She tensed beneath the blanket as the sound of a car engine grew closer and then slowed in front of the house. Then the quiet slam of a car door before the car drove away. Barney leapt off the couch before she could grab his collar, dragging the blanket with him and exposing her to a blast of frigid air. She stood and leaned over the edge of the railing to see who was there. The outside light was on between the properties, and she’d arranged to get motion sensor lights installed on both homes tomorrow, assuming the storm wasn’t too fierce. No way was she letting someone ambush her from the shadows again.
A figure emerged from the road. ASAC Frazer, carrying a large cardboard box under one arm, a heavy bag in the other. Her pulse gave a little leap as she recognized his silhouette. Dammit. She pressed her hand to her belly and heard him laugh as Barney planted his front paws on his chest and tried to give him a kiss on the lips.
“Just my luck, I get the dog rather than the girl.”
His words made her heart race, and she pulled back out of sight. God, what was wrong with her? The unsettled feeling inside her swelled and throbbed along her nerves. Her nipples tightened, and a tingle formed between her legs. It wasn’t the recent attacks that had caused her insomnia—it was her attraction to this man.
She slipped quietly down the steps to the beach. Her house was locked up. Her gun was holstered beneath her left arm. She called out, “Barney. Here boy.”
Frazer came into sight and stopped. His eyes swept from the top of her messy hair to the bottom of her bare feet, taking in all the hotspots in-between. “Dr. Campbell.” He cleared his throat. “Everything okay?”
She bit her lip. Was it? Not really. She shouldn’t be here, but she didn’t want to leave. There was something in his eyes—darkness, pain, and a searing heat, that matched what simmered inside her. She swallowed, trying to get some moisture back in her mouth.
“I heard you went to a lot of effort to make sure that image of Kit disappeared from the Internet. You don’t know how grateful I am for that.”
“There’s no guarantee it won’t reappear, and the last thing I want from you is gratitude.” His voice was terse. Angry, even.
“Let me help you.” She took the bag from his fingers. Tried not to react when she touched bare skin. He followed her silently up the stairs. She stopped at the door. Realizing she didn’t have a key, she turned to him, nervous now, heart hammering.
He fished out the keys, unlocking the door and opening it wide. Barney rushed inside to check out the place. “Is this a booty call, Dr. Campbell?”
Her lips parted ever so slightly in shock. She knew he was direct, but she hadn’t expected him to be quite so forthright. She looked away, annoyed with herself for not being able to meet his directness head-on. She didn’t play games, but she knew she shouldn’t get involved with this man. She folded her arms across her chest, realizing how pathetic she must appear, wanting him, but being too afraid to act upon it. “Maybe. I couldn’t sleep.”
He went inside, placing the cardboard box on the coffee table, dumping his bag on the floor and turning the murder board to face the wall.
“Come in.” His eyes challenged her to be honest about her reasons for being here.
Her mouth went dry. Her body craved something that would take her mind off the bad things that were happening on the island, something that would wear her out enough to enable her to sleep. Sex was good stress relief. It didn’t need to be anything more complicated than that.
She walked into the cottage with every nerve in her body feeling like it was raw and exposed. Holding his gaze, she closed the door softly behind her. “I could make you something to eat—”
“I don’t want anything to eat, Dr. Campbell. Unless it’s you.”
Oh, God. She ached. Between her legs. Under her ribcage. In all the small places around her body that hadn’t felt a man’s touch in so long she couldn’t even remember. Time to make a decision and either be honest about this or get the hell out.
“Then I’m thinking this is probably a booty call, ASAC Frazer.” Her eyes met his. “But before we get naked, I do need to know your first name.”
* * *
FRAZER DIDN’T DO one night stands, or anonymous hook-ups. He didn’t trust easily and sex involved a lot of trust—or, at least, it should. He’d seen so much unspeakable horror lately. He needed to bury the images, rein in the thoughts that constantly reeled around his head. Otherwise he was going to go insane. He’d had a few women friends in the past who’d wanted the same sort of no-strings relationship he did. But over the last six months, he’d let those relationships dissolve. He’d lost interest. They’d moved on. He hadn’t cared.
