Long Time Gone: Konigsburg, Book 4

by Meg Benjamin

  Erik plunged his hands into the soft tangle of her hair, pulling her head back gently, then sank into her mouth again. He tasted desire, heat and a mild hint of tuna. He dropped his hands to her back, feeling the bumps of her spine, the faint dimples at the top of her hips. Together they began to slide down to the floor, his body covering hers, arms out to keep from landing all his weight on her.

  For a moment, he considered tearing off her jeans here and now, going at it on the rag rug. One part of him really wanted that.

  One very swollen and currently almost-painful part.

  But he knew what happened here was more important than that. He had to make it right for her. Morgan Barrett deserved better than a hard floor and rag rug imprints on her ass. Slowly, reluctantly, he raised his head.

  Morgan’s eyes drifted open. Her swollen lips parted in protest.

  He stood up, reaching a hand down to her. “Come on, Bambi. There’s a better place for this.”

  She blinked up at him, then took his extended hand.

  The bed looked huge, although Morgan understood that she might not be able to judge size too accurately right then. Erik was momentarily silhouetted by the light from the window, his upper body a perfect triangle, broad shoulders narrowing to flat hips. His chest was covered in dark hair, lightening over his stomach to arrow down at the waistband of his uniform pants.

  God, he was big. Probably the biggest man she’d ever been with. And right now, a little unsettling, hulking in the darkness, looming over her. She remembered, briefly, that he was the scary Toleffson, the one no one wanted to mess around with.

  Of course, right then messing around was exactly what she had in mind.

  He still held her hand tight in his warm grasp. His gaze held her too, dark and brimming with heat.

  Then he ran his hands over her body again, sliding from her hips to the side of her breasts. His touch was gentle, soothing. As if he knew she was a little…well, not frightened exactly. Maybe unnerved. He cupped both breasts in his palms and dropped his head to take a nipple into his mouth.

  Morgan tangled her fingers in his hair, biting her lip to keep from crying out. A line of electricity flowed from her breast to her mons, leaving her wet and aching. She tried to remember if this was the way she usually felt before she had sex with somebody. She really thought it wasn’t, but she was in no condition to remember exactly.

  His mouth moved to the other breast, and her nipple puckered in the cool air. She felt his hands move to the waistband of her jeans, unfastening them, pushing them down.

  She fought the impulse to cover herself—why on earth would she want to do that? She stepped out of what remained of her clothes and faced him, taking a deep breath.

  This was what she was—smallish breasts, ribs and hip bones sticking out, and freckles. And if he didn’t like it…

  God, she really hoped he did.

  She stood in a puddle of moonlight, silver and gleaming, her skin like white silk, her fathomless brown eyes luminous in the darkness.

  Beautiful! Couldn’t he come up with something better than that? Something she hadn’t heard before? Stunning! No—that sounded like some half-assed fashion consultant.

  “God, you take my breath away,” he murmured. It wasn’t great, but it was the best he could do, given that his brain barely had enough blood left to form a coherent sentence. Besides, she did take his breath away, literally. He had to remind himself to inhale.

  He put his hands on her hips, pulling her closer, watching the corners of her mouth edge up in a slightly dazed smile. Dazed was good. At least he was on the right track.

  She leaned forward, her lips almost against his ear. “I want to see you too,” she whispered.

  He felt her fumbling at his belt buckle and stilled her hands, then pulled down the zipper and stepped free. Delaying wouldn’t make things any better. He knew what he looked like without clothes—the missing link walks again.

  Morgan stared, eyes wide, then she reached for him. Her hands were cool against his chest, sliding downward, fingertips trailing across his stomach and abdomen.

  He closed his eyes as her fingers encircled him, gliding along the length of his shaft, then cupping his balls.

  He would die where he stood, and it would be worth it.

  He felt her lips against his chest, her fingers moving again, and his control shattered like an eggshell.

  He pushed her across the bed, covering her body with his own. For a moment she looked heartbreakingly young, vulnerable, her eyes as wide as some greeting-card child. He was suddenly afraid of hurting her, doing something wrong that would ruin it for both of them.

