by Ana Leigh
Dave glanced worriedly at Trish as they rode up in the elevator. “You’re right about needing some space, Trish. With McDermott in custody, there’s really no reason why I have to remain here tonight. I could go back to my own apartment and sleep in a bed for a change.”
“Not on your life, Agent Cassidy. If you want a bed, you can have mine. I have too many questions to ask you.”
Without warning her legs suddenly buckled and she fell against him as they entered her apartment. Dave caught her to keep her from falling.
“Trish, what is it?”
“I don’t know. My legs feel rubbery.”
His arms were the most comforting feeling she’d ever known, and had thought she would never know again. Nothing could harm her as long as he held her.
And he did that until her trembling ceased.
“Are you okay now, angel?” he asked.
She knew as soon as she said yes she would lose that comfort, but she had no choice. She nodded, and he led her over to a chair.
“I don’t know what happened. It came on so suddenly.”
“It’s reaction, Trish. It happens to all of us. I’ll be right back.” He left her and went into the kitchen.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m making you a warm glass of milk, then I want you to go to bed.”
“I’m too keyed up to try and sleep.”
He came back and handed her the glass. “Drink up.”
Trish took the glass and took a sip of the warm milk in order to appease him.
“Question. Since he wasn’t McDermott, who’s the man you caught in the bar?”
“A migrant. Just as he said. Turns out the blood on the knife he had was his own as he claimed. The police are holding him, though. They figure he went into the bar to rob the place, so they’re checking out databases for any priors.”
“Why did you guys even suspect him?” Trish asked.
“His body language. When some people are up to no good they telegraph their intentions without realizing it.”
“And what about McDermott? What kind of weapon did he have on him?”
“A knife.”
“Oh, my God!” she murmured when the significance of it sank in. She swallowed hard and looked up with wounded eyes. “Do you think he would have used that knife on me, Dave?”
He couldn’t look her in the eyes and deny it. He turned his head away.
“I admit I didn’t take too kindly to having missed all the excitement in the bar,” she said, “but maybe I should have remained there until you came and got me.” Trish giggled.
Dave couldn’t tell if she chuckled out of amusement or because her control was slipping.
“You always were a good sport, Trish. That’s one of the characteristics I’ve always admired about you. You never pout to show displeasure like some women do, and you don’t sustain anger like…” He lowered his eyes.
“Like what, Dave?” she asked when he didn’t continue.
He couldn’t meet the devotion in those trusting eyes of hers. She believed in him, and he wasn’t worthy of it.
In the past, because of the unspannable chasm between him and her father, sometimes his love for her became an agonizing ache. He’d always wanted so badly to reach out and hug her. Hold her and comfort her as he had done just minutes ago.
“Like what, Dave?” she repeated gently.
“Like I do, Trish. I always was the one with the screwed-up psyche. Now how about you going to bed before the effect of that warm milk wears off?”
“Yes, doctor.”
She came over and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for saving my life, Dave. Good night.”
He watched her walk away. How he wanted to follow her into that bedroom. To lie beside her. He wanted her sexually, but mainly he wanted to hold her, to calm her fears and to tell her how much he loved her.
And that was the very thing he dare not do.
Chapter 13
“As soon as we finish breakfast, I’ll gather up my things and get out of here,” Dave said the next morning.
“I was hoping you’d hang around for a while.” She grinned. “I’ve gotten used to seeing your scowling face across the breakfast table.”
“With McDermott incarcerated, there’s no reason for me to stay.”
“Didn’t Mike mention something about a party tonight?”
“Yeah. It’s Jeff Baker’s birthday. Ann and Mike are throwing him a party.”
“Were you planning on going?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“No.”
“Oh, I see,” she said.
She hadn’t thought of the possibility that he’d have a date. The whole time they’d been together he never mentioned another woman’s name and she’d taken it for granted that he wasn’t involved with anyone.
“Well then, I guess I’ll have to go alone,” she said.
“Trish, I intended to take you.”
Joy surged through her straight down to the tips of her toes. “When were you going to ask me?”
“I had no way of knowing we’d have McDermott in hand, so naturally I figured I’d be covering you.”
“Oh, I see. In the line of duty.” It took some of the wind out of her sails, but any port in a storm right now.
“I’m excited. I haven’t been to a party in ages. Guess I’ll have to go home and bring over more of my clothes.”
“It’s not a ball, Trish. It’s just a small get together at Sardino’s.”
“Sardino? Wasn’t that the name of the man in the squad who was killed?”
“Yes. Mama and Angelo Sardino are Tony’s parents. They own this small Italian restaurant. You’ll love them.”
“I’m sure I will. And just the same, I’m going home and getting something to wear. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t want to, but I’ll come on general principle. I haven’t officially been relieved of duty.”
“Good, let’s not waste any more time.” She jumped up from the table and turned into a whirlwind cleaning up the dishes.
On the way they made a stop at Dave’s apartment for him to get a suit, clean shirt and tie. Then they drove on to the Hunter home.
