Wanting You

by Leslie A. Kelly

  Hearing what he was really saying—that he did know more than he was letting on—she found her journalistic curiosity going to war with the tenderness she already felt for this man. She looked up into his handsome face, seeing the furrowed brow, the rigid jaw, the downturned mouth, the genuine sadness that had lasted for years, and…tenderness won.

  Emotion won.

  Rowan had finally opened up to her about some of what drove him.

  And it had only made her care for him more.

  Her hand rose to cup his cheek. “I understand. I won’t do anything that could hurt you, Rowan. My book doesn’t mean more to me than your family’s well-being, or your sister’s memory.”

  He sighed in relief. Without waiting for him to respond, she rose onto her toes and brushed her lips across his, catching him, she knew, by surprise.

  But not for long. Only a second after she touched her mouth to his, he dropped his hands to her waist and pulled her close, kissing her back. Softly, gently. It was achingly sweet and tender, but also, as always, evolved into something so much more.

  Their lips parted and their tongues met and twisted in a slow, fiery duel. Thrusts and tangles, heated breaths and soft sighs only increased the tension. The excitement.

  They had kissed before, but each time had been followed a fight, or a reminder of why they couldn’t possibly go any further.

  Now, though, the cards were on the table. Rowan had revealed what he’d been hiding from her…or at least most of it, other than that which affected his family.

  Which meant now there was nothing standing between them.

  “Please tell me you’re not going to end this kiss and stomp out,” she whispered as he moved his mouth to press hot kisses on her jaw.

  “Not a chance.”

  He pushed her back toward the table and lifted her onto it. This time she didn’t give a damn about the papers spilling off. Not when she was finally in Rowan’s arms, finally sure in the knowledge that this kiss wasn’t going to end in an angry argument or an icy wall.

  “God, you’ve been driving me crazy,” he murmured as he scraped his tongue along her earlobe. His hands twisted in her hair, holding her tight, and she loved the power of it, knowing he was driven by passion and need, and not by a need to control.

  Not even thinking about it, she spread her knees and moved closer to him, welcoming him to step between her legs. He didn’t hesitate, coming to her like he’d just been waiting for the invitation. She twined her limbs around his, tugging him even closer, indulging in the feel of that hot, male body right where she had wanted him since the night they met.

  She’d known Rowan’s body was remarkable, his chest wide, shoulders broad, and arms thick and powerful. Now she was able to appreciate his lean hips, and those strong thighs whose muscles flexed under his jeans.

  Not to mention what else strained at those jeans.

  He was erect—huge, hard. Hungry.

  She whimpered and rocked into him, loving the pressure as they came together, as close as two people could when clothed.

  “I hate jeans,” she muttered as he thrust against her, the pressure unbearably delicious yet also frustrating.

  “Ditto,” he said as he tasted a path from just below her ear back to her mouth. He kissed her again, this time his tongue plunging hard and fast. Their bodies rocked together, catching the rhythm of the hungry dance of their mouths, and she could only imagine what it would be like if there were no clothes between them.

  But there were. And they were in the headquarters building of the LAPD, a fact of which she was reminded when she heard voices passing the closed office door.

  Rowan heard them too. With a deep groan in his throat, he dropped his hands from her hair. He ended the kiss. He stepped away from the table, sucked in a few audible breaths, and tried to adjust his pants.

  There was no hiding that. Not right now.

  The realization made her wish more than ever that she had a key to the door. Headquarters and eleven stories worth of cops and officers be damned. She wanted him, right here, right now, on top of the table or up against the wall or any place she could have him.

  She hopped off the table and approached him.

  Rowan threw a hand up, palm out, to stop her. “Uh-uh.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  One side of his mouth curved up, though he didn’t look very amused. “I want more than anything to rip your clothes off and lose myself inside you for at least the next forty-eight hours.”

  She quivered.

  “But this isn’t the time and it sure isn’t the place.”

  She knew that, logically. Her body wasn’t very happy with the answer, however.

  “Aside from which, I am supposed to be off today, and I agreed to meet my brothers for an early lunch.”

  “Reece is back? Does that mean you need another place to stay?”

  She wasn’t suggesting anything, wasn’t inviting him to stay with her.

  At least, she probably wasn’t.

  Liar, liar.

  “He’s back for the weekend, so I’m staying at my own apartment.” He grinned. “Can you believe Jagger meowed all night, walking around looking for Cecil B?”

  “He’s a big softie.”

  “Remind me to show you the scratch on my chest where he punished me for not being a dog.”

  She licked her lips and smiled wickedly. “Feel free.”

  He took another step away from her, as if not sure he could trust himself not to reach for her and pull her back into his arms, which would have suited her just fine.

  Then another voice intruded, and she was again reminded of time and place.

  When the footsteps in the hall paused in front of the door, she swung around and began neatly restacking the papers on the table. Rowan was still standing a few feet away, and hopefully the person who swung the door open and walked in didn’t notice their posture, their expressions, or the hot smell of sultry kisses and some serious dry humping in the air.

  “Captain Slaughter,” Rowan murmured.

  Oh dear.

