Amnesia (38 page)

They had been making love for endless hours, in the old-fashioned sense that equated to romantic foreplay. Lingering glances, gazing into each other’s eyes. Touching tenderly, caressing,
stroking. Kissing, tasting, licking. Every heartbeat connected, every breath simultaneous.

“I wish this night never had to end,” Annabelle told him, her voice enticing, her words seductive.

Leaning his head over onto hers, he whispered, “I wish that, too.”

She inched the fingers of one hand up and into his hair, while the other hand gripped his shoulder. “We can’t pretend there aren’t any problems to be overcome, but—”

“Leave those problems until tomorrow,” he told her as he slid both hands down her back and cupped her buttocks, lifting her up and into his erection. “Tonight, there are no problems. There is no tomorrow.”

As the dreamy music filled Annabelle’s hotel suite, she stopped dancing, stood on tiptoe and kissed Quinn. “No problems. No tomorrow. Only now, tonight and the two of us.”

They kissed again and again, all the while their hands roamed, exploring, discovering. When she was breathless and trembling, Quinn lifted her up and into his arms. She flung her arms around his neck as he carried her across the room to the sofa. He laid her on the soft cushions, then came down over her, balancing his body over hers with his knees and elbows on either side of her. She lifted herself up to meet his kiss. He undid the tiny pearl buttons on her silk blouse, kissing each new inch of flesh he exposed. She mimicked his moves and unbuttoned his shirt, then jerked it free from his pants. While she planted kisses over his smooth, muscular chest, he threaded his fingers through her hair and cradled her head with one hand. When she came up for air, he undid the front hook on her satin bra and spread it apart to reveal her high, round breasts. He couldn’t resist touching them, cupping them in his hands. Each were more than a handful, neither small nor large. Just right. Perfect.

When he flicked her nipples with the pads of this thumbs, she keened softly and arched her back so that her mound aligned with his straining erection.

He was so ready. Wanted her so badly. Needed to be inside her now.

“Oh, Quinn, please…”

He lowered his head and kissed her directly below her breasts, then unzipped her black slacks and smiled when he saw the black satin bikini panties she wore. He shoved the slacks aside and the panties down far enough to expose a glimpse of dark blond hair covering her mound. He licked a path from between her breasts to the edge of that curly hair.

Tugging on her slacks, he managed to maneuver them down her legs and off, taking her panties, too. She lay before him wearing only her open shirt and bra, her body exposed.

“You’re lovely,” he said. “But I knew you would be.”

When she tried to reach for his belt, he gently slapped her hands away. If she touched his penis, he might not be able to wait. And he wanted to wait. There were things he wanted to do before he took her completely.

“Quinn?”

“Later,
querida
. For now, leave everything to me.”

He spread her legs apart and placed himself between them, then lifted her thighs up and over his shoulders, giving him easy access to his objective. He kissed her inner thighs, first one and then the other. She clutched his shoulders. He licked around her pubic lips, tasting the musky sweetness. She shuddered.

His lips encompassed the soft, pink tissue and sucked gently. Annabelle gasped, then panted when he tongued her clitoris.

“Oh, God, Quinn.”

Her moisture gushed, dampening his mouth. He worked his tongue over her sensitive nub. Relentlessly. Passionately. When he realized she was on the verge of coming, he reached up and pinched her nipples, then rubbed them between his thumbs and index fingers. She cried out, then fell apart, her climax hitting her hard. But he didn’t ease up, didn’t slow down. With his fingers tormenting her breasts, his tongue took her over the edge and beyond, until she was totally spent and
begging him to stop. Her body shook and shivered, almost convulsing in the intensity of her orgasms.

Jim and Griffin talked about old times for a good hour, drinking the Guinness beer that Griffin remembered Jim liking so much when they’d worked together a number of years ago on the art store robberies. He’d had Sanders go out and buy this particular brand, just for Jim. They had been college buddies, teammates, even double-dated several times back in the good old days. He knew Jim wanted to ask him about those mysterious ten years of his life when he had disappeared off the face of the earth, but he couldn’t talk about those years, not even to an old friend, a guy he would trust with his life.