Then he’d met Isadora Campbell.
Now every cell in his body exploded to life even though he stayed perfectly still. So much for exhaustion. And who the hell needed sleep?
“Where’s Kit?” he asked.
“Asleep. The house is locked.”
He could see nerves competing with desire in her expression. She was uncertain as to the wisdom of this decision. He got that. But they’d danced around this long enough, and he was ready to get Isadora Campbell out of his system. He took a step toward her, captured her face in his hands and kissed her, fiercely. Her soft lips parted in surprise. Her fingers gripped his biceps, and he wondered if she was going to force him away. She should. He was demanding and difficult. Distracted most of the time. Focused on death. The only thing that truly mattered to him was getting evil off the streets. He wasn’t one for pretty words. Nor paying lip service to false images of romance.
Right now he was happy to spend a few hours paying lip service to Isadora Campbell’s body.
It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in love. He did. His parents had loved one another until their last breath. But love and romance weren’t always the same thing. Some women needed the imagery of roses and candlelight, whereas he preferred tangled limbs beneath plain white sheets.
She didn’t push him away.
Instead she opened her mouth and kissed him back, pulling him toward her by his lapels. It was all the permission he needed, and he turned them around and walked her backward down the corridor. Her fingers began to undo his shirt buttons, and the desire he’d been fighting since he’d first seen her standing on that windswept beach, oblivious to the effect she had on men, burst free.
He needed a shower, but if he asked her to wait for him to get cleaned up, she might get cold feet and change her mind. He wasn’t about to relinquish the advantage, so he maneuvered them both inside the bathroom, shutting the door behind them and locking it.
He left the room in darkness, alleviated by the outside light that shone through the window. He didn’t want her to see the expression in his eyes—it was too grim, he was too wounded by death and failure. This was a selfish act, although he hoped to hell she enjoyed it. He needed her. He turned on the shower without letting go of her lips. She tasted of hot chocolate. He kissed her deeper, savoring her sweetness as she unhooked her gun holster before carefully laying it on the floor. He yanked her t-shirt out of her pants as her hands went back to his bare chest, her fingers skimming his body like she needed to touch every inch of him. He could get with that program. He shrugged out of his jacket, placing his SIG onto the floor beside her gun. He jerked his shirt off, throwing it aside. Her fingers were at his belt as he pulled her t-shirt up and over her head and then dragged her yoga pants and panties down her legs so she was completely naked in front of him. Her fingers shook trying to undo the button of his pants, but he was too busy looking at her body rimmed with silvery light to be in any rush to finish getting undressed.
“You are beautiful.” He skimmed a gentle hand over her shoulder and down her arm. She had more curves than he’d anticipated. Her breasts were pale and soft and seemed to swell under his gaze. Small nipples beaded and hardened and he wanted to take them in his mouth. But, first, he wanted to look at her. The curve of her hips was subtle, the long slender legs and pretty feet with high a
rches and cute toes. Her hair tangled and twisted around her face. He ran a finger over a pale fine brow, down a high cheekbone and then smoothed it over the beauty mark that sat above her lips.
She brought her hand up to his. “I hate that mole.”
He took her fingers in his, kissed them, kissed it. “I love it.”
Her eyes flashed in the darkness.
It wasn’t just her physical beauty that called to him. She had an integrity he admired. A sense of duty and service that spoke to his own. Depth. She had depth, and he’d never been good with shallow women even though he’d married one. And Isadora Campbell was enough of an enigma to keep his brain, as well as other parts of his body, interested.
It was rare to find both—or maybe that was just him.
