HOT ON HIS TRAIL

by Linda Winstead Jones

  When he laid his mouth over her wrist she was surprised by the intensity of the sensations that washed through her. His touch was so loving, so tender and arousing. Most of the light of day was gone, but enough remained for her to watch the play of his mouth against her wrist, against the crook of her elbow, until he kissed the side of her neck and she closed her eyes in sheer delight.

  "My turn," she whispered, lifting his wrist to her mouth, flicking her tongue over the pulse there. She trailed small kisses up his inner arm, then flicked her tongue over the tender skin at the inside of his elbow. He groaned, low and soft, when she moved her mouth to his neck and sucked gently on the salty skin there.

  She was lost in sensation, and when Nick grabbed the hem of her tank top she lifted her arms to assist him in removing it quickly. With a smooth move, he rolled her onto her back, smiled down at her and bent his head to take a nipple into his mouth. One and then the other. And then again.

  The rest of the world faded away. Shea no longer thought, she simply felt: the coolness of the sheet beneath her back, the warmth of Nick's mouth and his hands, the thrum of her blood and the gentle, throbbing ache in the center of her being. The softness of his skin beneath her hands, the hardness of the muscles beneath. She closed her eyes and surrendered to sensation.

  He unfastened and unzipped her shorts, and she lifted her hips as he yanked them, and the underwear beneath, down and away. She was now naked beneath him, her legs slightly spread, her heart about to burst through her chest.

  She slipped her fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers and slowly pushed them down. When she could reach no farther she slipped her foot between Nick's legs and pushed the boxers down and off.

  Unable to be still, she shifted against him, bringing his body closer, touching him everywhere. Flesh on flesh was more arousing than she'd imagined, more beautiful than anything she'd ever known. And as they kissed, their bodies adjusted. A smooth sway here, a rhythmic lift there, until they were perfectly balanced and aligned.

  Nick touched her, where she throbbed for him, and reached for a condom at the same time. When he stroked her intimately she lifted her hips and moaned low in her throat. When he covered himself she reached down to help, to feel the hard length of him in her hands.

  Shea cradled Nick between her legs, wrapped her arms around his neck and arched her back to bring him closer. Surely her heart would explode if he didn't become a part of her, in body as well as in spirit.

  He guided himself into her, slowly, gently, and her body stretched to accept him, as if she were unfolding to take him inside her. He rocked, so gently she trembled to her toes, and a whole new sensation invaded her body. A need so great it eclipsed everything else. He made love to her, with every thrust, every sigh, the rhythm increasing with each stroke.

  She wrapped her legs around him, held him tight, and with one last, hard thrust he pushed her over the edge. She shattered, climaxed with a throaty cry and a thrust of her own. As the intense culmination of their joining rocked her and took her breath away, she felt Nick give over to his own release. Pounding into her, moaning her name, shuddering in her arms.

  The light was gone and they lay, entwined and short of breath, in the dark. Nick rested his head on her shoulder, stretched his long, hard body over hers. Oh, she liked this. She liked this almost as much as what had just happened to them.

  Surely this was what love felt like. She would die before she'd let Nick go. She would be lost without him.

  "When we were on the mountain," she whispered, "would you really have shot me if I'd kept running?"

  "I don't know," he breathed into her shoulder, answering without hesitation.

  Shea threaded her fingers through the hair at the back of Nick's head, lazily trailing them down to his neck.

  "Would you be horrified if I told you that … that I think this must be what love feels like?"

  "Yes," he answered, just as quickly.

  But he didn't move away, didn't let her go. And he didn't bother to tell her that what she felt couldn't possibly be love.

  * * *

  Chapter 11

  « ^ »

  Nick rolled over, opened his eyes slowly and reached out to brush the hair from Shea's face. I think this must be what love feels like.

  Maybe she was right, but he wasn't ready to accept such a possibility. Not yet. As soon as she got back to her reality, back to the television station and her friends and a normal life, she'd know better. She'd know this was just a casual fling in an intense situation, sex to ease the tension. Their own heat wave that would burn itself out as soon as the predicament was resolved.

