by Maggie Price
“I love the smell of your skin,” he whispered against her mouth. “You smell of flowers. Soft, silky flowers.”
His lips nipped the back of her neck with dizzying tenderness as his fingers continued stroking between her thighs.
Heat shimmered inside her. She moaned his name as her head toppled back against his shoulder. She clung to him, feeling as though she were floating.
She closed her eyes and melted against the rock-hard press of his body while he took her to the summit of a cliff with erotic slowness, then sent her plummeting into a silver abyss that was too rich, too exquisite to be anything but heaven.
Her body convulsed; she cried out weakly when her legs gave out. She’d have folded to the floor if he hadn’t swept her into his arms.
He lowered her sweat-glazed body onto the cool white comforter that covered the bed like a field of gleaming snow. His eyes never left her as he fought off his shoes, stripped off his slacks.
She lay limp and spent, gazing up at him through the dreamy, dim light that shone against his flesh like gold. He was magnificent, his body stunningly male; muscles hardened by exercise rippled and tightened as he moved. Dark hair covered the planes of his chest, veed down to the thick, erect flesh of his loins.
He came to her, heat flaring in his eyes as he slid onto the bed beside her. Murmuring her name, he kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, her chin. His mouth lowered, settled over the cotton camisole where one taut nipple budded, then moved to the other. He suckled slowly, his hot mouth moistening the fabric that swaddled her sensitized flesh.
“Michael...” His name ended on a moan. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think of anything but the dark appeal of having been made completely his by his tender, incredible hands and mouth.
He raised his head from her swollen flesh, pulled the camisole slowly upward, then tossed it aside. Need sparked in his eyes as his gaze ravaged her naked body. “You’re mine,” he said, his voice low and thick. “Every stunning inch of you is mine.”
“Yes.” Panting, she reached for him greedily, felt his hot, tight muscles under her unsteady palms as she pulled him to her, her nails digging heedlessly into the damp flesh of his back. “I want you, Michael. Inside me.”
His hungry lips met hers, his tongue invading her mouth, exploring, taking what he wanted. His hands fisted into her hair, tightened, and she understood he was done with gentleness. He was all raw need and hunger now, his skin hot, his body demanding as he mounted her, his weight crushing her breathlessly.
He entered her with possessive force, summoning desperate, needy sounds up her throat. She reveled in the feel of his sweat-slick flesh plundering hers. He was all she had ever wanted, all she wanted for the rest of her life.
He moved in her with increasing urgency, flooding her with a swelling pleasure that grew and spread. Her body weightless, she felt the clenching spasm begin again, deeper than before, more powerful. Pleasure shattered inside her in a whirling haze. She cried his name, wrapped her legs around him and they went over the edge together.
Eyes closed, Michael lay unmoving, feeling as though he’d fallen out of a plane without a parachute and landed in cottony-soft clouds. Slowly, he became aware of the howl of the wind against the windows, of the settling groans of the old house, of A.J.’s soft breathing against his shoulder.
He opened his eyes, turned his head on the pillow and stared down at her. She lay curled on her side, her knees bent, one arm thrown across his midsection. Dark lashes feathered her cheek; her hair flowed softly over her shoulder, pooling like an ink spot against the white pillowcase. The dim light coming from the nightstand transformed her body into intriguing ivory curves and shadowed valleys.
He thought of the small, needy sounds that had welled up in her throat, of the quivering softness of her glorious body surrendering in his very hands. She was his in every way, and he silently acknowledged he would kill to keep her safe.
He levered up on one elbow, placed a soft kiss at the corner of her swollen mouth. Her lips curved.
“I thought you were asleep,” he said.
“I can’t move,” she murmured, keeping her eyes closed. “Someone snuck in here and ripped out my spine.”
He smiled. “They got mine, too.”
“We should report it. Who handles that type of thing? Larceny? Burglary?”
“Sex Crimes.”
“Hmm,” she breathed in agreement and slid a silky leg across his.
