything more, and he wasn’t willing to risk ruining that friendship by telling her he wanted to take things to the next level.
He wasn’t pining for her, exactly, but he hadn’t been on a date since they’d met. He probably should find someone in order to get over these less-than-platonic feelings. The trouble was, he wasn’t interested in anyone else.
“I demand a rematch!” she said, her eyes shining and her heart-shaped face pink from laughter and alcohol. He smiled at the sight, enjoying the view. “Are you ready to take me on again?” she demanded with a giggle.
He shook his head. “Not tonight, I’m afraid. I don’t want to risk losing my title.”
“Next week, then,” she declared with a regal nod. “You’d better be ready.”
“Next week,” he said, reaching out a hand to seal the deal. “It’s on.”
She grasped his hand and gave it a firm shake, then picked up her bottle and drained the last of her beer. After signaling Danny for another round, she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.
“Don’t tell me you’re tuckered out already,” he teased. “It’s not that late yet.”
She opened one eye and shot him a grin. “I’m old—I can’t help it.”
He snorted. “Yeah, right.”
They fell into an easy conversation, teasing affection underlying their exchanges. James felt a flush of pleasure every time he made Kelly laugh, loving the uninhibited sound of her giggle. He always enjoyed their time together, the way he could let down his guard and talk about anything with her without fear of being judged. She made him laugh, she made him think, but most important, she made their time together fun, something that was in short supply in his life.
After two more drinks, she let out a loud sigh, reaching back for her purse and pulling out her wallet.
“It’s been fun, as always, but I’m gonna head home.” She dropped several bills on the table, then stood and grabbed her jacket.
James hurried to stand, as well. “Let me walk you to the Metro,” he said, digging out his wallet and dropping some money on the table. He caught Danny’s eye and gestured to the money on the table before hurrying to catch up with Kelly.
She stopped by the door and blew the bartender a kiss. “’Night, Danny. See you next week.”
“Good night, Kelly.” He waved at her. “You stay close to James, now, you hear?”
She whirled around, almost bumping into his chest, and reached out to link her arm through his. “Is this close enough?” she asked.
Danny nodded. “That’ll work. You two be careful.”
“We will,” James said, escorting Kelly out the door.
The rain had stopped sometime earlier, and the streetlights reflected off the puddles, making the sidewalk glow. The air was clean and crisp with the scent of rain, and he hoped the walk combined with the fresh air would help sober her up.
She stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk, jerking on his arm to stay upright. “Guess I’m a little tipsier than I thought,” she said with a giggle.
“That’s what happens when you drink car bombs,” he replied. “Here, let me help.” He placed an arm over her shoulder to steady her, meaning to keep the gesture as platonic as possible. His good intentions flew out the window, though, when she snaked an arm around his waist, fitting her body snugly against his side and hooking a finger into his belt loop.
She was warm and soft, and he liked the feel of her pressed against him. Her fingers on the waistband of his pants had his thoughts going off in an entirely inappropriate direction, and he tried to rein them back in to safer territ
ory.
He spent the rest of the walk mentally reciting FBI rules and regulations to keep from fantasizing about the woman under his arm. It wasn’t a foolproof method, but it did prevent his thoughts from getting too far out of line. He nearly sighed with relief when the lighted Metro sign came into view, signaling an end to this most exquisite torture.
They paused at the top of the escalators, and she turned to smile up at him. “Well, James, I hope you have a good night.” She stood on tiptoe to press a smacking kiss against his lips.
It was too much. He had behaved himself during the walk, but the feel of her lips against his caused him to lose his tenuous grip on self-control. Before he realized what he was doing, he grabbed her by the waist and lowered his mouth to hers.
She let out a little “Oh!” of surprise, and he had a split second of doubt before she relaxed against him. Her lips moved under his, and he felt her tongue swipe across his bottom lip; the sensation made his knees wobble.
