by D. C. Stone
As if the fog cleared, her grip tightened on his shoulders, clutching him, drawing him closer to her sweet temptation. Blunt nails scored through his shirt. He rubbed his lips across hers, breathed in her gasps. She tore away from his mouth and sent her seeking lips over his jaw. He tilted his head and moaned as a tongue darted out and licked a path up his neck. His cock jumped, pulsed against her stomach.
She arched her hips, bowed her back, and lifted to her toes. Her lips roamed over his skin, seeking adventure with his pleasure. He dropped his head and captured her mouth again, wanting more, needing her hands on him. As if she heard his silent plea, her touch wandered over his clothing.
Please.
She pulled his shirt from the waistband of his pants and sent her hands beneath.
Contact. He hissed. Everywhere she touched sent fire licking in its path, torturing him, propelling his desire higher.
She broke off from his mouth, dropped her head, and set chaste kisses over his shirt, and dragged a blunt nail across his nipple. Electricity sparked under her touch.
“Christ, Charlie. Have mercy.”
She apparently didn’t hear his prayer, and he wasn’t sure he cared. In one smooth motion, she ripped his shirt over his head and before he could drop his arms, her hands went seeking.
“Trent.”
His name sounded sweet coming from her mouth. She lifted her gaze to his and held it, intention and lust swirling in her beautiful eyes. Her pink tongue lapped his hardened nipple, moist, hot, and sexy as hell. He leaned into her and smacked his hands against the wall by her head.
The urge to sink inside her was so strong he did not notice her hands drop, barely heard his belt unbuckle and his jeans unsnap. The sound of his zipper pierced through the haze, but not fast enough to stop her from taking him into her palm. She hovered over his nipple, blew warm, moist air over it, her grasp still on his cock. Everything narrowed to the feel of her in two very different places at once. His pulse roared in his ears, the room spun, and just as he went to move, her mouth clamped over the tightening bud and sucked. Fisting his erection, she slid a slow, languorous path down his length.
Fire licked his balls, and he shook, groaned, unable to hold any reaction back. Her grip tightened and increased. He hovered on the edge of an orgasm, and wanted to go over that ledge so damn bad. If he didn’t stop soon, he’d spill all over her like some randy teenager getting off on his first bite of lust. Trent had never been stingy with his lovers, and he wasn’t about to start now.
As hard as it was, he pulled her hand away. His body cried out at the loss, and his dick jerked. He ignored it and lifted her. She wrapped long, slim legs around his hips. He pivoted, and set her on the table. His mouth slammed over hers again, their teeth clashing in a tangle of need.
Pushing her back, he fumbled with the tie holding her lightweight pants around her waist while he trailed kisses along her jaw. He nipped and sucked a path lower, growling as the knot stuck and refused to move. With a vivid curse, he pulled back, tore at the strings until they spread. He glanced up at her, intent on diving right back in, then paused at the sight of her red neck.
“Fuck.” The word punched out, and the air remaining in his lungs left in a gush.
She pulled at his shoulders, but he resisted.
“Charlie, stop,” he murmured, his gaze breaking his damn heart.
She didn’t, and he had to pull away from the shelter of her body, from the temptation she offered. He swiped a hand across his scalp. Irritation surged like a geyser. Disgust replaced the lust-boil, and turned heat into tendrils of ice.
“What’s wrong?” Her words came out as if she had run a marathon.
He turned to her, his gaze drawn to the marks on her neck. “What’s wrong? Jesus, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be here accosting you on your table.”
Charlie reached for him, and he stepped out of range from her. She froze, and her features changed, moved from desire to confusion and hurt. It tore at him, and he hated that he put that look there. Her lips were swollen and wet, hair tousled as if she just rolled from bed. Her clothing was pinched and in disarray, and yet she’d never looked so beautiful. Sexy. He would do anything to sink within her, wanted nothing more than to give to her, to take the promise of pleasure.
He couldn’t, though.
