"We both..." She gasped as he sucked gently on her neck. "We don't need to practice." He swirled his tongue around her ear lobe, and she trembled. "I think...I think we'll be convincing."
His lips curved against her throat. "Yeah, I think we will be." His mouth trailed down to lick at the hollow between her collarbones. "But you know what they always say."
She couldn't stop herself from asking. Not when his mouth was doing wicked things to the pulse point on her neck. "What do they say?"
He licked along the edge of her collar bone, as if trying to absorb her flavor. Memorize it. Then, with his mouth against her skin, he murmured, "How you practice is how you play."
Cilla slid her hands beneath her thighs to keep from reaching for him. "Don't..." A tiny moan escaped as his mouth moved into the vee of her sweater. "Don't think this is what they meant."
"I think this is exactly what they meant." His voice vibrated against her chest and made her squirm. She was so far gone, she didn't even try to hold still.
He slipped the rest of his hand into her jeans, splayed his fingers against her back, and tugged her closer. She felt the imprint of every finger, the ridge of every line on his fingertips. His little finger trailed lower, close to the cleft of her ass, and she sucked in a ragged breath as fire licked through her.
"You're trembling, Cilla." He nuzzled the top of her bra. "Why are you trembling?"
"You're...you're making me nervous."
His mouth curved as he trailed his lips across her skin. "Yeah? Then I'm doing something right."
She slid her hands along his arms. To hold him away? To bring him closer? "We're in a car." Her voice was breathless. Far too aroused. "In daylight. Someone might see us." She hadn't given one thought to anyone walking past her car.
This was a really bad idea. But she couldn't force herself to let Brendan go.
"Would it bother you if someone saw us?" He slid one of his hands over her abdomen. "Or would you like it?" The back of his fingers skimmed the bottom of her breast, and she had to stop herself from arching into his hand. "You liked it last night when those assholes were watching us."
"We wanted them to watch us. That was part of the game," she panted.
His hands tightened on her. "Not a game," he said, his voice a low rumble against her skin. He lifted his head, and she forced her eyes open to meet his gaze. His eyes glittered with need. With desire. The musk scent rising off his skin made her tighten her grip on him.
"This has nothing to do with the job. With the game. I want you, Cilla. Have since you stepped out of that car on the Ryan."
He pressed his mouth to hers and kissed her hard. As if he'd been holding it inside too long and the need to claim her was too much to contain.
As if he'd die if he didn't kiss her.
His desperation triggered an answering craving in her. She needed to touch him. To feel his skin against hers. To taste every inch of him. She was as wild and hot as he was.
The tiny part of her brain that was still functioning knew it was Cujo. His shooting had triggered an elemental need. To prove they were still alive.
That need had crashed through all her barriers. She uncurled her hands from his arms and wrapped her arms around his neck. Tried to get closer.
His mouth was intoxicating. Sweet and spicy and warm. Like something delicious made just for her.
When she slid her tongue along the seam of his lips, he groaned and opened to her. She tasted coffee. The bite of the spearmint candy he'd been crunching at the hospital. Beneath that, a flavor all his own. The cool smoothness of his teeth. The tenderness of the skin inside his lips.
He gasped in a breath when her tongue touched his, then tried to drag her closer. His tongue stroked hers rhythmically and he tightened his grip on her.
Flames licked her skin, and he'd barely touched her. She needed to feel his skin against hers, but the console separating the seats was in the way. She leaned over it until she was laying on top of the console, kneeling on her seat. Brendan groaned and tried to pull her into his lap.
The steering wheel was in the way. He reached around her, fumbling for the lever beneath her seat. The seat flew backward, tumbling her forward into his lap.
Even through the denim of his jeans, she felt the heat of his thick penis against her face. He sucked in a breath above her and held her against him for a long moment, his fingers digging into her back. Then he lifted her slowly and brought her face close to his, kissing her again.
"We're too god-damned old to be doing this in the car," he said, his voice raspy against her mouth. "Let's go inside."
