A Fine Specimen (7 page)

He parked directly in
front of the entrance, figuring that the dim glow cast by the entrance porch
light might be enough to keep the scumbags from boosting his hubcaps for, oh,
maybe fifteen minutes. Twenty, tops.

Alex killed the engine.
“Welcome to the Ritz,” he said dryly, looking over at Caitlin. She’d been very
quiet on the trip out, watching out the window as the scenery grew danker and
grimmer.

Shit, she was so fucking
out of place here. Right now, in the uncertain light of the flickering lamp
over the Carlton’s entrance, she looked twelve and helpless. In some parts of
the world that was a guarantee of safety, but not here. Not in Riverhead. Here,
what she signaled was—
come and get me
.

“It isn’t much, is it?”
Caitlin said quietly.

Fuck no, it wasn’t.

Alex came around to the
passenger door and opened it. She stepped out onto the cracked pavement.

A bell echoed distantly
as Alex pushed down on the heavy brass handle of the hotel’s front door and
shouldered it open. He let Caitlin pass then followed her in. His disapproving
gaze took in the peeling wallpaper and cracked flooring.

His disapproval turned
to fury when he saw that the front desk was unattended, the keys hanging on a
plywood board.

“What’s your room
number?” he murmured to Caitlin.

“Four forty-six,” she
replied. “Why?”

Alex reached across the
front desk and lifted her key from its hook. He pocketed it just as a
dark-skinned man with a stained turban came in from a side door, still chewing
something. The smell of curry wafted in from behind the door. The man’s polite
smile turned genuinely welcoming when he saw Caitlin. “Ah, Ms. Summers. Good
evening.”

“Good evening, Hassan.”

“You want key? Number
four forty-six. Is right?” He searched the board. “That is strange…” Hassan
turned back to them and froze when he saw Alex’s hand holding a BPD shield two
inches from his nose, Alex’s face right behind it. “S-s-sir?”

“Baylorville Police
Department,” Alex growled, trying to contain his anger. This dirtbag could get
Caitlin raped or killed. “You are very lucky today, Hassan, because I am not
going to haul your sorry ass downtown on a charge of reckless endangerment. Nor
am I going to inquire about your status with Immigration.”

Hassan turned pasty
white under his dusky complexion.

Alex dangled Caitlin’s
key in front of him. “Listen up, Hassan, because I’m only going to say this
once. Never,
ever
leave this key unattended. If you absolutely have to
leave the front desk, you take Ms. Summers’ key with you. If you don’t, and if
someone gets into Ms. Summers’ room and she gets hurt, I will personally make
it my business to see that you are put away for the rest of your natural life.”
Alex’s gaze was fierce. He meant Every. Fucking. Word. “
Is that clear
?”

Hassan jumped. “Yessir,
yes! Yes indeed.” He placed his hands together and bowed his head. “Most
clear.”

Alex stared at him for
another long moment then put a hand to Caitlin’s back and walked her to the
battered steel doors of the elevator.

Caitlin was silent until
the doors closed and the elevator started creaking slowly upward. She rounded
on him. “How
dare
you speak to poor Hassan like that! There was no need
whatsoever to terrify him like you did.”

“Are you joking? There
was every need!” The elevator jerked to a stop and Alex stepped warily out into
the corridor. The lighting in the hallway was dim and there were pockets of
darkness down its length. Room 446 was at the end of the corridor. “Anyone could
just walk in off the street and grab your key.” The thought of it had him in a
sweat. It would take nothing to notice her, follow her back to the hotel and
find out what room she was in. Then steal the key while ol’ Hassan was in the
back office scarfing curry rice.

Caitlin wasn’t
listening. “Hassan only arrived in this country from Pakistan a year ago. He’s
working to save money so he can study agronomy, and here you are, frightening
the poor man to death. Threatening to call Immigration, for heaven’s sake! I’m
sure he’s got his green card, but still— Alex? What are you doing?”

