Cold Midnight (24 page)

She moaned as he skimmed his hand up the inside of her thigh, let her head drop back, closing her eyes. Yes, yes,
yes
. This was what she needed. Chase, Chase and more Chase.

He slid a finger inside her heat, and she arched, gasped, then felt him smile against her lips. “You’re already wet for me,” he murmured.

“Please,” she whispered. “Now.”

He obliged, sinking into her with a long, drawn-out groan. The pleasure of the slide stunned her, and she opened her eyes to find his gaze locked on hers. Sensation spiked at the intense connection, and he began to move, slowly, in and out, sinking in deeper with each long thrust, his hot, glittering gaze steady on hers, his jaw clenched.

The knot of pleasure tightened, began to build, and her breathing went more ragged. Oh, God, oh, yeah, that’s it, that’s exactly it. She tried to quicken the pace, to race to the finish line, but he suddenly pinned her hips to the mattress, stilled her.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped, frustrated and digging her nails into his back.

But he did. He kept her immobilized while he breathed slowly, as if battling back from the edge. She wanted release, needed it, was so close that the pulse of it throbbed inside her, beating, beating, beating, now, now, now.

But he had other ideas, another pace, and he lowered his head and kissed her, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth, the tip glancing off the underside of her top lip, setting off sparks. Her heart, already hammering, tripped and stuttered at the intimacy, the tenderness. With his eyes on hers, he moved his head down to roll his tongue over her nipple, then gave it a gentle tug with his teeth, his gaze never leaving hers. He resumed thrusting, grinding forward and sliding back, forward and back, deepening each stroke with an extra, subtle jerk of his hips.

She bowed back, her heart about to explode out of her chest.

He took her hands and raised them above her head, trapped her wrists there with one hand while he gripped her hip with his other and thrust and thrust, harder and faster, grunting now and groaning, straining for the peak, sweat sliding between their bodies, sticking them together in wet delight. The whole time, his eyes stayed intent on hers, not letting her look away, not even blinking, his jaw tight, his teeth clenched, his neck corded with muscles and tendons and strain, pumping into her, ruthless and hard and oh so wonderful.

Her body rose to meet his, little mindless whimpers of pleasure catching in her throat, trying to explode out of her each time his hard, hot flesh hit her in just the right spot. She tried to free her hands, to touch him, to roam, but he held fast while the pleasure built, rode her like a piston, faster and faster, higher and higher, impossibly higher still, until the wave she rode bucked her off, and she soared, her body taut and singing, screaming its release in long, hitching, uncontrollable jerks and shudders.

For long moments, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could feel only the ecstasy repeatedly stretching her muscles as tight as guitar strings, the music of orgasm flooding her heart, her soul, again and again, blinding her to everything but the explosion of feeling that blossomed from her center out to the rest of her body in a reckless, bucking cacophony.

His thrusts became almost frantic, and he released her wrists, grabbing her hips with both hands, lifting her, angling her so he could drive deeper still, and then he was jerking against her, his open mouth on her neck, his teeth grazing her skin, nipping, biting, a harsh, agonized groan ripping out of his throat, his fingers digging desperately into her hips. She slid her hands around to his tight butt and held him close, pressing as tightly against his heat as she could, riding out his pleasure, rewarded with an extra fluttery sensation as he came in an endless, hot gush.

And then they were still, their breathing harsh and synchronized. His hand, hot and damp, stroked her thigh, her ribs, his fingers gentle, almost tickling.

Holy crap, she thought vaguely. He’d just fucked her all the way to heaven.

An odd sound came from the other side of the room, and she lifted her head, surprised when it spun. “What’s that?” she asked, then wondered if the words had sounded as slurred to him as they did to her. Yep, she was drunk. Drunk on wine and incredible, incredible,
fucking
incredible sex.

He chuckled, the sound low and lazy, vibrating his body under her. That was when she realized that somehow she’d ended up on top of him, that she was sprawled across his chest, her hair cascading over them both, her breasts pressed against his muscled chest. He was still nestled firmly inside her. Her nipples instantly hardened, and she sighed, closed her eyes, head taking a slow, lazy spin.

“Cell phone,” he murmured.

“Oh.” She pressed her hands against his chest, started to push herself up, too lazy to pull her hair back and out of her face, but he easily flipped them, pinning her to the bed, and kissed her on the mouth, his tongue briefly touching hers. She welcomed the kiss, reluctant to let him go, reluctant to break the moment. She didn’t want this to end. It was too good. It was like coming home after being out of the country, living with people who didn’t speak the same language, for too long.

“Let it ring,” he said as he raised his head and brushed a kiss over her forehead. “Am I too heavy?”

She closed her eyes and smiled. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. “You feel good.” He felt right. He’d always felt right.

“God, your smile,” he breathed. “I’ve missed that. I’ve missed
you
. So much.”

She opened her eyes, her heart skipping at how intensely he stared into her. Then he sighed, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand, before he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry, you know. For everything.”

She nodded and swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. “Me, too. I was such an idiot to leave.”

His smile spread into a grin. “Kind of, yeah.”

“It was never you. It was me.”

“That’s what women say when they want to dump a guy.”

“But in this case, it’s true. I couldn’t . . . deal.”

He kissed her, gentle, tender, reverent. “I know. I wish I knew how to help.”

“There wasn’t anything you
could
do. It was up to me to get over it.”

His brow furrowed. “You can’t just get over what happened to you, Ky. It’s part of who you are.”

“I just want it all to be over.”

He started to respond, but his cell phone rang again. “Damn,” he said, dropping his head to nuzzle her cheek.

“Maybe you should get it,” she murmured as she rubbed her fingers through the soft hair behind his right ear.

“Probably should.”

He kissed her one last time. “When I’m done, we can pick up where we left off.”

