Joel sat on the armchair beside her.
“Was it arson?” she asked.
“We don’t know for sure yet. But it’s looking that way.” He paused, debating how much to tell her. She was a CSI, for fuck’s sake. He could be straight with her. “The fire chief found pour trails.”
Miranda nodded stiffly. She knew exactly what that meant.
“We’ll test a sample of the drop cloth, but it looks like mineral spirits.”
“The turpentine.” She still wouldn’t look at him. “I smelled it when I stepped inside the building. There was a can of it next to the paint.”
“That’s likely the source.”
So, was it a random crime? Miranda was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or was she specifically targeted? Had someone been following her with the intent to harm her, and they spotted their chance?
Or maybe Joel was being paranoid, and Miranda just happened to be inside what looked like an abandoned building when some pyromaniac decided to do their thing. Joel wanted to believe it was random. But his gut instinct told him there was more to it.
He watched her gazing down at Benji, completely still. She seemed so composed, but he knew this tough demeanor was an act. Was she doing it for him? He didn’t know what to say to her. Maybe he should just be honest.
“Miranda.”
She lifted her gaze to his, and the fear in those caramel-colored eyes pulled at him.
“I don’t fully understand what’s going on here,” he said. “But I want you to trust me that I will figure it out.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“I’ll tell you what I know as soon as I know it.”
As he said the words, he wondered if he was making a mistake. She was potentially the target of a crime, and he shouldn’t be making promises. But he needed to reassure her. He needed her to understand there was nothing he wouldn’t do to figure out who had put her in danger and hold them accountable.
She cleared her throat. “Thank you. I appreciate being kept in the loop.”
She looked at her dog again, and the tense set of her shoulders got to him. She started to say something, then changed her mind. Her chin began to quiver, and that was it.
“Hey. Come here.” He moved to the sofa beside her and pulled her into his arms. She stayed stiff at first. Then she relaxed a fraction, and he felt her arm slide around his waist.
“It’s okay.” He pulled her closer, settling her head on his shoulder. Her hair smelled amazing again, and he tried not to think about it.
“I’ve never been so scared in my life.” Her arms tightened around him. “And then when I couldn’t find Benji . . .” Her shoulders hunched and he felt the tension radiating from her. “I saw him in that ditch and I thought he was dead.” The last part ended with a hiccup, and he wrapped his arms tighter. A tremor went through her, and he knew she was fighting for control.
“It’s okay.” He stroked her hair. “He’s fine now. You both are.”
She pressed her face against his chest, and he felt the warmth of her tears seeping through his shirt. She curled against him, crying silently as he held her, and he wished he could take away the fear.
“Hey. Look at me.”
She sniffled.
“Miranda.”
She looked up, and her watery eyes tore at his heart. “Benji’s all right. You took care of him. He’ll be okay.”
She rested her forehead against his shoulder again, and he gathered her closer. A soft sob escaped. And then another. She wrapped her arms tighter, and he felt her breast pressed against his side. He caught her thigh and pulled her close, tucking her head under his chin, and she nestled into him. It was a special kind of agony, feeling her soft curves pressed against him as she quietly cried. He looked at the ceiling, desperate for a distraction—anything to help him think about something other than taking her clothes off while she cried her heart out. She was coming down off a trauma. From the moment he saw her at the crime scene, she’d been practically catatonic. She’d managed to hold it together until the thing with Benji opened the floodgates.
She curled into him, and he tortured himself by bending his head down to inhale the sweet scent of her hair. Never in his life had he wanted a woman this badly. And he couldn’t have her. Not tonight, at least. Not like this. She was scared and vulnerable, and probably still in shock from everything that had happened. She’d been rescued from a burning building, for Christ’s sake. She was traumatized, and if he took advantage of her now, he’d never forgive himself. Especially when she’d explicitly told him she wanted to keep things platonic.
The decent thing to do would be to lift her luscious body out of his lap—where it had somehow migrated—and make an excuse to leave before he did something really selfish, like try to talk her into bed.
Her shoulders went still, and she eased back.
“Sorry.” She looked at him, and her tear-streaked face made his chest hurt. “I got you all wet.” She rubbed the damp spot on his shirt.
“It’s fine.” He reached up and feathered her hair away from her face. “You’ve had a rough night. I get it.”
She gazed up at him, and her lips parted slightly. The pain in her eyes faded, and he saw the moment it was replaced by something else.
She could feel what she did to him. That’s right, honey. Holding you while you cry turns me on. He gazed down at her, waiting for her to pull away or scramble off his lap, but she simply looked up at him with an expression he couldn’t read. Then her gaze dropped to his mouth, and lust shot through him. That look he knew.
“Miranda.”
She glanced up at him. Her gaze settled on his mouth once again, and he felt like he was going to catch fire right there.
“Tell me what you want,” he said.