Alex used the key to
open the door to room 446, though the lock was so flimsy he could have picked
it in two seconds. He stood to the side of the door, opened it, scanned the room
then stepped inside. A few more large steps took him to the opposite wall. The
Carlton didn’t exactly splurge on space. He quickly checked the small closet
and the even smaller bathroom.

Caitlin was standing in
the doorway, her arms crossed. “Well?” she asked sweetly. “No dope fiends
hiding under the bed? No serial killers in the shower stall?”

“Nope.” Alex walked back
to her. Caitlin’s skin seemed to glow in the faint light from the corridor. Her
pale blue eyes widened slowly as he approached, his eyes never leaving hers.

Alex picked up her hand
and pressed the key into it, his fist closing over hers. Her hand was slender
and soft, and to his surprise, he couldn’t let go. His brain seemed to stop
functioning, though the cop in him noticed Caitlin’s irregular breathing, the
way her eyes were fixed on his mouth then rose to meet his eyes, the way her
soft, pale pink lips parted…

Without thinking about
it, without planning it, without even
wanting
it, he found himself
bending down to her. Her wide blue eyes watched him then drifted shut as his
mouth closed over hers.

He could feel her breath
sighing out as her mouth opened under his. He moved closer, one hand behind her
head to hold her still for his kiss, the other around her narrow waist.

Alex had a number of
very,
very
good reasons not to do this.

A. Though Caitlin
Summers was twenty-eight, she looked like a teenager. And though Alex was
technically only thirty-eight in human years, he was about one hundred
ninety-seven in cop years. This was not a good match.

B. He liked his women
savvy and experienced and unbreakable. He was a love-’em-and-leave-’em kind of
guy, always had been, always would be. He wasn’t looking for a relationship.

C. This girl—
woman
—had
relationship written all over that gorgeous face.

D. Ray had sent her. She
was Ray’s student, sort of like his daughter. Ray was the closest thing to a
father he’d ever had. Sex with this woman would be like…like incest. Wouldn’t
it?

E. She was going to be
in the cop shop for a whole week, messing with his head. Sex would make it
worse, make him fumble, make him lose his mojo—because knowing she was around
would make him think with his cock instead of his head…

He never got to F
because the heat in his dick fried his logic circuits. Her mouth tasted as
luscious as it looked, without the syrupy sensation of lipstick he now realized
he hated. She was so delicious he didn’t even do what he usually did—make it a
delicate, tentative kiss until he got signs from the woman that his advance was
welcome.

No, sir. He dove in,
licking, sucking, biting, as if she were a cream puff and he were a starving
man.

It was like plunging
into a sea of warm, fragrant flowers that caressed him back.

She moved her arms to
cling to his neck and dropped her heavy book bag right onto his foot, probably
breaking a few small bones. He didn’t give a shit. That same heavy heat that
took out his brain cells had zapped down to his feet to remove his pain
receptor cells too. He felt no pain whatsoever and impatiently shoved the bag
out of his way with his foot because it created maybe half an inch of distance
between them and that was totally intolerable. He had to be as close to her as
it was physically possible to be. Closer. His grip tightened as he angled his
head for a deeper taste of her, so incredibly delicious he would have laughed
if his mouth had been free.

His cock was having a
good time too, way up, hard as steel and happily rubbing against the lips of
her sex. The flimsy material of her dress and panties couldn’t hide the shape
of her. He could feel it all, every little ripple through the cloth. If this
was so great that it felt like the top of his head would come off, wouldn’t
feeling her naked flesh be better?

Oh yeah.

Alex’s right hand moved
from her waist. It took only a second to bunch that lightweight skirt over his
wrist as his hand slowly rode up that long, soft thigh, arrowing straight
toward…

Ahh!