  Then the corners of her mouth edged up into a grin that was way too wicked for jailbait. “Go for it, Chief,” she whispered.

  He fumbled in the drawer beside the bed, opening the foil packet with his teeth and sheathing himself in near-record time. Then he touched her, running his fingers through her folds, wet with her own arousal. He slid one finger into her scalding heat. Morgan moaned, and her body arched beneath his hand. Erik kept his gaze riveted to hers, willing her to keep her eyes open as he slid another finger in, stretching her, moving slowly.

  Morgan threw her head back, eyes glazed. He rubbed his thumb across her clit, and she gave a strangled cry, her hands flying up to grasp the back of his head and pull his mouth down to hers.

  He drank in her sounds, her moans, her gasps, moving himself between her thighs. Then he thrust slowly into her heat, enveloping himself in her.

  He felt it through every inch of his body, everything on fire, burning to her touch. Someone groaned in pleasure. A remote, still-functioning part of his brain confirmed it was him.

  “Oh sweet,” he moaned. “Sweet Morgan!”

  He drowned in her then, lost in her heat, the fragrance of roses and lavender filling his head like a memory. Somewhere he felt her arms around him, pulling his head to her shoulder.

  He thrust himself against her, again and again, hearing her whimper. He was beyond whimpering himself, so dazed with desire he could hardly remember to breathe. The climax, when it came, washed over him in a wave, taking him under, his body crashing against hers.

  He wanted to say something, needed to say something about what had just happened between them, how he felt. How he wanted her. But for the life of him he couldn’t remember the words he was supposed to use. “Morgan,” he whispered, finally. “Morgan.”

  And then he closed his eyes and let himself sink into the exhaustion of pure bliss.

  Chapter Eleven

  Erik woke at his usual six in the morning, feeling very, very satisfied. He wasn’t sure why he felt that way, just that he did. And then he became aware of the smooth female shoulder nestled beneath his left arm.

  Oh. Morgan. Holy shit.

  He lay still, careful not to wake her. Mornings after were a bitch. In point of fact, he usually managed to avoid them since he preferred to head back to his own place after sex. Easier all around that way—no awkward “good mornings”, no watery coffee and vanilla yogurt, no trying to come up with a polite way to slip out without committing yourself.

  His last two girlfriends had been perfectly willing to let him go home. Since they were both cops themselves, they had their own schedules to keep.

  Of course, right now he was already in his own place, so Morgan would be the one coming up with the excuses for slipping away. He felt a sudden tightness in his chest. He wasn’t sure why that idea bothered him, but it did. He didn’t want Morgan slipping away from him.

  Unprodded, his thoughts drifted to the night before. He wasn’t a particularly demanding man, as far as sex was concerned. Usually, sex was sort of like an itch that got scratched periodically. That’s what last night should have been. A relief from all the tension that had built up between them over the past few days. A quick roll in the hay, good for both parties, then up and off the next morning.

  That’s what last night decidedly hadn’t been. He couldn’t recall ever fee
ling quite like this before. Sated. Replete. Every part of him satisfied. Happy. Dear god—happy?

  Morgan Barrett was a very, very dangerous woman.

  Because he didn’t have time for this. He had two months to prove himself, while the mayor did his best to screw his chances. And now he had the new chore of finding all the time bombs that Brody might have planted around town with his extra-legal activities. If he screwed up any of this, he’d be back to square one. Hell, he might even be back to Iowa.

  Erik told himself the clenching in his gut wasn’t panic, and it wasn’t. More like…regret. He wished he had more time, and not just for Brody. She deserved more time. In fact, she deserved a lot better than him.

  Morgan turned over then, still half-asleep. Her hair was a mass of brown ringlets—she looked like a drowsy cherub. Until she opened those amazing brown eyes that drew him into the depths.

  “Morning,” she murmured.

  Suddenly, all thoughts of mornings after were buried under memories of the night before. He spread his hand across her breast, feeling the nipple pucker against his palm. One silky thigh slid along his flank, and he was suddenly as randy as a fifteen-year-old.