For the first time Michael saw the pale scar that ran the length of her right thigh. With a fingertip, he traced the scar as if his touch could eliminate the pain the injury sometimes caused.
Her lashes fluttered open at his touch. “I was in an accident—”
“I know. I investigated you. Your aunt told me the doctors said you’d never walk again. You proved them wrong.”
She lifted her head. “You talked to Aunt Emily?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“A couple of days ago.”
“You went to see her?”
Casually, he brushed his fingertips down the length of her throat. “I had some free time.”
“You’re running a task force and you had free time?” she asked, her voice ripe with disbelief.
“I made time. I know how lonely hospitals can get around the holidays.”
“Oh, my gosh!” Eyes wide, she sprang up as if an electrical current had switched on inside her. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve!”
“All day.” Arching a brow, Michael watched her snag his shirt off the end of the bed and pull it on.
“I have to take the tree I bought to the hospital tomorrow. And my mother’s ornaments.” She shoved her hair off her face, her gaze rising to the ceiling. “They’re in a box somewhere in the attic. It’s a mess up there. It’ll take me forever to find them.”
He sat up slowly, taking in the outrageously arousing sight of her kneeling amid rumpled sheets and pillows, her hair an alluring mess, his shirt hanging open to reveal the soft swell of her breasts, the black triangle of tight curls at the cleft of her thighs. Heat poured into him. He’d had a taste of her, which only made him want more. Where she was concerned, he would always want more.
He gave her a bland smile. “In the attic?” he asked as his hand snaked forward and curved on her wrist.
“Right—”
In one smooth move he jerked her forward, snagged off the shirt and rolled her onto her back.
“How did you do that?” she sputtered.
“Training.” He levered his chest over hers, effectively pinning her writhing body to the mattress before indulging himself in a long, lingering kiss.
“What sort of training?” she breathed, then gasped when he pulled the lobe of her ear between his teeth.
“Strip searches. Patting bodies down for weapons.” He clamped her wrists in one hand and levered them above her head. “Effective uses of handcuffs.” He gave her a wicked grin. “Tell me, Miss Duncan, do my diverse talents make your heart pound?”
“Considering half of you is sprawled on my chest, I should think you could answer that for yourself.”
Lying motionless, he felt the unsteady hammering of her heart against his.
He expelled a soft laugh. “We’ve worked nearly forty-eight hours straight. We should have both passed out by now.”
She squirmed beneath him. “From my perspective, Lieutenant, I’d wager sleep is not first on your list of priorities.”
He released her wrists, plunged his hands into her hair and kissed her. She was right. He was as hard as stone.
“I want you, A.J.”
“Have me, Michael.”
Chapter 14
Morning sunlight streamed through the blinds, glinting off the brass headboard. Dressed only in slacks and socks, Michael stood at the edge of the rumpled bed and took a moment to check the room for the first time since he’d entered the night before.
He took in the wall of bookcases, jammed with dog-ear
ed true-crime paperbacks and criminology textbooks, the watercolor of an ocean sunset, the curtains that matched a plaid comforter that was heaped somewhere on the wood floor. The chest and dresser were made of sturdy, dark oak, the lamps brass. He could find nothing feminine about the room...except its owner. She stood on the opposite side of the bed, dressed only in his gaping shirt, looking gloriously decadent with an array of Christmas ornaments suspended on gold cords from her fingertips.
“Snowflakes, candy canes, a snowman, several angels, one Santa Claus with elves and eight tiny reindeer,” A.J. inventoried. She wiggled her fingers, sending the ornaments dancing like puppets.
Even to Michael’s inexperienced eye, the elegant handcrafting of each needlepoint ornament was obvious. The sunlight highlighted the yams’ rich colors, the minute stitches, the painstaking detail. Little wonder the ornaments dangling from A.J.’s fingers were considered family heirlooms.
