Deadly Sins (36 page)

“I don’t know much about the parenting thing, but I imagine the guilt is supposed to go hand in hand with it if you’re doing it right.”

She blew out a breath. “Then I must be doing something very right, because that’s the overwhelming emotion most of the time.” She unbuttoned her coat and laid it over the chair where she’d left her briefcase and purse. “Do you have any food at all in this place?”

His hesitation was its own answer. “Ah . . . possibly.”

“Sounds promising.” She opened cupboards and drawers before checking the refrigerator. The combined contents were meager. “Our choices are soup of a questionable expiration date or”—she took the cheese from the refrigerator, examined it suspiciously—“cheese sandwiches. I’m guessing you’d rather have the sandwich.”

“You guess right. But I don’t expect you to make me dinner.”

“A sandwich isn’t dinner, Adam. It barely qualifies as lunch.” She slipped out of her tan jacket and hung it on the back of one of the barstools at the counter. The shoulder harness was next. She’d gotten in the habit of locking her weapon in a gun case kept in the trunk of her car to keep it safe from Royce’s curiosity. But there were no kids to worry about here. “If you find yourself overcome with gratitude for my culinary talents, you can fetch some wine from that very well-stocked bar of yours downstairs.”

After doing so, he shrugged out of his suit coat and loosened his tie while she swiftly cooked the meal. His weapon joined hers on the corner of the counter. They dined elbow to elbow, on the stools that she’d hazard a guess hadn’t been used more than a handful of times since he’d moved in. She ate slowly, enjoying the wine he’d chosen as much as the incongruity of sipping it over the basic meal. Adam seemed to have no such problem. He plowed through two sandwiches in between sips of the Scotch he’d poured in lieu of wine.

“Remember when we arrested that wine collector?”

She got up to take their plates to the dishwasher. “I never would have believed that someone would murder over a bottle of merlot.” The appliance looked like something out of the future. It took a full minute just to figure how to open the thing.

“He got out of prison early. Turns out the bureau used him to turn state’s evidence for a ring of smugglers who were stealing wine in Europe from the top vineyards, putting on a new label, and then shipping them over here. And they were unbelievably vicious. Last I heard they’d uncovered no fewer than half-a-dozen homicides enacted as they—” He broke off, cocking his head. “I’ll grab that for you.”

A bit disconcerted by the non sequitur, she straightened from putting the dishes in the washer, closed the door of the machine, and looked over to where he was striding across the room. To her coat.

“Text message, sounds like.” He reached into her coat pocket and withdrew the phone, turning to take it to her. “Hopefully it’s not your son asking another . . .”

After the last phone conversation Royce was uppermost on her mind, too. But she realized her mistake in the next instant. The moment Adam’s hand faltered in the act of handing the cell to her. When he looked at it more closely, his expression went flat and impassive.

He set it on the counter between them, slid it toward her. “Better answer that. I know from personal experience just how impatient Kale Bolton can get.”

For a moment she stood frozen. Then she snatched the phone up to read the latest text.

Shock was replaced with a futile fury. And irrationally, it was directed as much toward Adam as to the man who’d sent the text. “I’m trying to decide right now which of you two is the biggest ass.”

His head jerked up. “Me?”

Deliberately misunderstanding him, she nodded. “Yeah, I think so, too.” Rounding the corner of the counter she dropped the cell in the pocket of her jacket. Then she stood facing him, arms folded across her chest. “Tell me that you didn’t immediately assume the worst just then.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He reached out for his glass. Brought it to his lips for a drink. “I don’t deal in assumptions.”

“I’m not helping him with the book.” Anxiety was riding her. She had to figure out a way to handle the reporter. And time was running out. “I haven’t quite figured out a way to dissuade him of that notion yet, but I wouldn’t give him information about you. And it pisses me off that you’d think otherwise.”

His face went still. “The book?”

Immediately, she realized her mistake. He hadn’t even considered that the reporter would tap her as a potential source of material. Try as she might, she couldn’t figure out another reason for his reaction. “He’s not above a little blackmail if he thinks it will get him the inside details he’s looking for. I’m handling it.”

“Blackmail?” The word was uttered deliberately. Dangerously.

She mentally backpedaled, searching for the right explanation to offer. Enough to pacify him. Not enough to raise more questions. “He knows about our past. Thinks he can use it to leverage information about you.” She shrugged carelessly. Hoped he was satisfied.

Judging from his shrewd look, he wasn’t. “How does he hope to use that against you? Hedgelin isn’t my biggest fan but our relationship eight years ago isn’t likely to derail your career.”

Jaid hesitated. Knew he noted the pause and would probe more deeply because of it. “There are circumstances surrounding Royce’s birth that I have gone to great pains to keep secret. For my son’s safety, I need to keep them that way.”

It was one of the first times she’d ever seen Adam look stunned. The expression was gone in the next moment, to be replaced by a lethal determination. “I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into this. I’ll take care of it.”

