Ash Rising (DEAd Series) (30 page)

She pulled
her chin above the bar at the same time he did, and he lifted that damn brow. His arms flexed and bulged, and he double-timed her reps, the show off. She managed the first set easily before the warning burn fired in her upper arms. He still pulled and dropped with infuriating ease, so she dug into her bag of tricks.

“Look at that,” she murmured. “Who knew physical exertion made my nipples hard?”

The smallest stutter interrupted his smooth motion, and there went that brow. She wanted to lick it off.

“I thought it
was because of
my
physical exertion,” he said, pretending to bite his glistening biceps without faltering. “Getting tired, beautiful?”

“Not a chance, gorgeous.”

He grinned at her retort, and she tried desperately not to grunt with effort. Emma gathered her strength, and on her next pull, she managed to rub the side of her body along his, up then down. They slid and slipped against each other, sweat-slick, hot, heated, blood pumping, muscles working, pride and ego battling.

“Fuck it,”
he gasped. Hooking an arm over the bar, he leaned sideways to kiss her, in the jarringly sensitive spot just below her ear.

The kiss took her by surprise, and she almost fell, struggling frantically to keep her grip on the bar and his lips right where they were—on her neck, not on her mouth. Never on her mouth, damn it, but she wouldn’t do a thing to disrupt the deep, pervasive pleasure as his teeth scraped down her neck, no matter how tired her arms were. Somehow, she’d find the strength to hold herself over the bar until she passed out or died.

And oh, boy, did he ever know how to use that mouth. His teeth bit and tongue soothed over the thrilling sting as they dangled from the pull-up bar. Tilting his head, he growled in frustration when he couldn’t reach as far as he wanted, and then dropped to the floor. Emma let go of the bar with a gasp and fell on her ass on the carpet.

“Let’s call a draw.”

He stood over her, panting. Eyes soft and heavy with desire, he rolled his lips to lick them, and that was all she could take. She yanked on the hem of his cotton shorts, and he staggered forward with a surprised grunt. Tripping on their shirts lying in a heap at his feet, he teetered ominously.

“Emma—Shit!”

He fell forward and knocked her onto her back but managed to catch himself on his hands. She took immediate advantage by wrapping her legs around his hips and pulling him down.

“Fucking hell.” He locked his arms, and heat engulfed her breast when his mouth covered her nipple through her bra. She drifted one hand down his side to touch the scar marring his left thigh, and the other reluctantly tugged in his hair. He lifted his head with a groan and collapsed on top of her, crushing her into the carpet.

“You’ve done me in,” he said, voice muffled in her neck. Pushing on his shoulder, she laughed when he flopped dramatically onto the floor next to her.

“How about we open a nice bottle of wine and spend the rest of the night relaxing?”

“That might even be beyond me.” In a smooth motion, he sat up and grabbed his sweatshirt off the floor to pull over her head.

“I’ve got my own shirt,” she protested, but gave herself away by
pulling the frayed collar against her cheek to inhale the scent clinging to the soft material.

“Getting cool out.” He brushed his fingertips across her cheek, and her breath caught at the look on his face.

“What about you?” She gestured at his bare chest.

“I’ll grab another shirt while you get the wine.”

When he walked back into the family room after donning a new sweatshirt, the sliding door to the deck Emma left cracked open caught his attention. The clouds had passed and the light rain with them, leaving the air cool and crisp with stars spread across the night sky. He grabbed the blanket lying across the back of the sofa to wrap around her as she sat outside on one of the lounge chairs.

She broke his damn heart, watching him with wide, solemn eyes. Engulfed in his old sweatshirt, the sleeves covered her hands right down to her fingertips and the shoulder seams hung down her arms. Soft and adorable,
sitting in the dark with his mom’s blanket tucked around her waist. He couldn’t recall any sight ever affecting him more.

“Ash?”

Her voice curled seductively around his name and he drew in a breath. Remembering his long ago fantasy of bringing Liz to the lake house, making love to her under that very blanket on that exact lounge chair, his heart clenched, but not with remorse. The only woman he could imagine in his home—his childhood home, his parents’ home—was her.

Emma.

“Ash,” she repeated, leaning back in the chaise and opening the blanket.

Silent on his bare feet, he went to her and put a hand on each armrest. Her breath caught with a soft gasp, and a surge of heat hardened him at the sound.

Pushing the hair off her shoulder to expose her throat, he brushed his lips below her ear and along her jaw before kissing the corner of her mouth. Emma angled her chin, seeking, but he slid a hand behind her neck as he made a quiet, soothing sound and nuzzled gently against her cheek.

She strained up against him, fingers sinking into his biceps as she kicked the blanket away and wrapped her legs around his to pull him down those last critical inches so he lay on top. He held firm against her demand, even when she swept her tongue along his lower lip, tempting him unmercifully and weakening his resolve.

“Not here.” He groaned when she slid her legs up and flexed. Bedroom. Hell, he’d settle for the family room, or even the kitchen, just not out on the deck. In the chaise. On his mother’s blanket.