  Carlson was responsible for this, she had no doubt. He had probably left here and called his uncle, demanding that he cover the loudmouthed lieutenant’s butt about this situation. Maybe he even thought he was doing Evie a favor by getting Phil Smith’s former partner in here to talk to her, but she preferred to set her schedule herself. She liked to be prepared, to have all her files right in front of her, to at least not be breathless, with messy hair and swollen lips, after a heated encounter with the sexiest man she’d ever known.

  “Detective Winchester,” the older man said as he entered the room and pulled the door closed behind him. He was about twenty years older than his nephew, probably in his mid to late fifties. His once-blond hair was now mostly gray, but his face was youthful and his dark eyes piercing. She knew he’d worked at a desk for several years, but he still looked fully capable of chasing down a bad guy in the street, his form tall, lean, and athletic.

  “Miss Fleming I presume?”

  She took the hand he extended and shook it. “Captain Slaughter. This is a surprise.”

  He gave her a disbelieving look. “Really? You didn’t expect my irresponsible nephew to race to a phone and beg me to cover his ass after he told me about your document request?”

  She hid a smile. “I can’t deny I wondered if he might. I did intend to make an appointment to talk to you.”

  “I figured I’d come down here and save you the trouble.” He pulled out a chair and sat at the table, casting a quick glance at the files and documents she’d been examining. “Pretty grim.”

  “Yes.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, sitting stiffly in the chair. “You think you have something new to say about one of my old cases, I hear.”

  How would he have heard that? she wondered.

  He must have seen her confusion. “After my idiot nephew talked to me this morning, I called my old partner. He told me he heard from you.”
<
br />   That made sense. “Yes, we visited Detective Smith yesterday.”

  Slaughter shook his head and frowned. “Damn good cop, Phil. Strong, smart sonofabitch. He shoulda had another ten years. Shame his arthritis took him out of the game.”

  Well, his arthritis, his diabetes, his probable emphysema…she didn’t imagine the retired cop would have been on the job now even if his hands hadn’t twisted like gnarled limbs on an ancient tree.

  “Did he tell you why I went to see him?”

  Slaughter nodded once. “Amy Nolan. You think there was some issue about flowers being found in her place?”

  Although it wasn’t the ideal time, she wasn’t going to waste an opportunity to interview another detective who’d been active in what she suspected was a flower killer case. So although she didn’t have her files and notes at her fingertips, she did begin to ask him some of the same questions she’d asked Phil Smith the previous day.

  He listened, nodding once or twice, but didn’t appear terribly interested. In fact, at one point he even yawned. Standing in the corner of the room, Rowan glowered at the man, though she didn’t think Slaughter could see him.

  “Look, Miss Fleming, I really don’t know what you want to prove here. A murder victim from more than a dozen years ago had some flowers in her house. Okay. So what? Really, what difference does it make? Even if whoever killed her brought them, or used them as a ruse to get in, what kind of help is that going to give us now?”

  “The vase,” she murmured, determined to remain calm. “It could have had fingerprints.”

  “Look, Phil and I talked about this. There were no unexplained prints anywhere in that place.”

  “Including on the vase?”

  “Including on the vase.”

  “What about the flower petals?”

  He looked down at her, obviously trying to make her feel stupid.

  “Look, I know it’s not common, but it’s not impossible, is it?”

  “You think we shoulda dusted some flowers for prints,” he said, sounding not just surprised but a little annoyed.

  She wasn’t about to retort that they could have at least made the effort. He was already on edge, and so was she. She didn’t like how the interview was proceeding, and again cursed this man’s nephew for forcing it on her before she was ready for it.

  “Look, if you can figure out who killed that girl, great. I’ve always felt bad that we didn’t close that one. But if you think you’re gonna solve it because of some flowers, I think you have a lot to learn about police work.”

  “But other—”

  Before she could finish her sentence, telling him other victims had had unexplained flowers in their homes, she caught Rowan’s warning shake of the head. Quickly realizing she had been about to reveal something she hadn’t wanted to, a connection she hadn’t mentioned to any of the other detectives she’d interviewed, she slammed her mouth shut.

  “Now if we’re through here, I have to go.” He glanced at a clock on the wall. “I was supposed to be on a golf course this morning.”

  His tone was cold, laced with annoyance.

  “I certainly hope you didn’t alter your plans because of what your nephew told you.” She didn’t imagine he needed the reminder of who, exactly, was at fault for him being here, but couldn’t regret doing it all the same.

  “No,” he said, getting up and heading for the door. “Good luck with your book, Miss Fleming.” His hand on the knob, he stopped to say one more thing. “I do hope you don’t get carried away with these questions of yours. That case was a long time ago. I barely remember it. Obviously my idiot nephew didn’t.”

  Not following, she asked, “You mean Lieutenant Carlson?”

  “Sure. Kid was a rookie and was one of the first responders on that case. I’m pretty sure he threw up when he saw the body.”

  She thought she heard Rowan grunt but didn’t look over, not wanting Slaughter to stop speaking.

  “Anyway, I’m sure Phil didn’t have much to offer either. Best to just let it go if you don’t have any real, concrete evidence to add.”