She lifted her gaze, her large brown eyes sparkling from across the chaos they’d made of the bed. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” he said as he conducted a slow survey of the lush body beneath his gaping shirt. “Gorgeous.” The sight of her had his blood stirring...again.
He shoved a hand through his hair, still damp from the shower they’d shared...shower and more. He shook his head, forcing his thoughts away from the lovemaking that had consumed them throughout the night and well into the morning. If they kept up the pace, he’d be dead by nightfall.
He retrieved his sweater from beneath a heap of pillows. “When are you going to the hospital?” he asked, keeping his eyes on her face and off her silken cleavage.
“This afternoon, if I can sneak away from the task force.”
“You can.”
Her lips curved. “It’s nice to have an ‘in’ with the boss.”
“Well, you’ve got one, lady, so enjoy it.”
“I intend to.” Her gaze lowered to the sweater in his hand and she swept him a look beneath dark lashes. “I suppose you want your shirt so you can finish getting dressed.”
“The thought crossed my mind.”
“Well, come and get it, Lieutenant.” She wiggled her fingers, letting the ornaments drop into a box overflowing with tissue paper.
“My pleasure.” He walked around the bed, sidestepping a heap of pillows. She smiled up at him, her eyes glittering.
He smelled her sweet, clean scent mingled with her perfume. The thought of all she meant to him put an unsteadiness in his pulse.
“Do something for me?” he asked quietly, cupping his palm against her cheek.
“Anything.”
“Be careful.”
Her brows knitted. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing specific. Just remember, whoever planted the printout and bank statements in Ken’s locker is still out there. Whoever called you anonymously might still be watching.”
He felt her body’s slight shiver beneath his palm. “I haven’t forgotten. I’ll never forget.”
“I want you to watch yourself around Lawson.”
Her eyes flickered. “Why? What do you know?”
“Nothing.” His hands went to her shoulders, stroked her flesh through the shirtsleeves. “It’s just a feeling. I think he knows something about Ken—what, I have no idea. And I’ll be the first to admit I might be wrong. Just...watch yourself when he’s around.”
“I don’t think that’ll be a problem. I haven’t talked to him or seen him since he stormed out of the dance.”
“He’s called, left messages. Depending on what he has to say to you, he may show up on your doorstep any time.”
“If he does, I’ll handle it.” She raised her hands, spread her fingers out flat against his bare chest and smiled up at him. “You don’t need to worry about me. But it’s nice that you do.”
He pulled her to him, placed a soft kiss on her temple. “Get used to it, lady,” he said as he peeled the shirt down her arms.
A.J.’s high heels clicked along the hospital’s antiseptic smelling corridor. Her purse hung off her shoulder, thumping against her hip as she walked. She had the box containing the needlepoint ornaments and a set of twinkle lights crammed under one arm. An artificial tree sprouted out of the top of the carton hooked beneath her other arm.
The clock at the nurse’s station glowed a red 6:00 p.m. A.J. groaned over the realization that she was three hours behind schedule—and it was Robert Thornton’s fault. At this moment, the serial killer was holed up in a Phoenix hotel room, surrounded by police. She’d left for the hospital only after Michael had shoved his cellular phone into her hands and swore he’d call the minute the situation with Thornton changed.
Nudging her shoulder against the door of her aunt’s room, A.J. pushed away all thoughts of murder and mayhem. It was Christmas Eve and she intended to make the most of it.
“Goodness,” Emily Duncan said, squinting from the depths of an overstuffed recliner. “I thought I might have to call the police and report you missing.”
“Sorry I’m late, Aunt Emily.” A.J. dropped the boxes onto the bed and stripped off her coat. She walked over, placed a kiss on her aunt’s cheek. “Merry Christmas, a day early.”
“Same to you, dear.”
A.J. slid onto the arm of the recliner, careful not to bump the nearby IV stand with its inverted bags and tubes. “New pin?” she asked, examining the golden scarab that secured the colorful scarf around her aunt’s head.