  If what they had felt like more it was because they both needed, and wanted, it to feel like more. It wouldn't last.

  Her eyes drifted open and she smiled at him. "Good morning," she whispered.

  "Good morning."

  "You're not usually up so early." She scooted across the short space between them to brush her bare body against his. His response was immediate.

  "I'm not usually sleeping with a beautiful, naked woman beside me."

  Shea closed her eyes against the sunlight that broke through white curtains and lit her face, but she didn't go back to sleep. Her hands explored, a palm lazily trailing down his chest, fingers at his neck. She sighed, as if what she felt was deeply satisfying.

  Last night there had been very little light, and then none. By morning's sunshine he could see, with heartbreaking clarity, how fragile she looked against him, how delicate and precious she was.

  And every inch a woman. Creamy smooth and curved in all the right places; a face so perfectly pretty he could find no flaw. The eyes were enchanting, the lashes long and ideally curved, the lips … her lips drove him to distraction.

  He kissed her, gently at first, a little harder when she parted her lips and silently demanded more. Her hand trailed down from his chest to boldly touch his erection, to stroke with gentle, curious fingers until he almost forgot about the condoms on the bedside table. Almost.

  No woman had ever captured him this way, made him feel so much a part of her that she crept inside him long before he pushed inside her. He had never needed anyone this way, with his body and something deeper. Something so deep inside he had never reached it before.

  There was magic in the way Shea touched him. He had known a lot of women, he had even considered asking one to be his wife, but he had never felt magic before. He hadn't known he was capable of feeling magic. Casual fling my ass.

  He made love to her again, eyes open to watch their bodies come together, to watch the amazing joining of his hard rough body to her smooth, delicate one. To savor the smile and the contentment on her face. To savor, even more, the moment when her smile faded and she was overcome with a passion so wild, so fierce, that it swept her away and she carried him along.

  They came together, hard and fast, with a deep kiss and a shared moan. This must be what love feels like.

  Impossible. No matter how good this felt, no matter that she had worked her way inside him, he would have to let her go. The sooner the better.

  Satisfied, she wrapped her arms around him and closed her eyes again. When he rolled over, she followed, smiling, resting her head against his shoulder, threading one leg around his.

  Letting her go was going to be pure hell.

  * * *

  When Shea woke again it was almost ten. She glanced at the bedside clock, and then at a sleeping Nick. She was a little sore, her knees were still weak … and she was so glad she'd waited for him. He was her first lover. Her last? Her only?

  His bare body was long, hard, dusted with a sprinkling of dark hair. It was amazing to her how different they were physically, how perfectly they fit together. Her body trembled at the memory of just how perfect it had been.

  "Rise and shine," she whispered, leaning over to kiss Nick awake. "We have work to do today."

  His arms snaked around her and he held her fast. "We do?"

  "We have a mu
rder to solve."

  His eyes came open. How could such an icy blue be so warm? Somehow he managed. "We can't do anything more from here."

  "I know," she breathed.

  "We're going to have to go back to Huntsville."

  "Today?" she asked, eyes wide.

  Nick smiled at her. Oh, when he smiled he was beautiful. Young and carefree and happy. She wanted to see him smile more often.

  "Maybe tomorrow." He kissed her, barely slipping the tip of his tongue in her mouth.

  Sore or not, she wanted him again. And he, she could see quite clearly, wanted her.

  The crunch of gravel yanked her from her tender thoughts. Nick heard the same noise, and he left the bed quickly to stand to the side of the window and look down. "It's a black Oldsmobile sedan."

  Shea cursed, biting out a word that made Nick turn his head and raise his eyebrows. "Dean has a black Oldsmobile sedan," she explained as she looked down on the car that was coming to a stop outside the kitchen door.

  She tossed Nick's jeans in his direction and stepped into her cutoff shorts as she ran to her bedroom to grab her purse off the bed, quickly gathering the contents she'd scattered there the night before and tossing them inside. She grabbed up the purse and her notebook, and ran back into Nick's room. She handed him her stuff and grabbed for her tank top, yanking it over her head.