She bit her lip, probably unsettled at the way he was staring at her like he was going to consume her. A rush of lust hit him. He took over undoing his pants before kicking everything aside. He tested the temperature of the water and adjusted it so it didn’t freeze or scald them. Then he picked her up by the hips. She squeaked as he put her in the shower. He followed her, backing her up against the cold tiled wall. Her hair was tied up on top of her head, but loose tendrils clung to her damp skin and her teeth chattered.
But it wasn’t cold.
He hesitated. “Changed your mind?”
“No.”
“Scared?”
“No.”
“Good.” He took the shower gel off the shelf and poured a large amount in his palm. The scent of vanilla engulfed them both. He washed his body first, removing the grime and taint of death that seemed embedded in his pores. He shoved his head under the spray to wash away all trace of prison and crime scenes, murder and violence.
All he wanted was to forget. For a little while.
Isadora watched him carefully, those sage green eyes almost black in the darkness.
“You’re beautiful, too.” She raised her hands to touch him, but he moved out of reach, not because he didn’t want her hands on him, but because he wanted his hands on her first.
He held up the shower gel. “Your turn.”
Hot water steamed the small cubicle. He watched the ripple of her throat as he moved closer, and used both hands to smooth soap over her collarbones, tracing the delicate jut of bone that fascinated him. He washed down her arms, caressing her elbows, all the way to her fingers, which he squeezed slightly in reassurance.
Trust me, his fingers said.
She squeezed him back. They each seemed equally uncertain as to the steps they were taking. His hands moved to her hips and back up her body, cupping her breasts. He closed his eyes as he absorbed the sensation of peaked nipples and soft skin.
The pulse at the base of her neck throbbed against his lips. Her heart pounded against his palm. His erection ached, especially when she reached out, touching, molding, stroking. He gritted his teeth as those cool fingers wrapped around him and squeezed. He grazed his thumb over her nipple and she gasped. He moved on, washing her thighs and then turning her to face the wall while he ran his hands over the lean muscles of her back and the soft fullness of her ass, all the way down to the back of her knees. She shivered beneath his touch.
He trembled with desire, but he needed to take his time. Wanted her in a proper bed where he could languidly explore.
Sex was a ridiculously intimate act between two strangers and, although they’d spent time together over the last few days, he and Isadora Campbell were essentially strangers. The twist of biology that was lust meant they wanted each other anyway.
He turned off the water and grabbed a towel off a stack on the basket outside the stall. He wrapped her in it before picking her up and carrying her carefully into the bedroom he was using. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight. He enjoyed the feel of her in his arms. The reality of her. The living warmth of her beauty.
The curtains were wide open and provided enough light to see her clearly as he laid her on the bed, leaving the towel in place for now. He held a finger across her lips when she went to say something. “Just a moment. I’ll be right back.”
He went back to the bathroom, grabbed their clothes, weapons, and a condom out of his wallet. Randall could come back any moment and although Frazer wasn’t breaking any rules, this was his personal business. He liked his private life private. He dumped everything on the floral chair in the corner of the bedroom and then stared at Barney who now sat in the middle of the bed beside Isadora, giving him big puppy eyes.
“No way.” He pointed at the door. “Out.” Barney tucked his tail and jumped off the bed, slinking into the hall. Damn. “I love dogs, but there’s no way he’s watching this.”
Isadora snorted and her eyes danced. “I have a horrible feeling he’d want to join in.”
He closed the door on the forlorn looking mutt. “Does he usually…” Shit, he didn’t generally worry about asking awkward questions—in fact he specialized in them. He needn’t have worried.
“Does he usually watch me having sex?” Isadora grinned at him. “No. I’ve only had him since I got home last summer, and the issue hasn’t come up.”
He turned toward where she lay on his bed, covered only in a towel. “Why not?”
“I haven’t wanted anyone, ASAC Frazer.”
But she wanted him. His ego enjoyed that so he ignored it. “I like you, Dr. Campbell.” He walked toward her and she eyed his naked body with avid interest.