When there was a lull in the conversation, Jim asked, “What’s up? It’s not that I’m not enjoying your companionship and your beer, but you didn’t ask Sanders to call me and invite me over just because you wanted to see my ugly face again so soon.”

“Actually, I did have an ulterior motive.”

Jim chuckled. “No kidding?”

“I’ve got a client I believe is innocent and the only way to prove he’s innocent is by finding the guilty party,” Griffin said. “Just like Quinn and Annabelle Vanderley, you and I want the same thing. Hell, all four of us want the same thing.”

“Okay. We all want to find out who murdered Lulu and Kendall.” Jim held up his hand to signal Griffin to let him finish before he spoke. “And yeah, you think the same guy killed both of them and those three other women—the two in Texas and the one in New Orleans.”

“I think we should be working together. Unofficially, of course. We each have resources we can use. There are things you can do that I can’t because I’m not law enforcement. And there are things that I can do that you can’t because I’m a private investigator.”

“If I agree, it would have to be unofficially. So, what comes first?”

“We decide on the most likely scenario,” Griffin said.

“Which would be?”

“A serial killer with a direct tie to Quinn Cortez,” Griffin said. “Either a woman who wants to eliminate the competition or a man seeking revenge. Somebody with a reason to want to hurt Quinn, either by making him feel guilty or by pinning these murders on him.”

“It’s a reasonable scenario.” Jim took another swig from his second bottle of Guinness. “But it works only if Kelley Fleming was one of Cortez’s women.”

“I’m assuming you know what I know about Kelley.” Griffin sipped on the Guinness, a strong, dark, Irish brew.

“And that would be?” Jim smiled.

“Okay, I’ll give first—that her name was an alias, her ID all fake, that she either had a teenage kid or she had a boyfriend who was a teenager.”

“Did you talk to Lieutenant Stovall?”

“I left him a message. He e-mailed me the info. Said he’d fax the crime scene photos in the morning.”

“Then you don’t have a photo of Kelley?”

Griffin shook his head.

Jim placed his beer on the cocktail table, then stuck his hand into his inside coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “I talked to Stovall’s partner, a guy named Estes. He faxed me the photos just a few minutes before Sanders called.” Jim opened up the folded sheet and handed it to Griffin. “He sent several shots, but this is the only one that gives you a really good look at her face.”

Griffin took the faxed photograph and studied it carefully. The woman appeared to be sleeping. “She was only forty, according to her phony ID. But she looked older.”

“Maybe she was. Or maybe she’d just lived a rough life.”

“Possibly both.”

“She’s not especially pretty, but not butt ugly either,” Jim said. “Just haggard looking.”

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“Do you?”

“You’re thinking that she’s not Quinn Cortez’s type,” Griffin said. “All four of the other women had something in common, besides being Quinn’s lovers. They were all very attractive women.”

“Kelley might have been attractive at one time.”

“Years ago, maybe, but not two years ago when this photo was taken.”

“Then it could be that there is no connection between her and Cortez. Your theory could be wrong.”

“It could be,” Griffin agreed. “But I don’t think so. Maybe Kelley knew Griffin ten or fifteen years ago, back when she might have been attractive.”

“That blows your theory, too. Why would the killer have waited all those years to murder her? And if he did wait ten or fifteen years to start killing Cortez’s lovers, why start with her? Why leave all the women in between then and now alone?”

“Damn good question.”

“Yeah, and if we can find out the answer, we might be able to figure out who our murderer is.” Jim paused, looked right at Griffin and said, “Unless Cortez turns out to be our guy after all.”

Unbelievable. Deliciously, wickedly, astoundingly incredible. Annabelle lay there on the sofa, her senses sated, her bones soft, her body floating on a wave of pure satisfaction. Quinn lifted himself and moved up her body, trailing kisses from her mound to her breasts. When he flicked one nipple with his tongue, she gasped with an intense pleasure/pain that signaled to him the hypersensitive state her body was in right now. Chuckling quietly, he came up and over her, then lowered his head and kissed her mouth. She accepted him greedily, kissing him back, tasting herself on his lips.

“How do you feel?” he asked, a devilish twinkle in his black eyes.