  "We can hide in the old servants' stairway. The boys didn't spend as much time here as I did. I don't think they even know it's there."

  "Shea," Nick began in a ridiculously calm voice. "Maybe it's for the best. I can't hide forever."

  "You don't understand," she said, reaching for the one remaining condom and stuffing it into her pocket, gathering up everything in the room that reminded her of Nick. His shirts, his underwear, his socks. Her arms were full when she led him to the hallway closet. "They'll kill you."

  Nick, who was right behind her with her purse and notebook, raised his eyebrows again. "You mean they'll turn me in."

  "No, I mean they'll kill you."

  She opened the closet door, shoved aside the coats and dresses hanging there and revealed the hidden door. It opened on a dank, musty stairwell. She dropped Nick's things, grabbed his wrist and pulled him in after her, and rearranged the coats and dresses before closing the door.

  They were lost in complete darkness, so she held on to Nick's hand as she carefully sat and urged him to lower himself to sit beside her.

  "The key's not still under the pot," Nick whispered. "Maybe they won't be able to get in."

  "Ha!" she whispered. "Boone never let anything like a locked door get in his way."

  Nick sat beside her, very still, his fingers threaded through hers. Their belongings, hopefully anything that might be used to identify them, were scattered along the stairway.

  Sure enough, it wasn't long before she heard the sound of booted footsteps in the kitchen.

  "Shea Lyn!" Dean shouted.

  Shea cringed. No one called her Shea Lyn anymore!

  "Get your butt down here right this minute!"

  She didn't move. She heard the boys spread out, each of them taking a room or two as they searched for her.

  "She's been here!" Clint shouted from the kitchen. "That godawful tuna casserole she makes is in the fridge." Shea withheld an outraged gasp. Godawful! She'd always thought Clint liked her tuna casserole!

  Booted footsteps pounded up the stairs. Shea held her breath. She listened as doors were opened, as one brother—Boone, by the sound of the step—searched the bedroom. When he reached Carol's room he let loose a snort of disgust, then a string of foul language. Prominent in his monologue was the forbidden word he had learned at age eleven and used regularly ever since, much to the dismay of their very straitlaced parents.

  Boone ran down the stairs, Clint left the kitchen and Dean's more civilized step echoed softly from the parlor. Judging by the sounds below, they met in the dining room.

  Clint spoke first, his voice low and ominous. "Martha Reeves is in the cassette player. She's been doo-wopping for this guy."

  "Big deal," Boone spat. "Only one bed has been slept in, and I found these in the garbage can."

  Shea closed her eyes.

  "Condom wrappers," Dean said in a deceptively low voice.

  "Damn bed's still warm," Boone growled. "The place reeks of—of…" He grunted instead of finishing his sentence.

  "Taggert's a dead man," Clint drawled in a low voice. For a second all was quiet, then Dean took command, as he always did. "We're going to look in every closet, under every bed, in the garage, the attic … and if we don't find anything we wait."

  Shea had the urge to borrow Boone's favorite word, but she knew if the boys' voices carried so well through the old house, so would hers.

  "If Mom had told us sooner that Aunt Irene and Uncle Henry were in California, we could've been here days ago," Clint drawled. "No wonder no one else has heard from her!"

  Shea squeezed Nick's hand as the boys began their search. Doors were thrown open, furniture moved roughly aside, curses muttered at every turn. When the upstairs hallway closet was thrown open, Shea held her breath, waiting for whoever was searching there to shove the dresses aside and find the hidden door.

  And would any one of them think to move aside the huge tapestry that hung on the wall in the dining room? That wall hanging hid the ground floor entrance to the old servants' stairwell.

  Finally, a voice shouted from the dining room. Clint. "Dean?"

  "What?"

  It was Dean at the closet, dammit. If any of the brothers would think to shove the clothes aside and check for a hidden door, it would be her oldest brother.

  "There's an old lady here, and she has a gun," Clint said. "She's pointing it at my … well, I'd like to have children, one day."

  Maude!