  “Morning.” He grinned and covered her mouth with his own.

  They spent a lazy forty-five minutes in his bed before duty called. It might be Sunday, but they both still had to work. Erik dug out the coffee while Morgan showered, then found a loaf of bread for toast. Fortunately, Docia had left her toaster behind when she’d moved out of the apartment, not that he’d ever used it before. Also fortunately, the controls weren’t too complicated. His brain didn’t seem to be functioning on full power yet.

  He watched Morgan in the golden morning light as she sat across from him at the round oak kitchen table. Her brown hair coiled damply around her head in corkscrews, and her cheeks were still pink from the shower.

  He really wanted to drag her back to the bedroom. Or possibly onto the kitchen table, although that might mean breaking some dishes. Breaking dishes with Morgan would be one great way to start the day, the week. Maybe the rest of his life.

  Whoa! Back off there, bubba. No time for dalliance, remember? Anything long-term is strictly off-limits.

  Instead, he offered to drive her to Cal’s clinic after they’d cleaned up the kitchen.

  Morgan blinked at him. “Oh. Arthur. Right.” She grinned, slowly. “To tell you the truth, I’d sort of forgotten about him.”

  Erik grinned back. For some reason, the idea that he’d been enough to make her forget about Arthur was a kick. He wasn’t used to being memorable.

  Since it was Sunday morning, the parking lot at the clinic was empty, except for Morgan’s SUV and Cal’s truck. Morgan had called Cal to check before they left the apartment, and he’d said he’d meet them at the clinic. Erik found that a little odd, given that last night he’d said he’d let Bethany take care of things, and Horace and Bethany lived just down the street.

  Cal opened the door as they came up the walk. “Come on in. Armando’s bringing Arthur up now.”

  Morgan’s expression was immediately anxious. “Does he have pneumonia? Is he okay?”

  “He’s fine.” Cal frowned slightly. “Well, more or less.”

  “More or less?” Morgan arched an eyebrow.

  “He had a lot more oil in his fur than I realized.” Cal was still frowning. “We had to shave some of it off.”

  Armando emerged from the back of the clinic, carrying a rolled-up towel in his arms. As he got closer, Erik realized the towel was growling.

  “Better put him down, but be careful.” Cal grabbed one end of the towel to help lower the entire package to the floor. The towel fell free, and Arthur sat glaring at them, eyes bright with indignation.

  Erik stared. The cat’s hind end was entirely bare, along with three-quarters of his long plumed tail. A tuft of golden fur waved at the tip. He looked like a mutant cross between a puma and a poodle. He was also the most outraged animal Erik had ever seen. And he had every right to be.

  “We did try to clean him up.” Cal sounded apologetic. “But the fur was really saturated. This was the only way to get rid of all the oil.”

  “Oh, Arthur.” Morgan dropped to her knees beside him. “I’m so sorry!”

  Arthur looked unconvinced. He gave the tuft on the end of his tail a furious swipe.

  She raised her gaze to Cal. “How do I take care of him?”

  Cal sighed. “That’s the hard part, Morg. You’ll have to keep him inside. If he gets any more oil on his skin, it could cause serious problems. You can’t let him out until some of the fur grows back. A few days, at least.”

  Her eyes widened into Bambi mode. “But people are constantly coming in and out at the tasting room where he lives. I can’t close him in my apartment—it’s tiny! He’d be miserable. And he’d probably tear it to shreds.”

  “You could board him here.” Armando grinned at her. “I’ll keep an eye on the cage to make sure he isn’t tunneling out.”

  “Arthur in a cage?” Her brow furrowed. “I don’t think I can do that. He’d be so unhappy.”

  Cal scratched the back of his neck. “I’d take him home with me, Morg, but he and Docia’s cat would probably tear each other apart. After the two of them had my dog for dinner.”

  “Right. I don’t think Docia’s Nico would like sharing his space.”

  “I’ll take him.” For a moment, Erik felt like checking behind him to see where that voice had come from. He’d just volunteered to babysit a mountain lion.

  “Oh, thank you!” Morgan gave him the kind of grin that made his groin turn to solid rock. “I’ll help you get him settled in.”