She looked up at him with those golden-brown eyes. Time seemed to stop, and he held his breath, waiting for her answer.
“I want you to kiss me.”
* * *
* * *
The instant the words were out, he dipped his head down.
His kiss was strong. Demanding. But in a different way from last time. He seemed hungry, almost desperate to taste her as he combed his fingers into her hair. His intensity sent a jolt of desire through her, obliterating all the other emotions she’d been juggling till now. The fear was gone, the confusion, the stark terror that had gripped her when she thought Benji would die.
Everything was gone, replaced by this thick, hot yearning flowing through her veins.
His hand slid to her breast. He stroked his thumb over her nipple, and she moaned against his mouth. She slid her hands around his neck and leaned back on the sofa, pulling him with her until the delicious weight of him settled between her legs, right where she wanted it, and the hard ridge of his erection sent fiery darts of desire through her. She shifted under him and groaned softly.
He pulled back. “You okay?”
She nodded.
He pulled away again, sitting back on his knees as he removed his holster, and just the sight of those strong hands on his belt buckle gave her a heady rush of anticipation. He placed the belt and holster on the coffee table, then added his wallet and keys to the pile.
Miranda sat up to check Benji.
“He’s asleep,” she whispered.
Joel was watching her now with a mix of worry and need. Maybe he thought she was getting cold feet. She took his hand and pulled him back where he’d been before. Hooking her leg around his calf, she pulled his head down for another kiss that went on and on until their bodies were moving in sync.
She couldn’t believe she was doing this. She couldn’t believe they were here, finally alone together where anything could happen. She’d thought about this, about him, but the weight of his body and his hands moving over her made her realize this was real, and it was much better than a day
dream.
He murmured something as he pushed up on one hand and slid the other under her tank top. He moved the shirt up and freed her breast from the cup of her bra, and she felt a chill against her skin until he swooped down on it.
“Oh.”
The hot pull of his mouth was an electric shock, and she felt it in every cell of her body.
“Oh my God.”
She combed her fingers into his thick hair, loving the silkiness of it as she savored the feeling of his mouth on her nipple. He shifted his attention to the other side, and she moved under him. He felt so good, and she knew she should resist this. Or put the brakes on while she was still able to think. But the only thing she wanted to do was wrap her legs around him and feel the full power of his body.
He tugged on her shirt, and she sat up. Taking care not to touch her cut, he pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it to the ground. He unclasped her bra with a smooth motion, then slid it from her arms and tossed it aside, too. His eyes simmered as he gazed down at her.
She propped herself on her elbows, hoping he’d take the hint and return to her breasts again. He did, stroking his big hands over them, cupping them gently before using his mouth.
“God,” she breathed, closing her eyes and tipping her head back.
She pulled his shirt loose and ran her hands under it, sliding them over his muscular back, tracing the deep valley of his spine. His stubbly beard rasped her skin as he slid down her body, kissing her sternum and then her rib cage and then her navel. He reached the button of her cutoff shorts and kept going, and every nerve in her body sparked as his hands slid up the backs of her thighs. He hovered over her, and she could feel the heat of his breath through the denim. Then she felt the warm press of his mouth against her thigh, and she nearly shot off the couch. She combed her fingers into his hair and arched her hips, but he didn’t move.
She opened her eyes, and he was gazing at her with a hungry male look that sent another jolt of lust through her.
“Do you have a condom?” she whispered.
Heat flared in his eyes. “Yeah.”
Relief flooded her and she gripped his hair. “Oh, thank God.”
She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, and the next thing she felt was the warm press of his mouth against her navel. And then he was shifting over her again, and she felt the brush of his knuckles as he unbuttoned her shorts.
She slipped her hands under his shirt and tugged it up. He yanked it over his head and added it to the growing pile of their clothes. He hooked his fingers into her shorts and panties and she watched, holding her breath, as he slid everything down her legs.
Miranda’s skin heated as he looked her over. She closed her eyes.
“You’re staring.”
He leaned over her, and she felt the rasp of his jeans over her most sensitive skin. “You’re beautiful.”
The compliment set off another ripple of desire, and then another as his mouth closed over her nipple at the same moment his hand slid between her legs. His mouth gave a hard pull as he touched her, teasing and stroking and making her crazy.
Every thought seemed to empty from her mind as she gave herself over to the heat of his mouth and the fiery touch of his hands. She felt the tension building and building until she knew she was going to snap.
“Joel. I need you.”
“What do you need, honey?”
“Everything.”
His hands slid over her thighs.
“Now. Please. I can’t wait.”
He pulled back and reached for his wallet on the table, and she squeezed her eyes tight, desperate to hold on while he stripped off his pants and put on the condom.
“Hurry,” she said.
And then he was back, sliding her legs apart.
“Open your eyes.”
She did. And the pure male desire she saw on his face nearly sent her over the edge. He hitched her thigh over his hip and pushed into her, and she closed her eyes at the bittersweet pain. She dug her fingernails into his hips as he kissed her neck beneath her ear.