  Dean closed the closet door and ran down the stairs, his step lighter than Boone's had been.

  "Ma'am," he said in his most polite voice. "I'm Deputy U.S. Marshal Dean Sinclair and this is my brother. Would you kindly lower that weapon?"

  "Show me some ID," Maude demanded.

  All was silent as Dean apparently complied.

  "The man in the garage, the one with the long hair like a girl, is he your brother, too?" Maude asked brightly. "All three of the Sinclair boys? My goodness. If you three would visit your aunt and uncle more often, I wouldn't be likely to mistake you for burglars."

  About that time, Boone reentered the house. "Nothing!" he shouted. "No sign of the truck, just Uncle Henry's Caddy."

  "You boys probably don't remember me. I'm Irene and Henry's neighbor, Maude Wilton. Would you like some pie? I have blueberry pie at the house."

  "No thank you, ma'am," Dean said calmly. "We're looking for our sister, Shea. Have you seen her?"

  "Of course!" Maude said cheerfully. "Such a sweet girl."

  Shea closed her eyes and sighed. Beside her she heard Nick sigh, as well, and he squeezed her hand.

  "Let's see, it was three summers ago … or was it four? Susan was home and so was—"

  "This week," Boone snapped impatiently. "Have you seen her this week."

  "I saw her on the news," Maude said innocently. "I do hope she's all right. I imagine she will be. That girl always had gumption."

  "Someone's been here," Clint said accusingly. "Someone's been … sleeping here."

  Even from her dark hiding place Shea heard the foil crinkle as someone, Boone most likely, offered the condom wrappers for Maude's inspection.

  Maude sighed deeply. "You boys have found me out. I have a gentleman friend, and my sister, Abigail, does not approve. Irene asked me to water her plants and keep an eye on the place, so I decided…" there was a meaningful pause. "Well, you see, my gentleman friend has these new blue pills, quite the wonder, and we were rather anxious to give them a whirl."

  One of the boys cleared his throat.

  Maude was not deterred. "Oh, I have no need of birth control, but in this day and age a girl can't be too ca
reful. Why, for all I know my gentleman friend is using those blue pills all over town."

  "Thank you, Mrs. Wilton, that'll be all," Dean said, dismissal in his crisp voice.

  "How about some lemon squares?" Maude asked, still undeterred. "I've been cooking for my gentleman friend, you see, but I'm afraid I made too much!"

  "You didn't by chance make a tuna casserole, did you?"

  "Yes," she practically squealed. "Would you like a plate?"

  "No," all three boys answered quickly.

  Shea felt another rush of indignation. See if she ever cooked for them again!

  Maude finally left, unwillingly escorted, from the sound of it. Shea could hear her brothers sigh and groan as the kitchen door closed behind her.

  "Maybe they weren't here, after all," Dean said, sounding defeated.

  "And maybe we missed them," Boone snapped. "Dammit, I don't like this."

  "Let's go," Clint said, "before the old lady comes back and tells us more about her love life. Yikes!"

  Shea held her breath as the boys left the house, one after another, and the kitchen door closed again. With a bang this time. She exhaled slowly, and Nick rose to his feet.

  "Just a minute," she whispered, not trusting her brothers to leave right away.

  Sure enough, the kitchen door opened and a booted step sounded on the linoleum floor. Boone or Clint, then.

  "I must've dropped it in here somewhere," Clint called loudly. "Hang on, I'll be right out."

  He walked slowly into the dining room and came to a dead stop. All was silent for a few long seconds, and then he began to speak.

  "Shea Lyn, I know you're in here somewhere," he said, his voice warm and kind and inviting. "Don't you know better than to hide from me? Your favorite brother?"

  He shuffled his feet. Ha! She'd seen him use this tactic on women a hundred times. The only thing missing was the "aw shucks."

  "Dean is pretty mad right now and so is Boone, but you know I would never let them hurt you. Come on out and we'll take them on together. You and me, just like the old days when our big brothers ran us ragged."

  She squeezed Nick's hand. Clint was too good at this. She was tempted, really, truly tempted.