Chapter 9
Brendan sucked in a lungful of air, then another. They were sitting in a car on the street. The red and orange autumn leaves of the trees on the parkway glowed in the daylight. Less than five feet away, people walked past the car. He needed to calm down.
Cilla moved against him, and he groaned again. Calming down wasn't possible when her heart thundered against his hand. When she was breathing as heavily as he was. When her hands were gripping his back so tightly that she'd leave marks on his skin.
He wanted her. Right now. Right here. And she wanted him, too. When he moved his hand over her soft, silky skin, her taut abdominal muscles jumped against his fingers.
And when he pressed his lips to hers, her hips jerked in response.
"Inside," he muttered against her mouth. "Now."
She drew away and he followed, trying to catch her mouth again. But she flopped back against her seat, pressing her arm across her eyes. "No way am I going inside with you, Donovan. I'm not that stupid."
Brendan shifted, trying to get more comfortable. "You have to come inside. The sixteenth is going to need those two binders of mug shots you brought."
"Damn it." She drew a deep, shuddering breath and dropped her arm from her face. "I'll wait here. You can bring them down to me."
"No way." He opened the car door and eased carefully to his feet. "I'm not walking up and down those stairs twice. I'll damage my...the goods. Might never be able to have kids."
She raised one eyebrow and smirked as she got out of the car. "You daddy material, Donovan? Never would have guessed that. Who's the lucky baby mama?"
"Don't have one. But you never know." An image of Charlotte, his aunt Helen's baby, flashed through his head. Helen and Jamie were completely besotted. The kid had turned the whole Donovan clan into baby-talking, cooing, grinning idiots.
Not that he'd ever admit he was as smitten as the rest of them.
The car chirped as Cilla locked it, then she walked past him and pushed open the gate to the courtyard. When she turned to watch him walking carefully after her, she bit her lip. He could see the grin in her eyes, though. "Having some trouble there, cowboy? Been on your horse too long?"
"Haven't been on anything," he muttered. "That's the problem."
He was still aching when they reached the top of the stairs. Still painfully hard. Cilla giggled beside him, and he ground his teeth to keep himself from turning her into the wall and showing her exactly what she'd done to him.
His hand shook as he tried to fit his key into the lock of his apartment. When he finally succeeded, he shoved the door open. As soon as Cilla walked into his apartment, he crowded in behind her and slammed the door shut.
He spun her around and pressed her against it. "You thought that was funny, Marini?"
"It was mildly amusing."
Her lips were still bright red. Swollen from the kisses they'd exchanged. Her eyes were still dilated, too. "You like seeing what you do to me?" he asked. He brushed his hand over her breasts, felt her nipples harden against his palm. "I like feeling what I do to you."
His finger toyed with the waistband of her jeans. "If I slide my hand down here, what am I going to find?" he whispered into her ear. When she shuddered against him and grabbed his wrists, he tugged gently on her lobe. "I think you want me, Cilla. Just as much as I want you."
He slid one finger past the wais
tband over her hot, smooth skin, and she tightened her grip on him. Stuttered out a breath. "I think you're gonna be wet."
"I think you have a big ego," she managed to say. But her voice was hoarse. Raspy with need.
"I have a big something." He pressed his almost painfully swollen cock into her, leaving no doubt about what she'd done to him. "And it's your fault."
Her hips jerked against his, and she slid one leg between his, pressing against his leg. She let go of his wrists and wrapped her arms around his neck.
He slid his lips against hers, finally sucking her lower lip into his mouth. "What do you say, Cilla?" he whispered. His tongue touched hers, waited for her to respond, then slid away. "Should we bet on it?"
"Bet on what?" She chased his mouth when he whispered into her ear.
"On whether or not you're wet."
She didn't answer. Instead, she gripped his hair and found his lips with hers. Her mouth opened, and he swept inside.
She groaned as his tongue tangled with hers, and Brendan wrapped one arm around her to keep her against him.