The sight of her was neck a reminder he was not worthy, had been the cause of too many females in his life getting hurt.
They stared at one another while he stuffed his painfully hard cock back into his pants. His lips thinned, and he waited for the nausea to rise up from the lack of release. He deserved every minute of the torture he was about to experience.
“Charlie,” he began, his voice low and cautious, “about tonight.”
“Stop.” She slid off the table. “God, I’m such an idiot. Look, it’s fine. Things got a little carried away is all. Forget it.” She tied the strings of her pants in short, jerky movements, and avoided his gaze.
Stepping around him with a wide arc, she picked up her Glock. While she stuffed it back in its holster, he moved behind her and clenched fists at his sides. He itched to touch her.
“Is that what you think? Do you honestly believe that?” He let out a short, un-humorous laugh. “Right now isn’t the time for this. After tonight, I don’t understand how you could even think of letting me take pleasure in your body. I put those damn marks on you, Charlie. Hell, I have never done something so drastic, never put my hands on a woman. I don’t even know what to think anymore.”
She whirled around, her hair fanning out behind, fury visible. “You mean, why I wanted to fuck you? Just say it, Trent. Do not pretty it up with nice words or even act as if you’re this polite man who isn’t looking to get his rocks off. I know exactly who you are.”
He narrowed his eyes at the suggestion, not liking what he saw. His gut clenched with a sparkle of trepidation. “Tell me, then. Just who do you think I am?”
She crossed her arms and refused to break his gaze. “The moment I say the words out loud is when I can’t ignore it any longer.”
Bafflement sent him jerking back. “Do what? Ignore what, Charlie?”
She sighed and looked away. “I can’t admit it yet. If I say it, then what kind of person does that make me? What kind of cop would I be, letting someone like that between my legs? Don’t force me to do this.”
He blinked, and battled with the confusion of her words and the lust they inflamed. She bit her lip, indecision and dread crossing her face. What the fuck? “Charlie.” He took a step.
She held up her hand. “Do not touch me right now. I am so wound up that one more caress, and I’m bound to toss myself at your feet. Since I’d rather not be embarrassed by flinging my body at someone who won’t reciprocate, then I suggest you leave.”
“For crying out loud, talk to me! What in the hell are you thinking? You’re talking in fucking riddles.”
Finally, hazel eyes, dark with lust, lifted to his. “You want me to be blunt? Fine. I’m thinking unless you want to watch me finish what you started, meaning get myself off, then you better leave now.”
Chapter Thirteen
The call came in at seven the next morning, and dread settled like a heavy weight in Charlie’s stomach. Nausea turned in her gut and threatened to bubble up her throat, but she ruthlessly forced it down. As she closed the distance between her home and the one she responded to, her stomach heaved. She rolled her window down and let fresh air in. They were going to be too late. She was too late. Her skin was slick with sweat, sticky with apprehension and leftover sexual tension.
Do not touch me right now, Trent. I am so wound up that one more caress, and I’m bound to toss myself at your feet. She cringed as those shameless words echoed in her head.
Christ, how can you think of something like sex at a time like this, Charlie? Get your fucking head in gear.
She pulled into the drive of Julie Thorngood’s property, and her heart pounded in her chest. She swallowed hard and st
ared ahead. Cop cars lined the driveway. Only one stood out amongst the blue and whites. A black sedan sitting off to the side.
Gary Sedric, the local coroner.
Oh, God.
She stared across the open field where the previous burnt down house had been. Dotted with yellow and brown weeds, the field was empty. She searched for the Range Rover from last night, but only found the tree line on the opposite side, no lingering vehicles. Her head swam with implications and questions. Now, after a few precious hours of sleep, her mistake of not getting the tags off the car, not calling it in, and letting what could have been her perpetrator get away…the case felt like it was sliding right through her fingers like water.
Sweet Jesus.
She opened her door and took a deep breath, trying to calm her churning stomach. Dazed, she bounded up the stairs, pushing past officers standing guard. Her vision narrowed, darkening her peripheral as she met the gruesome scene inside.