“Okay?”
“Yes,” she gasped.
He took her hands and placed them over her head, resting them on the sofa arm behind her. He held them in place with one hand and planted the other on the cushion beside her head. She wrapped her legs around him, and he set a rhythm, thrusting into her over and over. His body felt warm and solid, and she loved the weight of him on her as the tension inside her built and built until she knew she couldn’t hold on. He felt so good, so amazingly perfect, and she never wanted it to end.
“Joel. Oh my God. Oh my God.”
He released her hands to touch her right where they were joined, and she came in a blinding-hot rush that went on and on and on as she gripped his shoulders and held on. She squeezed him tightly, and he gave another hard thrust and collapsed on top of her as she shuddered through the aftershocks.
Miranda’s mind reeled. Her body felt lax and boneless. And flattened from Joel’s weight. For an endless moment she couldn’t think or move or even take a breath.
He propped himself on his forearm, taking some of the weight off her chest as she let her eyelids flutter open.
The stunned look on his face snapped her out of her daze. He brushed a lock of hair from her face.
“You okay?” he asked gruffly.
“Mmm-hmm.” She couldn’t even speak.
He leaned down and kissed her softly. Then he got up and disappeared into the hallway, and she suddenly felt a chill.
She lay on her back and gazed at the wooden rafters above her. What had she just done? Her pulse thrummed and her skin was damp with sweat. And she felt a strange swell of pride. When was the last time she’d done something so impulsive?
She rolled onto her side and looked at Benji curled on his bed, snoring softly through his swollen nose. He looked completely oblivious.
Joel returned, and the sight of his gorgeously naked body made her throat tighten. His muscles rippled as he reached down and tossed one of the sofa cushions to the floor to create more room on the sofa. Then he gazed down at her with a hungry look that made her cheeks warm.
The side of his mouth curved up. “Damn,” he said, stretching out beside her.
“What?”
“I’ve never seen a full-body blush before.”
She turned her face into his chest. “You were staring.”
He hitched her leg over his thigh. “I was.”
She nestled closer, not wanting to look at him. She didn’t want him to see her emotions written all over her face.
His warm hand slid over her hip, sending a flurry of sparks through her.
From the day she’d met him—from that first snippy conversation—she’d known they had chemistry. And she’d predicted that sex with him would be amazing. But it was more than that.
His fingers stroked lazily over her arm—up and down, up and down. She nestled her head against him and tried not to think about the sudden knot in her chest.
She’d had a meltdown.
There was no other word. First, she’d cried all over him. And then she’d dragged him on top of her and come completely undone. She’d sensed that if she ever let her guard down with him, she’d be in trouble, and now she was.
Tomorrow she would have to get up and go to work and be around him and all his co-workers while pretending nothing had happened. She’d been in this situation before, and it sucked, especially when everything went sideways and got uncomfortable.
“I can hear you thinking, Miranda.”
She sighed. “I’m not thinking.”
“No?”
“I’m . . . analyzing.”
“Well, stop.”
“I can’t. It’s what I do.”
He tipped her chin up to make her look at him. “You don’t need to
worry.”
“Why not?”
“Everything’s the same as it was before.”
She snorted. “Um, no, it’s not.” She reached between them and grasped him, and his body went rigid.
“Jesus. What are you trying to do?”
He was still hard. How was that possible after all that? She released him, and he took her hand.
“I’m not saying don’t do it. I’m saying give me a little warning next time.” He smiled down at her, and Miranda’s heart skittered.
She stroked his chest, admiring the defined muscles. She couldn’t believe they were here, joking around while tangled together naked on her sofa. And tomorrow, and the next day, and the next week, they were going to have to work together and act like nothing was going on. And then things would get contentious, like they always did, and one of them would end it, and everything would be awkward and unbearable until one of them quit their job—which would obviously be her, since she was the newbie and Joel had been here for years.
Just the thought depressed her.
“Miranda, stop. I mean it.”
She looked at him.
“You worry too much.”
“We can’t do this again.”
Hurt flickered in his eyes, but then it was gone. He smiled slyly. “Why not?”
“Because. We’re working together now. I don’t want things to go south and get awkward.”
“So . . . we can’t do this again tonight? Or ever?”
“I’m serious.”
“I am, too. I need to know what you want.”
I want you.
She didn’t say it.
He traced a finger over the top of her breast, making her shiver, and she caught the look of satisfaction in his eyes. Her cheeks heated as she thought of his mouth on her nipple. Everything he did turned her on, even the way he looked at her. And especially the way he touched her as though he somehow knew exactly what she wanted.
He traced her nipple, and she shivered again.
“How about this?” He propped up on his elbow. “How about we just have fun tonight and worry about the rest in the morning?”
It sounded heavenly. She nodded.
Flight Page 18