His other hand fumbled with the button at her waist, then slid the zipper down. When he reached her center, she was hot. Ready for him. He swirled one finger around her clit, and she cried out. Wrapped her legs around his waist.
Her hands fumbled at his waist, then she thrust the button through the hole. Tugged at his zipper. Shoved his jeans down and took him in her hand.
"God, Cilla." He sucked in a breath as his hips twitched. He devoured her mouth until his balls drew up. Until his cock throbbed.
He unpeeled her legs from his waist and pushed her jeans to the floor, yanking them off her legs. His fingernails scraped against her skin, and she bucked against him. His hand trembled as he tore away the scrap of purple silk that covered her. Then he lifted her up and slid into her.
She made tiny cries as he thrust into her, the door rattling rhythmically in its frame. She moaned into his mouth and clutched him tighter. Then, knowing he was close, needing her with him, he put his hand between them and touched her.
She screamed into his mouth as she came, her hips jerking frantically. He clenched her ass more tightly as he followed her over, kissing her deeply as his orgasm went on and on. When they finally stopped moving, he sank to the floor, his arms tight around her. She fit against him perfectly. He tucked her head into the crook of his neck and inhaled the scent of her hair. Something sweet and citrusy. He inhaled deeply. Oranges.
She nuzzled farther into his neck as she sucked in deep breaths, her chest heaving against his. He wanted to lift her shirt over her head, feel her skin against his. As his fingers toyed with the hem of her shirt, she eased away from him.
She stood up, grabbed her sexy purple underwear and tugged it on, followed by her jeans. She hadn't said a word.
When she headed for the couch and picked up the two mug shot binders she'd brought with her, Brendan stood up and pulled on his own jeans. "Cilla?"
She stilled, her back to him. "Yeah?"
"You okay?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" She turned to face him, the books held tight to her chest.
Dread slithered down his spine. Cilla's eyes were cool. Impossible to read. Her expression was carefully blank. She'd thrown up a wall, and nothing of the real Cilla was visible.
The composed, cool woman who'd faced down Ryan Ward earlier that afternoon stared back at him. The woman who allowed nothing of her real self to show. No reactions. No emotions. Nothing.
They'd just had mind-blowing sex against his door, and he felt as if he was staring at a stranger.
"I thought...I thought you were into that as much as I was."
"I was." Her throat rippled as she swallowed. "But I know it didn't mean anything. It was about the hospital. What happened to Cujo. Reminding each other we're still alive. Yada yada." She clutched the books more tightly. "It doesn't change anything."
"Then what's wrong?"
The knuckles of her fingers whitened on the binders. "We shouldn't have done that. We have a job to do, and sex isn't part of that job."
She was probably right. And if he hadn't been so twitchy at the hospital, if he had been thinking clearly, he would have known that, too. But having sex with Cilla had been a better alternative than thinking about ending up in the hospital himself with a bullet in his chest. And once he'd kissed her, he didn't want to stop.
"We can still do our job," he said. "Nothing has to change."
"Once you get naked with someone, everything changes."
"We weren't technically naked," he began, then stopped. He wasn't helping his case here. "I mean, it was a heat of the moment thing. We'll control ourselves better in the future."
"Yes. We will. Because we're not going to put ourselves in this situation again." She brushed past him, careful not to touch him, and opened his door. "I'll see you at the pub tonight."
"I'll be there."
She closed the door without answering him, and he listened to her footsteps receding down the hall. After a long moment, he heard the faint slam of the lobby door closing.
He wandered over to the window and watched her walking through the courtyard. She didn't look back. She simply opened the gate, got into her car and drove away.
The exhaust from her car dissolved into nothing and disappeared. Just like whatever he'd been building with Cilla.
He'd screwed up. Big time. He'd wanted Cilla since the moment she'd stepped out of her car on the Ryan, but he'd been too impulsive. Too reckless. Since the moment they'd left the hospital, he hadn't thought further ahead than getting her into bed.