“You’ve got a date.”

36

CHASE, GRINNING LIKE A FOOL, GRABBED HIS CELL
out of his pants on the floor and walked stark naked into the living room. Rain continued to fall outside, and he wondered vaguely whether there’d be flooding issues in Kendall Falls.

“Manning.”

“Sylvia Jensen here, Chase. I’ve got the test results on the shirt that was buried with the baseball bat.”

Chase stopped in midstep, fingers freezing where they’d started to give himself a satisfied belly-scratch. “Okay.”

“It’s definitely Kylie’s blood.”

Chase shoved a hand through his hair. Damn. He’d hoped against hope that it wasn’t. “You’re sure?”

“Positive. That bat was the weapon used in her attack. No doubt about it.”

Ah, hell, he thought. Things weren’t looking good for Quinn, innocent or not.

“There’s something else,” Sylvia said. “Another type of blood on the same shirt.”

Chase turned to look down the hall toward the bedroom. Kylie was in there, naked and waiting. He wanted her again already. “Whose?”

“I’ll run the DNA through the system first thing tomorrow to see if there’s a hit. This could be what you need to identify at least one of the attackers.”

“Or it could just be Quinn’s blood, since it’s his shirt. And that wouldn’t tell us anything we don’t already know.”

“I can tell you right now that, based on the DNA in the sample Kylie gave us, it’s not Quinn’s. Whoever’s it is isn’t related to the McKays. But we could get a hit in the DNA database.”

“Okay. Let me know as soon as you get anything.”

“You bet.”

“Thanks, Sylvia.”

He cut off the call and stared down at the floor, tapping the edge of the phone against his chin. Just because Kylie’s blood was on Quinn’s shirt didn’t mean Quinn did anything to her. It could have happened just as Quinn said. He’d gotten wet and left the shirt at the Bat Cave, and the attackers used it to clean up the bat before they buried it. But would a grand jury see it that way? Especially considering Quinn’s reputation for being a jealous, resentful brother? Not to mention his lack of alibi and love of booze.

“Are you coming back to bed?” Kylie called from the bedroom.

Drawing in a deep breath, Chase headed in that direction. She was going to hate this, but he had to tell her. They’d just found each other again, and he wasn’t about to risk it by keeping secrets.

She sat up the second he walked into the bedroom, the playful expression on her face falling away. “What’s wrong? Who was that?”

“Sylvia Jensen, the—”

“Forensics expert, sure. I remember.”

“The tests on Quinn’s gym shirt came back. It is your blood.”

“Oh.” Her eyebrows cinched together as she processed that. “So that was the bat, then.”

He nodded as he sat on the edge of the bed and brushed his fingers over the back of her hand. “This won’t be good for Quinn, Ky.”

Her widened eyes met his. “But you said you believe—”

“I
do
believe you, Ky. But I also have to follow the evidence, and the evidence is pointing very confidently at your brother.”

“He didn’t do it, Chase. He couldn’t have.”

“I’ll do my best to prove that, but it isn’t up to me to decide.”

“So in the meantime, you’ll be building a case against him.”

“I’m a cop, Ky. That’s what I do.”

She sat back against the pillow. “I see.”

He sensed the shutdown in her emotions before he saw it in her expression. “Ky, come on. You know I’ll do everything I—”

He broke off as she shoved aside the covers and slid out of bed. She was beautifully naked as she walked to the door, but he didn’t get to appreciate it as the game face slammed him in the temple in all its Kylie McKay glory. Anger quickly followed. Thirty minutes after talking out the past and fucking each other into a stupor, and she whipped out the game strategy the instant they hit a bump in the road? What the fuck?

“Ky,” he said, struggling to control his tone. “Don’t walk out on me.”

She paused at the door and turned, crossing her arms over her breasts. “Don’t railroad my brother.”

“I don’t
railroad
anybody.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do you think I’m a bad cop?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Just answer the question. Do. You. Think. I’m a bad cop?” So much for keeping his voice from betraying his anger.

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know what kind of cop you are.”

That hurt. It shouldn’t have, because she was just lobbing shots, but it still hurt more than it should have. “Good cops don’t put innocent people in jail without a damn good reason. I’ve got three damn good reasons to throw your brother’s ass in jail. They’re called means, motive and opportunity. I’ve got his shirt with your blood on it connecting him to the weapon. He has no alibi for the time of the attack. If you weren’t his sister, you’d be shaking your head and tsking right now about how that boy’s going to spend the next five at Everglades Correctional Institution. So don’t give me that railroading crap.”

Turning away, he jammed a hand through his hair and shook his head. Shit. He shouldn’t have gone off on her like that. But, hell, she should
know
he would do the right thing. Where the hell was the trust?

“Are you finished?”

At the soft question, he glanced over his shoulder at her and nearly groaned aloud at the flat expression and dead eyes. Was it possible that she was even colder than before or did it just seem that way because of the heat they’d just shared? Two steps forward, thirty-two steps back? Hell, with Kylie, it was more like a hundred and thirty-two steps back.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I’m finished.”

“Thank you for dinner.”

Surprised, he turned fully as she walked out, shutting the door quietly behind her.

He picked up the nearest object—a pillow—and whipped it at the door.

 

 

THREE HOURS LATER, WHILE ANOTHER THUNDERING
storm shook the small house, Chase tossed fitfully, unable to get Kylie out of his head, naked and bucking under him, clamped around him, so hot and tight and open. In thirty minutes or less, like a damn pizza delivery, she’d shut him down and walked out on him—again—and now he couldn’t decide what he was more: angry, hurt or disappointed.

But the more he thought about it, the more he began to wonder how open she had really been. Sure, they’d talked about the past. They’d apologized to each other, and all seemed like water under the bridge. Yet, their exchange just before his phone rang began to bother him.