He deepened the kiss, tasting Guinness and whiskey, reveling in the silky smoothness of her mouth. She pressed closer and he tightened his hold, his hands traveling from her hips to her back, anchoring her into place.
Her hands skimmed down his back, one of them reaching around to squeeze his butt. His hips arched forward in response, and she made a purring sound low in her throat when she felt his erection.
A rude shove forward, accompanied by a muttered “Move!” had him pulling back. A steady stream of people was pouring out of the Metro station, darting around them with various degrees of success. Keeping his hand on her back, James stepped to the side, pulling Kelly with him to take them out of the pedestrian traffic. He had forgotten they were in public, and given her sound of protest and dazed eyes, he’d bet Kelly had forgotten, too.
“My place?” he said, the words flying out of his mouth like bullets from a gun, unstoppable and just as dangerous.
She nodded enthusiastically, with no hint of hesitation or reluctance. Her eyes were clear and bright, her mouth curved up in a sexy smile that made him want to lean in for another kiss.
His condo was about two miles away—too far to walk, especially given the state he was in. He grabbed her hand, leading her toward the curb, and flagged down a taxi.
Kelly reached for his hand after they’d settled in the backseat and the car started to move, pulling it into her lap and turning it over to trace patterns in his palm with her fingertip. He leaned back into the seat, closing his eyes and enjoying the feel of her touch. It had been a while since he’d been with anyone, and he hadn’t realized until now just how much he missed being touched. Not necessarily in a sexual way—he just missed feeling someone else’s body against his, missed the comfort that only came when skin touched skin. He’d read somewhere that babies who weren’t touched regularly failed to thrive, and he understood all too well how that could happen.
Moments later, the car pulled to a stop in front of his building. He fished out a bill for the cabby and helped Kelly to her feet, placing a hand at the small of her back to guide her into the building.
She stood close to him in the elevator, the faint scent of her perfume making him want to bury his nose in her neck to get a better whiff. Honeysuckle and something else warm and subtle. Whatever it was, it was deeply appealing, and he couldn’t wait to run his nose over her body to find where exactly she had applied it.
He ushered her into his condo, their progress momentarily halted by the two cats sitting at the end of the foyer, wearing identical expressions of bored superiority. They mewed at him, then turned and headed for the kitchen, confident he would follow along to feed them.
“You have cats,” she said, a smile in her voice. “Why didn’t I know this?”
He shrugged, at a loss. “It never came up?”
“That’s true. I certainly never expected the big, bad FBI agent to have cats. A dog, maybe, but cats? I’m impressed. What are their names?”
“The black one is Edgar, and the orange one is Eliot. They’re brothers, believe it or not.”
She stared at him for a beat, then threw back her head and laughed. The rich, throaty sound had warmth spreading through his chest, and he reached out to touch her again.
“Let me guess,” she said. “Eliot Ness and J. Edgar Hoover?”
He nodded with a grin, leaning down to kiss her. She stood on tiptoe to bring her mouth closer, but she stopped when she heard another meow from the direction of the kitchen, this time louder and more insistent. “I think they’re hungry,” she said.
He cast her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. Do you mind if I feed them real quick? They’ll leave us alone if they’re full....” He trailed off, feeling suddenly self-conscious.
“No problem. I grew up with cats, so I understand. I’ll just take the opportunity to use your bathroom.”
“Down the hall, to your right,” he said. He watched her disappear into the bathroom, then turned and headed for the kitchen.
He wrenched open the cabinet door, grabbing two bowls with one hand as he pulled open the drawer and reached for a spoon with another. After hastily pulling out two cans of food from the pantry, he pulled the tops off and dumped the food with a splat, the cats winding around his legs as if to urge him along.
He set the bowls down and stroked each cat once, then left them to their dinner and headed into the living room to wait. He sat on the couch, then stood to pace the room.
I can’t believe this is really happening. His stomach fluttered with anticipation, his fingertips tingling with the desire to touch her smooth skin again. Just the thought of running his hands and lips over her body had his heart pounding double time. It was a wonder she hadn’t heard it in the elevator.