Emily nodded. “An early Christmas present.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Be sure and tell that lieutenant of yours what you think of it.”
A.J. cocked her head. “It’s from Michael?”
“Got delivered today,” Emily said. “The card said he now knows the difference between a scarab and a salamander.” She smiled. “From seeing the two of you together last night, I get the distinct feeling he’s now more than just a friend.”
“You’re right,” A.J. said softly as a calming feeling of rightness swept over her. She realized she was far beyond just desiring him. “Aunt Emily, I’m in love with Michael.”
“I know, dear. I thought you might be the first time you brought him here.”
A.J. arched a brow. “I didn’t think that.”
“I’ve been around longer than you have, dear.” Emily turned her gaze toward the bed, squinted at the boxes. “You brought the tree? The ornaments?”
“At your service,” A.J. said.
“Well let’s get started before Nurse Evil shows up with her needles and knocks me out for the night.”
With the cellular phone propped between her cheek and shoulder, A.J. fastened the last twinkle light into place and listened to Michael detail the facts of Thornton’s arrest.
“He took a bullet in the abdomen,” Michael said, his voice sounding crisp and clean over the phone line, full of relief that the nightmare had ended. “He’s in surgery.”
“Any question that he’s our killer?”
“None. Phoenix PD found Dianna Westfall’s diamond ring in his pocket.” Fierce satisfaction laced Michael’s deep voice. “We nailed him, A.J., or rather you did with your nail polish theory.”
“Hey,” she said softly, “it was a team effort. We make a pretty good team.”
“Yeah, we do.”
“Can you get here before visiting hours are over?” she asked, taking a step back to check the placement of the glowing lights.
“I’ll try. McMillan’s on his way in for a briefing on Thornton.”
“That could take forever.”
“I’ll make sure it doesn’t.”
Smiling, A.J. clicked off the phone. She felt an edge of anticipation deep in her belly. She couldn’t wait to feel Michael’s arms around her, couldn’t wait to tell him she loved him.
Emily grinned from the recliner, the open box of needlepoint ornaments set securely in her lap. “You don’t know what a relief it is to see you so happy.”
“More than happy,” A.J. amen
ded. “I can’t wait for you to meet Michael’s family. They’re...unique.”
Emily tapped an index finger against her colorful scarf. “You have a bald aunt. That’s pretty unique.”
A.J. laughed. “You’ll fit right in.” When she leaned and slid the phone into her purse, a movement in the doorway snagged her attention.
She straightened, turned. “Hello, Greg.”
There was a stillness about him as he stood watching her, a shadowy wariness in his eyes. Michael’s warning rang in her mind, put a slight buzz in her nerves.
“Mind if I crash the party?” He walked toward her, his mouth lifting at the edges.
She blinked. No, there was nothing different about him, she corrected, searching his face. The familiar, calm awareness was there; his muscular body moved with the same fluid ease. Her eyes rose to the pale scar visible beneath the blond hair that lapped across one side of his forehead.
Nothing about him had changed, she told herself as his arm slid around her shoulders and he placed a kiss on her cheek. Nothing, she thought as her spine stiffened against his touch, except her own sudden doubts.
“There’s no excuse for my walking out on you at the dance,” he said softly. “But I’d like a chance to explain why.”
“Later.” She stepped back, forcing him to drop his arm.
Greg’s gray stare took her in for a long, considering moment. “Everything all right?” he asked.
“Fine.”
His gaze flicked to the artificial tree sitting on the roll-away table. “Mind if I stay a while?”
“Of course not.”
He grinned at Emily. “How’s my girl tonight?” he asked, settling into the plastic chair he pulled beside the recliner.
“I’d be better if that damn doctor hadn’t insisted I stay here over Christmas.”
“He probably wants to keep a charmer like you all to himself,” Greg answered, giving her a wink.
Emily chuckled as she dug through tissue paper. “Every year I’m struck by how beautiful these are,” she observed, plucking a star-shaped needlepoint ornament from the box.