Hadn't thought beyond the moment.
Maybe it was time he started. Maybe it was time to stop reacting. Stop listening to the adrenaline coursing through his body. Start using his head, instead.
He threw himself onto the couch, leaned back and closed his eyes. Cilla wasn't the kind of woman he normally dated. Those women were shallow. They wanted fun and games and understood the score.
Cilla was a serious woman and deserved to be taken seriously. Deserved to be...to be courted. Wooed into bed.
The kind of woman you made love to all night long.
Not that he had any experience with that kind of woman. He'd gone out of his way to avoid them in the past. But he wanted Cilla. Even more, now that they'd had sex. He wanted her again. Slower this time. More carefully.
Not that he'd ever get the chance. She'd been very clear. One and done. That was Cilla. They'd had their one, and now she was done.
Regret burned in his belly for the mistake he'd made.
After a long time, he stood up and slid into his desk chair. Opened his computer, brought up his word processing program and began to type.
* * *
He got to the pub later than he'd intended that night. An hour and a half earlier, he'd looked up from his computer and realized it was already seven in the evening. He'd showered, thrown on his 'work' clothes, and gulped down a turkey sandwich before running out of his apartment.
Traffic was a bitch, and by the time he reached the pub, the band was already playing. As he yanked open the outer door, the sound of Cilla's singing voice, low and sexy, echoed in the small vestibule, reminding him of the raspy murmur of her voice that afternoon, when she'd been pressed so tightly against him.
Hell, no. He wasn't going there.
Except that he had to. His hand tightened around the door handle. He was supposed to be infatuated. Hot for her. Stupid over her.
He'd been stupid this afternoon. Tonight, he was going to use his head. Be the partner she needed.
He clenched his teeth until his jaw ached, then threw back his shoulders and yanked open the inner door. Show time.
Cilla sat at her keyboard. He had a perfect view of the honey-colored waves of hair curling over her shoulders. As well as the backless shirt she wore. The two edges of the dark green, silky material hung close together, but they shifted as she moved. Every twitch of her shoulders revealed a flash of s
kin, hidden again the next moment.
Not a bra strap in sight.
It was a shirt designed to bring a man to his knees. And judging by the number of men clustered near the door, where they had a perfect view, it was doing its job really well.
With clothes like those, Cilla had clearly taken her job in vice very seriously.
Unless those were the clothes she wore on dates.
Jealousy, hot and fierce, flashed through him like lightning.
He closed his eyes and squashed it. He had no right to be jealous.
He loosened his hands, shook out his fingers and elbowed his way through the crowd of men. He wanted to tell them all to wipe the drool from their mouths. Instead, he muscled up to the bar and gave the bartender the order for his usual – Warsteiner Premium, a non-alcoholic beer.
It looked as if he was drinking, just like everyone else in the pub, but he could keep a clear head. And as a bonus, it didn't suck like most non-alcoholic beers.
Once he had his beer, he turned away from the band. He didn't want to be one of the crowd of lust-struck hopefuls gawking at Cilla. If he did, he'd have to think about how he'd screwed up.
So he headed to the back of the bar to do his god-damned job and check out what was going on.
He spotted Tiffany right away. It wasn't hard. She wore another rainbow-colored dress – yellow, tonight – and glowed golden in the subdued light of the pub. She was deep in conversation with a tall, thin man with sandy hair. The guy wore a shirt with a dizzying mixture of blues, reds and purples. Brendan watched for a while, then glanced away when Tiffany patted Loud Shirt's arm, smiled brightly at him, then walked away.
What the hell did she do with all these guys she connected with? Give them her cards? Hook up with them later? They'd searched the database for known call girls, but hadn't seen her.
Maybe she was a new player who hadn't yet been arrested.
Holly was in the same chair at the bar, nursing a martini and watching everyone around her. Another mystery. She hadn't shown up in any of the books or databases, either.
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