Was he doing the right thing? She seemed to want this, too, if her earlier responses were any indication. She’d returned his kisses eagerly, her hands roaming his body with abandon. Warmth flooded his system as he recalled the feel of her gripping him, pulling his hips against her, arching into him and rubbing against the bulge in his pants. She’d been refreshingly direct in her response, and he couldn’t wait to pick up where they’d left off.
Was it because she was drunk though? He frowned at the intrusive thought, but he couldn’t dismiss it out of hand. He wanted to take things to the next level, but only if she was fully on board. He wouldn’t take advantage of her intoxication to sleep with her, no matter how badly he wanted her. All the signs were there, but could a woman who had consumed six drinks really consent? He’d worked enough cases in his days as a police officer to know that alcohol and sex were a dangerous combination. He glanced down at his crotch with a sigh, willing his arousal to recede. He should probably set her up in the guest bedroom and go to sleep alone, after taking a cold shower. It would be a disappointing end to the evening, but probably best for all involved.
Resigned to his fate, he walked back to the couch and sat down. It would be okay. They could laugh, blame their kisses on alcohol and go back to the way things were. Safe. Easy. It was the right thing to do, he knew, but he couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Now that he knew how she felt in his arms, what she tasted like, it would be hard to go back to being just friends.
I’ll do it, though, he thought with a sigh, stretching out his legs in an attempt to find a comfortable position. Better to have Kelly as a friend than not at all.
* * *
Kelly stared at her reflection in the mirror, amazed that her heart hadn’t pounded right out of her chest. What was she doing? James was her friend—was she really about to have sex with her friend? Yes, the man was gorgeous, with his dark brown hair, bedroom eyes and strong, square jaw, but he was her friend. It had been so long since she’d been friends with a man that she didn’t want to risk jeopardizing their relationship just so she could scratch an itch.
But...he had kissed her. Technically, she supposed she had started it. She hadn’t meant to take things that far—she’d just wanted to feel his lips against hers, and if he’d pulled away she
could have blamed it on the alcohol. She’d been shocked by his reaction, to say the least.
She blushed as she recalled where her hands had been, how she’d reacted when she’d felt his response to her. It had been so long since she’d felt desirable and beautiful, and the attention of this attractive man had gone straight to her head. Even more amazing was the effect she seemed to have on him, as well. She ran her hand down to her belly, rubbing the spot where he had pressed firmly against her. He wants me, she marveled, a shiver dancing over her skin at the thought.
She drew her hand up, running the palm over her ribs. Her injuries had long since healed, but the ghost of the pain was never far away. All it took was a look, an accidental touch or a whiff of cologne and she was back to that awful night, broken and bleeding and oh-so-scared.
She frowned at her reflection, not liking the direction of her thoughts. She took a deep breath and tried to focus on something pleasant, stuffing the memories and insecurities back into the box where they belonged.
“James is not Gary,” she said softly. “He won’t hurt me.”
Neither did Gary at first.
She shook her head at the errant thought, firmly dismissing it. No. James was not Gary. James was a decent man, her friend—nothing like Gary. She had to start trusting people again, and James was a good place to start.
Her mind was made up, but despite her resolve, she couldn’t ignore the tight ball of nervous energy in her stomach. She pressed her hand there, taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly. Her lips curved up in anticipation as she imagined kissing him again, running her hands over his chest and lower....
After one last look in the mirror, she walked out of the bathroom and into the living room. He stood when she entered and offered her a seat on the couch, then resumed his place as she settled onto the cushion.
He was warm, and this close she could smell the spicy citrus of his cologne. She inhaled deeply, resisting the urge to press her nose into his neck to get closer to the source. She’d always loved his smell, and soon it would be all over her. Goose bumps broke out on her skin at the thought, and she rubbed her arms absently.