“Wonderful. No, I feel more than wonderful.” She lifted her hand and shoved back the lone curl that had fallen onto his forehead.

Quinn eased up and off her, then reached down and brought her to her feet. “We’re just getting started,
querida
. We have all night.”

Annabelle sighed heavily, contemplating more pleasure as the aftershocks of fulfillment still rippled along her nerve endings.

He scooped her up into his arms.

She had never loved life more. She loved this moment…and this man.

After carrying her into the bedroom, he laid her atop the covers, then eased her unbuttoned silk blouse and unhooked bra down her shoulders and her arms. While he flung her clothing aside, she kicked off her one-inch heels and peeled off her knee highs; then she scooted over into the middle of the bed and propped her back against the headboard. Sitting there gloriously naked, she became aroused anew simply by being near Quinn.

Taking his time, Quinn undressed. First came his unbuttoned shirt. He tossed it on top of her discarded bra and blouse, which he’d thrown onto a nearby chair; then he sat on the edge of the bed and took off his shoes and socks. When he stood again, she watched as he shed his dark slacks and added them to the pile of their clothing. He shoved his hand into his pants pocket and pulled out three small shiny packets, each containing a condom; then he laid them on the nightstand.

Annabelle surveyed him, from his curly black hair to his large, wide feet. His shoulders were massive, his back broad, his waist narrow. His butt round and tight. When he turned to face her, he grinned and butterflies danced wildly in her stomach. He was, without a doubt, the sexiest man alive.

He stood there by the bed, allowing her to look at him, to rake her gaze over all seventy-three inches of his magnificent body, from head to toe. When her vision focused on his crotch, his erection straining against his black briefs, he slipped his thumbs underneath the elastic band on either side and slid them down his hips.

Annabelle held her breath with anticipation. When his briefs hung on the large bulge in front, he hesitated. Teasing her.

“Take them off,” she told him, practically licking her lips.

Quinn whipped off his briefs, stepped out of them and left them lying on the floor.

God, he was—impressive.

When he sat on the bed, she came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him, crushing her breasts against his back. Leaning her head to one side, she swooped down and nibbled on his ear, then licked a circle around the inner curve before whispering longingly.

“Make love to me,” she said, “I want you inside me, loving me, showing me how good it can be.”

He leaned over and took one of the condom packages from the nightstand, ripped it open and removed the rubber. Annabelle peeked over his shoulder to watch him apply the protection.

Naked, fully aroused and projecting a savage power, Quinn turned and looked at her, then he caressed her face. His touch was electric, sending shock waves through her body. She closed her eyes and savored the moment. He gripped the back of her head and brought her mouth to his, then kissed her. Hard. Demanding.

While still kissing her, his mouth devouring hers, he maneuvered her backward and down onto the bed. Using his knee, he parted her thighs and slipped between them, pressing his penis against her mound. Her hips bucked upward in invitation. His mouth left hers and journeyed down her neck to first one breast and then the other. When he suckled her breast, she shivered as pure sensation shot through her body. Longing. Desire. A primeval need to mate.

“Now, please, Quinn, please.”

Running his hands beneath her, her cupped her buttocks and lifted her up so that he could easily take her completely with one fast, deep lunge. She gasped when he filled her, stretched her, giving her all of himself. Her body accepted him, expanding to accommodate his size.

The feel of him inside her was ecstasy. And when he began to move, to retreat and lunge, retreat and lunge, the pleasure intensified. Falling into the rhythm he set, her body undulated with each strong thrust. The tension inside her built again, faster and faster as he increased the tempo. Knowing she was close to climaxing, she encouraged him
with hot, erotic words—alien words that she had seldom used. And he told her, in no uncertain terms, what he was going to do to her and how he was going to do it. His gutter vulgarity sent her over the edge, but she didn’t go alone. Just as the first wave of her orgasm exploded inside her, he jack-hammered into her. When he came, he shivered and jerked and uttered a deep, guttural groan. Quinn surrendered to the animal in him, then dissolved on top of Annabelle.

Breathing heavily, wet with sexual perspiration, they clung to each other, sharing wild, damp kisses. He eased off her and onto his side, then drew her into his arms.