That was it. He cupped
her in the palm of his hand, tightly. They gasped at the same time, out of
excitement and to get some oxygen, their lips never parting, then Alex kissed
her again, harder, deeper. It was so great he almost forgot what his right hand
was doing. Almost. There was something hugely annoying under his hand, keeping
him out. Impatient, he tugged viciously, barely noticing the ripping sound
because his fingers were there, sliding through the soft, wet heart of her.
Softer than the finest silk. He outlined her with the tip of his finger.

She moaned when he
entered her with one finger, then two. The sound of her moan echoed in his
mouth.

She was so wet and so
impossibly tight. His entire world had narrowed to his mouth, his cock and his
fingers. There was no way he could get his cock in her without stretching her
first. He separated his fingers and she jolted wildly, shaking. With every
breath came a little moan, as if she couldn’t help herself.

And then he felt his fingers
pulsing and with the few brain cells left, he wondered if his hand was coming.

No, it wasn’t his
hand—it was Caitlin Summers. Coming.

He’d never felt anything
like it. Her little cunt contracted against his fingers in rhythmic waves, her
entire body welling up against him, bursting with joy. She came against his
mouth, against his chest, against his hand, in long swells rippling through her
body.

Alex had unzipped
himself—God! The release felt so good!—and was holding his cock, ready to
plunge inside her, when he pulled out of the kiss for a fraction of a second.
He needed air.

Looking down, he froze.

Caitlin looked pale,
shocked, lost. Wide blue eyes alarmed, soft mouth open, wet from his own.

Jesus. She was panting
and shaking, completely out of her depth. This wasn’t some easy lay, happy to
have a quickie against a hotel doorframe. With the door still
open
. What
the
fuck
was he thinking?

Alex stepped back for a
second and winced as he looked down at his inflamed cock, huge and red. He
withdrew his hand, sliding it out of her. Her skirt dropped back down over her
legs and Caitlin was restored to a semblance of dignity. He, on the other hand,
was standing there with his cock jutting from his unzipped pants, hard as a
rock, weeping drops of come. He looked like an ass.

Alex hadn’t lost control
of himself like this since…since when? Not even in high school. Hell,
especially not in high school. He’d had so much sex in high school there was no
way it would have thrown him like this. He was so incredibly excited simply
because it had been a long, long time since he’d gotten laid.
Now
wasn’t
when he should be making up for lost time. The world was full of women to fuck,
now that his hormones had been kick-started.

He took another step
back as he tried to stuff himself back into his pants, wincing with pain. It
fucking hurt.

He bent to pick up a
ripped piece of material from the floor. Her panties. Oh Jesus. He’d fucking
ripped her panties off. Alex was smooth, he didn’t do ripped panties. What the
hell was wrong with him?

“Here.” His voice came
out a croak. He cleared his throat. “Here,” he repeated. “I’m sorry I, um, tore
them.”

She was standing there,
staring at him, soft mouth slightly open. He picked up her hand and placed the
torn panties in her palm. “Sorry,” he said again.

“That’s okay.” Her voice
was breathless. She looked down at her hand, holding a now-useless piece of
material that used to be underwear, looking like a ten-year-old whose doll had
been smashed by a bully.

Her hair was even more
disheveled than usual from his fingers. Strands which had escaped the ponytail
curled around her face, lying in gleaming coils along her slender shoulders.

He had to get out of
there or he’d push her onto that rickety bed with the stained bedspread and
climb right on top of her. Slide right into that warm little cunt, soft and
welcoming. Start fucking, hard. Because he wanted that so badly he was shaking.
He stepped back.

“Lock the door after me
and put a chair under the handle.” His voice came out harsh and guttural.

She nodded. It wasn’t
enough.

“Tell me what you’re
going to do.”

“Lock,” she said
breathlessly. “Chair under the handle.”

“Lock the windows too. I
don’t care how hot it gets.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“You don’t open for
anyone but me. Ever. Is that clear?”

“Yes.” Her breathing had
slowed a little. Caitlin was watching him steadily out of those clear, pale
blue eyes.