Trish was so excited she hummed as she looked through her wardrobe and selected a sleeveless black dress with a jeweled collar, black sandals and lingerie. No matter how Dave had proffered the invitation, they were going on a date again.
Rather than go inside and possibly confront Henry Hunter, Dave took Ayevol for a walk.
Upon returning to the apartment, he helped Trish empty the locker and haul away the cartons. Nothing remained of Robert Manning’s belongings except some bold outlines on the walls, and the furniture, which a charity would pick up the following day. Before they knew it, the day had slipped away and it was time to dress for the party.
As Dave checked her wrap in the coat check, Trish heard the soft strains of a dance band above the drone of muted voices and laughter. Her gaze swept the room of the Italian restaurant, which had been closed to the public, and saw the familiar faces of the squad among the group.
A path opened up providing a view of Jeff Baker, Mike Bishop and a beautiful blond woman sitting at a corner table. Seeing Trish, Mike waved and beckoned to her to join them.
Dave returned and put a guiding hand on her back as they wove their way through the crowd toward the Bishops.
Dave had told her about Ann Bishop. The woman had been abducted by terrorists in French Guiana and Mike had led the squad that had gone in and rescued her and six-year-old Brandon Burroughs, the young boy in Ann’s care. Mike and Ann had fallen in love and were married six months ago, and had legally adopted Brandon. They were expecting a child within three months.
Ann was warm and friendly, and she and Trish hit it off at once. What really surprised Trish was how the usually solemn Mike Bishop so openly adored his wife, and made no effort to disguise it.
The obvious devoti
on between the couple made Trish conscious of the obstacles she and Dave still had to overcome.
But we will overcome them, she vowed with a loving glance at Dave. Still she couldn’t help envying Ann Bishop. The fortunate woman was carrying the child of the man she loved. How she wished she was carrying Dave’s baby.
She didn’t have too much time to lament that though, because the fellows on the squad kept her on the dance floor most of the time.
When the band began to play a slow tune, Dave turned to her and held out his hand. She slipped her hand into his, and he led her to the dance floor.
Dave was silent as they moved to the music. But he always had been whenever they danced. He preferred to concentrate on the music and always told her “one or the other, Trish. Dance or talk—but not both.”
She stole a glance at him. His countenance was solemn and he appeared deep in thought. She arched a brow and began to tease him.
“I think I’m dancing a solo here. Earth to Cassidy. Come in, please.”
Dave’s eyes filled with laughter, and he grinned down at her. “It’s a good thing you’ve got a pretty face because it sure has to make up for a wise mouth. So be quiet and enjoy the music.”
He pulled her closer, and they yielded again to the rhythm of the music.
It felt so good being in his arms again. Natural. Where she belonged. Within minutes, she had become intoxicated by the male essence of him.
A vocalist began to sing an old Elvis Presley standard: the hauntingly sentimental lyrics about how one can’t help falling in love.
Tell me about it; she had lived those lyrics. Trish snuggled closer to Dave.
She found it impossible to ignore his sensuality. The touch of his hand on her back was igniting her nerve endings, the pressure of his fingers was a tantalizing aphrodisiac and the scent of his aftershave a definite enticement. She was turned on.
She couldn’t fight the overpowering need for him any longer. She stopped dancing and they halted on the floor. Raising her head, she looked up into his eyes and saw that they mirrored her own need.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
Within minutes, she was tucked securely in the front seat of his car. Dave didn’t touch her or say a word. He drove, keeping his eyes on the road, his long fingers secure on the wheel. She wanted to reach out and cover his hand with hers, but she dared not. She sensed he was avoiding any physical contact in order to hold on to his control. She wasn’t certain how much she had remaining herself.
It seemed like an eternity before he reached the apartment. The waiting had been intolerable. The moment he helped her out of the car, he pulled her into his arms. She became engulfed in an interminable kiss, spinning and twisting helplessly as she was drawn deeper and deeper into the depths of a swirling eddy.
She had no memory of how they reached her apartment. Once inside there was no time for subtlety.
Trish kicked her shoes away as Dave yanked off her wrap and threw it on a chair. Then he pulled off his jacket and tossed it aside. His shoes followed.
He wrestled impatiently with the knot of his tie as she pulled off her pantyhose, then she reached for him and tightened her arms around him, her fingertips caressing the corded column of his strong neck. She could feel the tautness that held his body in check, and slid a hand into the mahogany thickness of his hair. Its crisp springiness tantalized her fingertips.
His hands cradled the back of her neck and tipped her face to his. His kiss devoured her breath.
Attuned to the simplest touch, she closed her eyes as he pressed a kiss to each closed lid before claiming her lips again in another deep kiss.
Trish swirled in sensation when he began to rain quick, moist kisses on her face and mouth. Swept along by a torrent of long-suppressed passion, she felt his tongue lightly trace the outline of her mouth. Her hunger for him was insatiable—her body communicating this need with a mounting, pulsating response.
He nibbled at her mouth, then his tongue conducted darting forays into its heated chamber. She responded with a sensuous stroke of her hand down the sinewy column of his neck and into the open neckline of his shirt. She buried her fingers in the matted hair of his chest.