Trent glanced up from his perch on the floor with an impassive regard. His face, devoid of any emotion, turned away and he continued a low conversation with the coroner who hovered. She blinked and looked away, turned in a circle, and took the scene in. The violence spoke like a story. Blood spattered over walls, painting an abstract picture of what happened. Glass shards littered the ground, and the evident struggle spoke volumes.
Julie had put up the fight of her life and lost.
The heavy weight from Charlie’s stomach pressed on her heart.
“Charlie.” Dwayne’s voice brought her out of musing, and she focused on his face. She hadn’t noticed him before, and now, glancing away, she noticed several individuals scattered in the room.
The chief and Peter stood in a corner, both wearing frowns. Peter, at least, had on a clean, white shirt this time. Ridiculous to recognize that at a time like this, but she felt out of place in this case. And her old trainer was like a rope to latch on to in a turbulent sea.
Woolsey’s gaze focused on her. Some sort of censor, questions, disappointment, all clouded in his features. Did he know she had been here last night? That she left the vehicle alone in the field without doing anything?
Tearing her attention away, she turned back to Dwayne. Her nerves, already fraught, were shattering like the glass on the floor. It was not until she felt his hand on her nape, propelling her to walk that she realized she was moving.
They stepped onto a deck and rounded the doorframe. Dwayne stepped behind her, wrapped one arm around her waist and bent her forward.
“Breathe, damn it,” he commanded harshly.
Her breaths came in choppy pants, and her chest was tight. She couldn’t get enough air. She tried like hell to pull in a deep lungful of oxygen, but it was as if she were suffocating.
“I can’t,” she choked.
He removed his arm from her waist and knelt beside her. One hand caressed her back.
“Try again. With me, Charlie.”
She turned, still bent over, and concentrated as he pulled in a breath, then let it out. Repeating his actions, she followed along until her breathing leveled. She stood, lifted the hair at her neck and let the wash of cool air roam over her heated skin. She sighed, turned, and walked to the banister lining the wooden deck.
Sugar maple trees dotted the back of the property some hundred feet away. With the summer winding down, a hint of fall touched the leaves. Soon this line would be basked in reds, yellows, pink, and gold. A true canvas for any artist.
Dwayne stepped up.
“Thanks.”
He nodded but did not look at her. Instead, he continued to study the trees, possibly picturing the very thing she did.
“What’s going on with you, Charlie? And don’t lie to me.”
Did he know? Suspect what she did? She froze for a heartbeat, then shook her head, and lied. “Nothing, I’m not feeling well is all.”
He leveled a stare at her. She fidgeted at the anger on his face, then made a huge mistake and flinched when he lifted a hand. She tried to cover the action by relaxing, but it was too late and only pissed him off more.
“Jesus Christ. Are you kidding me right now?” He grabbed her shoulders. His gaze dropped to her neck, and she sucked in a breath. Hell, in all her worry to get here, she had forgotten about the marks. Dwayne skimmed his fingertips against her skin. His soft touch bellied the murderous expression on his face, and the heavy breaths drawing his chest up and down. “Who did this?”
She drew in a choppy breath. “It’s nothing.”
His focus snapped up to hers. “Seriously, again, are you fucking kidding me? Stop lying to me.” He pushed away and paced, ran a shaky hand across his head. “You show up this morning looking like shit.”
She gasped and sputtered. “Wait just a minute. Now who is being a dick?”
He cut her off. “No, you listen. You will damn well listen to me.” As if acting on impulse, he wrapped his thick arms around her and drew her into a hug. His voice, when he spoke, was right next to her ear. “Damn it, Charlie. You have heavy bags under your eyes, and you look exhausted. You show up this morning with red marks lining your neck. You practically hyperventilate at the scene of a murder, and now you’re hiding things from me.” He squeezed her shoulders. “From me. I grew up with you, remember? I know you. I’m not someone you can just brush off.”