  At least Smith had expressed some genuine sorrow for the victims of some of the unsolved crimes in his past. Slaughter seemed more like his nephew—heading for the top no matter who got in his way. Having a “nosy” writer digging into an unsolved case that stained an otherwise almost pristine career would not please a man like this. And judging by the dark look he gave her right before he walked out the door, he was definitely displeased.

  “Nice guy,” she mumbled once they were alone again.

  “Sure, in that special Death Eater way.”

  She grinned, feeling better about the interview. Slaughter had treated her like an interloping kid who had no clue what she was digging into. The captain was the first she’d interviewed who’d done that. Some of the detectives she’d spoken to yesterday had been a little aloof, some confused, some very interested. None had been really scoffing, until today.

  “You okay?”

  “Sure.”

  He glanced at his watch and frowned. “I hate like hell that I can’t stay here and help you, but I agreed to meet up with my brothers. Since Reece leaves town again tomorrow, I don’t want to bow out.”

  “No, don’t be silly,” she insisted, waving a hand. She got up and started reorganizing her files, tucking her notes and laptop back into her satchel. “I think I’ve had enough for today too. Frankly, I need a mental break.”

  He fingered a strand of her hair. “Wish I could take you on that drive up the coast in your convertible, murder fan.”

  That sounded heavenly. But he had family obligations, and she had…well, nothing else to do but read a good book and listen to the ocean.

  And think about what might come next between her and this amazing man now that the barriers between them had, by all appearances, been knocked down.

  “I think I’ll take advantage of living a few blocks from the beach. I’m gonna go home, grab a book, and sit on the beach this afternoon.”

  “That sounds like an excellent idea.” He leaned in, still touching her hair, and brushed a soft kiss across her lips. “But, Evie?”

  “Yes?” she whispered, wanting him to lean in and kiss her again.

  More soft kisses on her cheek, her temple, and in her hair. She was a quivering mess by the time he whispered, “Don’t wear that damn bathing suit cover-up in public, okay?”

  Laughing softly at what sounded like jealousy in his voice, and remembering the way he’d reacted when she’d opened the door yesterday, she said, “I bought it in a surf shop, not a lingerie store.”

  He slid his hands to her hips and kissed her again. “Maybe. But on you, that thing might as well be in a Victoria’s Secret catalog.”

  He kissed her again, long and hot, with unspoken promises of what was going to come after such kisses from here on out. Once they were out of this building. Once it was the right time and the right place.

  She could hardly wait.

  Finally, they drew apart. “Come on, let me at least walk you to your car,” he said. “I hate like hell to be walking out on you today.”

  “Don’t be silly. Go, go! Enjoy some time with your brothers.”

  He helped her pack up the rest of her things, and she did a quick mental inventory. She didn’t want to forget something, considering an armed escort had to open the door for her every time she went in.

  Leaving the room, they went down the elevator and out to the parking lot together, saying little. Evie suspected he had as much on his mind as she had on hers.

  Everything felt different. They’d argued and danced around this powerful attraction between them all week. Now that the barriers appeared to have been swept away, she suddenly felt a little nervous. Ridiculous really—she was no inexperienced girl. But the certainty she felt that she and Rowan would end up in bed together soon, maybe even tonight, had her trembling like a virgin at the homecoming dance.

  “Okay, Rowan,” she said when they
reached her car. “Have a good lunch, and hopefully I’ll see you later.”

  He brushed his knuckled against her chin. “You can count on it.”

  Just before she got into a car, she said, “Oh, wait, I forgot something.”

  “What?”

  She licked her lips and smiled at him. “I forgot to tell you…while I really did buy that beach cover-up at a surf shop…I have a Victoria’s Secret account. And I use it a lot.”

  Seeing him close his eyes and let a low breath ease between his lips, Evie smiled and got into her car. He was still standing there as she backed out of her space, and she gave him a cheery little beep as she left the parking lot.

  Yeah, she definitely had the feeling she’d be seeing him sooner rather than later.

  * * *

  Last night’s local news channel had confirmed human remains were removed from the ruins of an abandoned house that had exploded in Boyle Heights yesterday. He’d slept well, glad the issue of Firecracker Lee was taken care of. Nobody could connect him with the hired thug who’d botched the murder of the writer who just couldn’t stay out of other people’s business.

  Then came today’s news over the car radio.

  “Authorities say the victim was likely a homeless woman taking shelter in the abandoned house.”

  Woman? Fuck!

  “Although police haven’t revealed the cause for the explosion that rocked this quiet neighborhood, neighbors are saying they saw a man running out of the house just as it exploded. Witnesses have given descriptions of the man, and police are searching for him now.”

  Double fuck.

  He’d thought he was taking care of his problems, ticking off the checklist of any ties that might lead back to him. But it appeared he’d been the one to screw up this time.

  It had been his intention to kill Lee no matter what. He’d expected “Firecracker” to succeed in getting rid of Evie Fleming, making it look like a random city crime. With Frankie’s experience and complete lack of conscience, it should have been easy. Knowing guys like Frankie would always try to make a deal the next time they got picked up on another charge, he had intended to then take the hit man out too.