  “You can visit him. He’d like that.” Erik didn’t glance at Cal. He had a feeling his brother would be grinning again.

  Morgan’s eyes were bright. “Oh that’s great, really great. Thank you so much! Now let’s see if the four of us can get Arthur into his crate.”

  Arthur was not, needless to say, a happy traveler. His growls reached a crescendo as Erik carried his crate up the stairs, and he could swear he heard scrabbling sounds, as if the cat was trying to tunnel out the side.

  Fortunately, the crate was made out of polystyrene. No matter how tough Arthur was, Erik figured it would take him a couple of days at least to dig through.

  He put the crate in the bathroom, while Morgan carried in a cat box and a bag of dry food she’d bought at the HEB three blocks over.

  “This should be enough,” she said. “He’s not going to be here that long.”

  Erik felt like knocking on wood.

  “Thank you so much for offering to cat-sit.” Her natural smile deepened into a clear v. “I hope he won’t be any trouble.”

  “I think I can handle him.” Actually, he wasn’t all that sure he could, but he figured he and Arthur could reach some kind of understanding. Hopefully, before the cat reduced the apartment to rubble.

  “Well, I guess I’ll get going.” She smiled again. “I should get to work.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I need to check to make sure the bikers have cleared out.”

  “Well,” she repeated. She looked slightly self-conscious.

  Erik reached toward her carefully, running his finger down the slope of her nose. “Come up and see him whenever you like. I’ll swing by and give you a progress report.”

  “I’ll look forward to that.” Her voice sounded a little breathy, and he felt himself hardening yet again.

  Enough. They both really did have work to do. He grinned at her. “Come on, Bambi. I’ll walk you to your car.”

  Since Nando and Peavey had taken patrol on Saturday night—for which, praise be since it had freed Erik for other pursuits—he spent the day doing paperwork and checking on Linklatter, the only other officer on duty. He took over patrol himself in the evening.

  Not that there was all that much to do. Most of the bikers had limped off by mid-afternoon, leaving the town with its usual complement of retirees and families check
ing out the souvenir stores.

  He stopped off briefly at dinnertime to open a can of the cat food Morgan had left for Arthur. The cat’s burning golden eyes regarded him malevolently. Erik had the feeling only Arthur’s lack of opposable thumbs prevented his assassination.

  “It’s okay, cat,” he murmured. “You just have to put up with it for a few days.”

  Arthur settled down to chew morosely at his mixed grill.

  Erik drove the cruiser up Main, stopping briefly at the Faro. The inside looked only half-full, if that, with the owner, Tom Ames, working the bar himself. The outdoor bandstand was empty. The bouncer wandered around the grounds, picking up trash.

  “Everything quiet?”

  Ames shrugged. “Looks like it. The major part of the asshole contingent took off last night.”

  Erik grinned and headed back up the street. The Silver Spur wasn’t any more lively, although the folksinger was still earnestly putting the audience to sleep on the patio.

  He climbed back into the cruiser and headed along a side street, wondering if he could somehow justify a quick trip to Cedar Creek. The older residential streets in Konigsburg were lined with live oaks and pecans, the white limestone and clapboard houses gleaming faintly in the deepening twilight.

  He drove up the street slowly, looking at nothing in particular and thinking about Morgan, until he got to the elementary school with its grassy playground. Four or five boys were hunched together on the merry-go-round at the side. Erik surveyed them idly, ready to drive on, until they saw the cruiser.

  And took off running.

  He pulled to the curb quickly, climbing out as soon as the car came to a stop. The runners were too far away by then, dashing into the yards surrounding the school, but they hadn’t all managed to escape. One boy stood jerking at the tail of his shirt that was caught between the bars of the merry-go-round. He stared up at Erik, eyes wide with panic.

  Erik folded his arms across his chest, trying not to scare the kid into a faint. “Looks like your friends had things to do.”

  The boy took a shuddering breath and nodded, slowly. Now that he got a closer look, Erik pegged his age at maybe fifteen, but most likely younger. “What’s your name, son?”