The air in her lungs escaped in a rush, and her heart softened at his words. She wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezed back, and then pushed to extract herself from his embrace. Bracing her hands on the warm wood, her mind swam with a million things to say. How could she voice these new feelings? They were unlike anything she felt before, and ones she wasn’t quite ready to let go of yet. And she would have to, seeing as her best friend and confident was one of Nyack’s best detectives. None of this made sense, and she sure as hell could not speak of her suspicions yet. Voicing her concerns would only make things all too real, and she didn’t know if she was ready to part with Trent.
“I’m treading water here, Dwayne. I don’t know how much longer I can keep afloat.” Her chest hurt, not from the steady beat of panic, but as if she were drowning in this case and her feelings. The stress and responsibility lay on her, and the things she knew, what she had seen. All of it ate at her, like acid burning through metal.
Dwayne wrapped one arm around her shoulders. “Perhaps you should ask the chief to take you off this case.”
She reared back, the suggestion like a physical slap. “What? No. You, of all people, understand why that isn’t an option here.”
“Charlie.”
“I said no, damn it.”
He dropped his arm and she faced him. A frown marred the crease between his brows. Concern etched across his features.
“I need to see this through. I am fine. It’s just a big case. And I’m getting really sick and tired of this guy walking all over my town. I’m through with people thinking I’m not holding my own weight. I’m a damn good cop.” The words sounded like a lie even to her. The case was getting to her, yes. But, it was more about who she suspected was behind the crimes and her feelings for this man that got to her more.
Dwayne smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Your town, huh?”
She shrugged and examined the yard again. “It’s all I have left.”
“Bullshit,” he said softly, “you have all of us, too.”
Wood creaked behind them and they both turned their heads toward the sound. Trent stepped outside, his face hard. He glanced between the two of them for several moments, and a muscle popped in his jaw.
“If you’re done, I need to brief you on the scene, Detective Lopez.”
She lifted a brow at the use of a formal name, the edge lacing his voice, and the contempt written over his face.
She glanced back at Dwayne and opened her mouth, but snapped it shut when the door behind them slammed.
****
He’d be damned if he would let her get under his skin.
Fuck, who was he kidding?
She’d already wormed her way there and embedded herself so innately he doubted she’d see the light of day again. Deep, just like he craved to be inside her, between her strong thighs.
Trent shook his head, pulled his thoughts away from Charlie and the erotic images he wanted to act out, and focused on the scene before him. Something seemed all too familiar. A nagging feeling hovered like he’d seen all of this before. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but the thought refused to let go.
Footsteps sounded from behind and he glanced over his shoulder. Charlie and Dwayne walked back inside and each caught his gaze. He refused to be the first to look away and was gifted with a short burst of elation when she turned her gaze away a few seconds later. Dwayne didn’t back down, though, and Trent saw the show of alpha dominance for just what it was—an unspoken threat hanging in the air. Yeah, I see your bet, asshole, and I raise you one swift punch to the face.
Jerk.
How close were Dwayne and Charlie? Had he read the entire situation wrong? Dwayne stayed at Charlie’s house, yet tussled another woman. She did not act like a jealous lover with the dark-skinned detective, nor did Trent pick up on any romantic vibes between them. The embrace he discovered them in outside, though, was anything but just friendly. When he’d joined them, Trent had to draw on every bit of training in order to keep the calm façade in place. When he saw Dwayne’s hands on Charlie, everything in his vision turned red. It bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
Walking away cost him more than he would ever let on.
“All right folks,” the chief began, “this is your show, let’s get it on the road.”
The older guy turned his expectant gaze between Trent and Charlie. Trent cleared his throat.
“Well…” He tore his attention from the chief and motioned toward the scene. “I’d say our subject’s psychological needs have reached a crescendo. It’s obvious from the scene that this was a violent story showing the last few minutes of Thorngood’s life.” He paused and frowned as the Starbucks barista’s flirting smile flashed in his head.