“I like you too, ASAC Frazer, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.” She wasn’t in the least bit shy about her body or his. No coy bashfulness or need for reassurance. He came down on top of her, stretched out, their limbs tangled, and he held her hands over their heads, their bodies separated only by the damp towel.
“I like you,” he repeated, “but this is just sex.” He needed to know she understood he wasn’t the hearts and roses type.
She stretched her body languidly beneath his, her silky skin driving him out of his mind. “I know.” Her voice was husky with desire.
“No strings.”
Her smile was full of cool female wisdom that tugged at something inside his chest. “Sex between two single people of sound-ish mind, and legal age, who want one another. As to what I want and how I like it, I’m willing to explore the possibilities.”
That’s what he’d told Jesse Tyson during hypnosis. He nuzzled the soft skin beneath her ear. “God, I love your body, but I love that brain of yours even more. I want to eat you up, Dr. Campbell. Every inch.”
Her head tipped back and her mouth opened. “What’s stopping you?”
He took one of her hands and curled it, then the second, around the struts on the headboard. “You’re going to need to hold on.”
“No ties?” she said coolly. Her brow arched, and he knew she’d hate anyone trying to tie her up. He would, too.
“Don’t let go of the bed unless you want me to stop.”
Her eyes widened a fraction at the authority in his voice. Good. He intended to make her lose some of that laid-back cool and have her panting with pleasure. Pleasure seemed in small supply of late, probably for both of them.
He started at her shoulders, that collarbone that dipped so seductively, the place he’d wanted to taste from the very beginning. He ran his hand down her inner arm and she giggled.
“Ticklish?” He found her giggle disarmingly attractive. She was so not a giggler.
“Never,” she denied.
He lay on one side of her as he trailed his hand from her little finger all the way down her arm. She laughed and jerked her arm free of the post.
He removed his hand with a heavy sigh. She bit her lip and grasped the wooden strut again. This time he trailed his finger harder against her sensitive skin, and although she squirmed beneath him she didn’t let go. Her eyes never left his face. He traced the line of the towel across the swell of her breasts, then across the top of her thighs. “So pale, Dr. Campbell. I’m starting to think you’re a figment of my imagination.” Be
autiful. Flawless except for the occasional freckle or mole, which he wouldn’t call flaws—more punctuation marks. Like the one on the side of her mouth that he kissed again, tasting the edge of her lips.
“You’re teasing me,” she groaned.
“I am teasing you, but I intend to follow through on my promises. If we’re going to break the rules we may as well do it properly.”
“We’re breaking rules?” she asked.
“My rules.” His fingers found the edge of the towel and tugged it free. Unwrapping her like the sort of Christmas present that made grown men weep.
She smelled of sunshine and heat. Salt spray and vanilla soap.
He trailed a finger along her breast and up over her nipple, watching it tighten and harden into a dark bead. He leaned down to capture the nearest one in his mouth, scraping his tongue over the sensitive flesh as his fingers caressed its mate. Isadora’s hips jerked and her thighs parted an inch. He bit down a little harder and her hips arched up off the bed. His hand moved lower and traced the fine skin where her thighs met her body.
He let go of her nipple and nuzzled the skin beneath her ear again. Licked the hot beat of her pulse. “Open up,” he whispered.
She complied, and he sank his fingers between folds and deep into wet heat. She came up off the bed but still she didn’t let go of the bedposts. He pressed deeper, first one finger, then two, finding a rhythm that matched the roll of her hips, and he curled his fingers inside her and pressed the heel of his hand against her mound. Over and over again, slowly, patiently, as her hips increased in pace until finally her back bowed up off the bed, feet digging into the mattress as she cried out. The expression on her face was one of ecstasy, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone more beautiful.
Pure unadulterated pleasure.
Not twisted lust.
His own heart raced, and he tried to cool his raging lust by concentrating on her body. On the subtle curve of her stomach, the dip of her navel, the deep dusky pink of her nipples. Playing, stroking, easing her back down to earth.
Cold Fear Page 23