Her breathing became painful gasps when he slid his hand to her hips and pressed her against the intimate proof of his arousal, then captured her lips again as he unzipped her gown and shoved it off her shoulders.
Her breasts swelled under the heat of his gaze as his eyes clung hungrily to the sight of the skimpy black satin slip molded to the fullness of her breasts and soft curves of her body.
Shuddering with response, she gasped when his firm warm hands cupped her breasts and slid down her body in a slow, tantalizing examination of the glossy fabric. Then, with a motion as smooth as the satin he fingered, he lowered the straps off her shoulders and pushed the garment past her breasts, his hands sweeping them in a caress as he did so.
Overpowered by the scent of him and the feel of the strength in the powerful muscles at her fingertips she pulled the shirttails out of his pants and released the remaining buttons of his shirt. As he struggled to free his long arms from the sleeves, she fumbled awkwardly with his belt in her effort to release it.
His name became a sensuous purr on her lips when his mouth closed around one of her breasts in an exquisitely rapturous suckling, then he captured the other in the cup of a hand and rasped the taut peak with his thumb.
She bit her lip to keep from crying out. Groaning with rapture, she abandoned her effort at his belt and pressed his head to her breasts.
His mouth continued to pay homage to them as his hand roved across the smooth plane of her stomach and stripped off her slip and panties.
Dipping her mouth to his shoulder, she sampled its saltiness with her tongue. The warmth of his hands slid to her rear and his fingers splayed across the sensitive nerve endings of her buttocks. Tremors raced down her spine when he filled his hands with the rounded cheeks.
Her head reeled with dizziness and she lost all hold on reality. She had no idea how much longer she could endure the erotic torture.
“I’m burning up, Dave.”
“I know,” he rasped hoarsely.
“Help me,” she pleaded as the fire raging through her threatened to consume her.
“I will, angel. I will,” he whispered in a hoarse assurance and pressed his hands more tightly into her silky flesh and lifted her. She curled her legs around him.
Smothering a groan against her mouth, he backed her to the wall and crushed her to him as he recaptured her lips. The kiss was too hungry to be gentle, her response as instinctive as breathing.
He carried her into the bedroom and laid her gently on the bed. Seconds passed like hours until the muscular warmth of him stretched out on top of her.
Trish had ached for this moment, and her body shivered with the thrill of it. How often had she tried to relive in memory the excitement his touch created.
He broke the kiss and swept her eyes, her cheeks, her neck with quick kisses that sparked that exquisite fire of passion wherever they touched. Breath was too precious to waste on words as he kissed her again and again. Rejoicing in the moment, she clasped her arms around his neck and clung to him.
He made an attempt to reacquaint his hands and mouth with her body, but their wait had been too long, the need too great to prolong it a moment longer. He entered her and their bodies clung and moved as one in the erotic harmony of lovers.
She cried out his name in ecstasy as they reached fulfillment.
As soon as his breathing returned to normal, Dave rolled off her and she shifted to her side and cradled her head in the hollow of his shoulder. She wanted to cry, but was too embarrassed to do so. It was the only way she could truly express the joy of being able to reach out and touch him again, to smell the intoxicating scent of him, the warmth of his muscular brawn.
His muscles were firmer than she remembered, obviously due to the strenuous military training. His flesh felt warm an
d tight beneath her fingertips. How she loved the feel of this man!
Despite his warnings, whatever future lay ahead, she would never stop loving him. And despite whatever denials or arguments he put forth, even if he wouldn’t admit it, she knew he was as committed to her as she was to him.
They made love again, more leisurely this time as they rediscovered each other’s bodies.
Now that his hands and mouth had a greater and freer access to her body, he explored her in an erotic probe. He had waited too long for this moment. He forced himself to execute control so that he could caress every crevice and hollow of her body with his hands and mouth.
She didn’t have his control and was already aroused.
“Please, Dave. I can’t take any more,” she pleaded, her body arching against the moistness of his mouth when he closed it around a hardened nipple.
“The best is yet to come, angel,” he murmured.
Raising his head, he stared down at her. Her dark hair was spread in dishevelment on the pillow, and he watched the changing expressions in her passion-heavy eyes as he began to stroke the heated chamber of her sex. He was helpless to resist the irresistible draw of it and lowered his head and nibbled the tender flesh of her inner thigh until he reached the throbbing source of her.
She began to writhe in wild abandon and her long fingers dug into the flesh of his shoulders as she clutched at him when her body started to shudder with spasms of erotic sensation.
The sight and feel of her arousal incited his lust. He flicked his tongue across the swollen lips that protected that chamber, then shifted and once again plunged his tongue into the heated moistness of her mouth. Her tongue did an erotic dance across the roof of his and he pulled away with a muffled groan into the perfumed thickness of her hair.
She embraced him and her fingers swept the length of his spine, hugging him against her own rounded curves as her groping hands sought his hardened arousal.
“Please. Please,” she groaned in heaving gasps, unaware of the havoc her searching hands were raining on his body. Her breath became a quivering sob when he raised himself and thrust into her.