“Here,” she said on a breath. “Right here. Right now.”

“God, Emma.” Heat weakened his resolve, and he lowered himself to settle on top of her.

“Yes,” she hissed, reaching for the buttons on his jeans and his mouth again.

“Condom,” he muttered, angling his head away out of reflex, but his hand went between her thighs to seek and search. Oh, yes. So wet. So ready.

“No time,” she repeated. “Want you now. I’m on the pill. Well, I’ve had a shot—a shot of the pill. You know what I mean. Shut up. Do it. Just do it, right now.”

He gave up the fight, wanting her too much, needing to give her anything she asked for. His hands burrowed under the borrowed sweatshirt, but she managed to shake her head without dislodging his mouth from under her jaw.

“No. Too cold. God, quick.
Ash
. Hurry.”

He wrestled with the cotton pants she wore, somehow freeing one of her legs. The material tangled around her other ankle, but he ignored that in favor of shoving his jeans and briefs down the minimum distance and reached between her legs. He entered her with a single thrust, and she clung, arched up and met his hips with as much desperation and violence as he gave. Need roared as his control slipped, and he took her hot and hard, shattered and humbled and so incredibly desperate for her.

She convulsed under his frantic, driving strokes. Lost, he buried his face in the curve of her neck and shoulder, strangling on a shout as he came, kept coming, jerking with the force of his climax. He lay shivering on top of her, soothed by the stroke of her hands on his back and over his bare buttocks.

“Emma.” He could barely make his voice work. “Y’okay?”

“Amazing,” she whispered. Aftershocks from his orgasm flowed into a deep, lifting sigh at the sincerity in her voice.

“Bed,” he murmured. “With you.”

She chuckled, and he felt as well as heard the sound. He managed to lift his upper body on his arms and forced himself to his feet, hoisted his jeans up before scooping her into his arms. Emma gasped, struggled briefly, and then grabbed him around the neck as he staggered across the deck to the door.

“Ash! I’m too heavy. Put me down.”

“Pfft. You’re perfect. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

He proved his claim by carrying her down the hall to his room and lowering her to the bed. Stripping her, stripping himself, he pulled her under the covers. She gave a delighted laugh and proceeded to kiss every inch of his bare skin. Every long, hard inch.

With a contented sigh, he enjoyed her attentions, determined to return the favor.

Later.

The next afternoon, Emma scowled at the papers and discs spread over the dining room table where she’d set up to work, needing the extra space. Laying her head next to her laptop, she blinked blearily.

“There’s just…nothing. No trail, no evidence, nobody coming forward to take credit for either of the Salvatore murders or even bragging about it on the street. No evidence Rico’s rivals killed him and his sister. Or Slick. It’s all a big goddamn dead end. Maybe we’re not looking in the right place.” She hesitated and then voiced a niggling fear. “I don’t know who they’ll go after next. If they’ll go after you.”

“Pete, Andy, and I talked about that. No reason to think they will.”

“That was before Gina and Leonard—Slick—were killed.”

“Pretty well known I was UC, not an actual member of Rico’s operation, thanks to the media coverage of the bombing. Not a threat to take over his operations, so unless they have a hard-on for Mounties, I’m in no more danger than I am every day on the job.” He placed a mug of hot tea next to her. “I’ve seen the file, but you’re welcome to talk things out if it’ll help.”

Emma sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Reports confirm a single person, same one for all three murders. Strong bastard. Takes a lot of strength to cut someone’s throat, but labs show drugs—oxycodone—in all three vics. Drugged and incapacitated make slitting someone’s throat a little easier, although less sporting, if you ask me. Suspect is medium height, as far as we can tell, made all three kneel before coming up behind and—”

She made a sharp horizontal slash with her arm, holding an imaginary knife in her fist.

“Still got me on that suspect list of yours, Special Agent Justice? I’m a strong bastard, and I wouldn’t have minded their blood spilling over my hands while they were on their knees before me.” Ash had meant to lighten the mood, but his words held the morbid ring of truth.

“No, you’re too tall,” she commented absently. “Don’t joke, Ash.”

“You were pretty determined to put me on your suspect list at first.”

“I was just yanking your chain. Wanted to use what you knew about Rico’s operations and your interactions with the victims.”

“Mm. Yanking my chain?”

She huffed a laugh. “It’s such a pretty chain.”

“Pretty?” He leaned down and bit her earlobe in retaliation before soothing the sting with his tongue.

“Manly,” she allowed between kisses along her jaw. “Very masculine. Studly. Um…”

“Something will come up.” He moved behind her to rub her shoulders. “The situation is too odd, the circumstances too similar. Something will pop.”

Emma squeezed his fingers where they kneaded her neck. “Probably. Hopefully. But more than likely not before I have to leave.”

His hands stilled and then resumed their massage. “Have you heard anything about going back to the States?”

She shrugged, glad he couldn’t see her face. “Nothing definite. There’s been some talk about assigning me to the Buffalo office, continuing to work in conjunction with you guys at the RCMP.”