“No!” Her palm slapped against the counter. “This is exactly why I didn’t tell you in the first place. I can handle this.” She was convinced of that. She just needed a plan. “Every time you talk to Bolton, you give him more material for that damn book. You stay away from him.”

His fingers were clenched tightly around the glass. “He’s dragging you into something because of me. I’ll convince him to back off.” His smile was grim. “Actually, I’ll enjoy it.”

“You’ll make it worse,” she said bluntly. “He’s like a dog with a bone. Make him think something is there, and he’ll just dig more. I’ll do this my way.” His silence was its own answer. “I mean it, Adam. If I need your help, I’ll ask for it.”

“You may not realize you need my help until it’s too late.”

“And you might piss him off so much by rushing to the rescue that he’ll go after the information about Royce regardless.” Their gazes battled. Sparks all but jumped between them. Steel meeting flint. “Leave it alone. Or so help me, I’ll tell him about you being afraid of mimes.”

“Freaks of nature,” he muttered. “But I’m not afraid of them.”

“By the time he tells the story, you will be. You’re not interfering in this, agreed?”

His silence was telling. Then, reluctantly, he nodded. “If he doesn’t give it up in the next couple days, though, I’ll approach this my way.” The words were uttered fiercely. “He doesn’t get to threaten you or your son in my name, Jaid. I won’t allow it.”

Two days. Knowing it was the best offer she was likely to get, she nodded. Somehow she’d think of a way to dissuade Bolton.

“He’s lucky to have you. Your son.” Her gaze flew to Adam’s. Held. There was a softness to his expression that was rarely seen there. “You always had such passion. It was apparent in everything you did. But when you talk about protecting Royce . . . it turns formidable. Bolton isn’t going to know what hit him.”

Her throat went thick. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

His bright blue gaze grew intense. And somehow he seemed closer than before. “If that’s the nicest thing I ever said to you, Jaid . . .” His hand went to the base of her throat, fingers covering the pulse that beat madly there. “Then I failed you miserably.”

Adam never should have touched her. He’d learned just a few short nights ago that once he did, stopping wasn’t an option.

And tonight they didn’t have a Harandi getaway to distract them.

He brushed his thumb across her soft skin, relished the evidence of her response. Replaced his thumb with his lips a moment later and felt his own pulse rev in reaction.

She could always do that to him. His free hand went to her waist. Fingered the filmy turquoise material of her blouse. Felt the warm promise of flesh beneath. She made him want until the hunger was raging in his blood, fueling the addiction in his system. Therein had lain her danger. For a man used to keeping a tight leash on his control, losing it with her, relishing its loss, was as frightening as it was intoxicating. Resisting her as long as he had years ago should have qualified him for sainthood. He nipped at her throat lightly with his teeth, and she softened against him.

He’d never pretended to be a damn saint.

Settling his mouth over hers, he let her familiar flavor jolt through him. He was a man who prized honesty. Insisted on it from others. But he’d spent the last eight years lying to himself. That he didn’t miss this. Need this. Need
her
.

There was a moment when he almost thought he could back away. But her mouth was twisting beneath his in an answering demand. Without a glimmer of shyness. Not a hint of reserve. She gave as she did everything else. Openly. Freely. It had always made him fear for her. Everyone needed defenses. A guard to protect vulnerabilities.

And the regret that he’d been the one to teach her that lesson seared through him like a bitter flame.

He pulled her closer as their lips parted, tongues met. It was enough for a moment just to taste. To steep his senses in her, senses that felt raw and deprived. No matter how many times he’d had her, the hunger would start anew. She’d been an appetite he’d never been able to sate. The knowledge had been challenging. Maddening. And he knew, even as her tongue glided and battled with his, that this time would be no different. But he was compelled to try.

The buttons on her blouse were small. Difficult to release. Or perhaps he used to be capable of far more finesse. He heard one of them bounce and skitter on the floor tiles. But he was distracted from the small noise by the sweet feel of bare flesh beneath his palms. His fingers clenched reflexively. Loosened to stroke. Her waist was still narrow. The satiny stomach taut, the muscles quivering beneath his touch.

He had a sudden vivid mental image of long hours engaged on a voyage of discovery. Of soft skin stretched over toned muscle. And of all the places that made her moan and sigh when he’d linger over them. Memory could be a sharply wielded weapon, nicking away internally with every snippet of recollection.

Knowing that, accepting it, Adam transferred his attention to her jaw, strewing kisses along it before cruising down her throat. He undid the remaining button on her blouse and lifted his head, anticipation snapping in his veins. Her bra was white and sheer; the flesh it encased was just a shade darker. Her nipples were plainly visible behind the lace and were already taut. Lowering his head, he took one between his teeth. Lashed it with his tongue, dampening the fabric. And her sharply indrawn breath only whetted his desire.

Jaid unknotted his tie impatiently, and he reluctantly leaned back to pull it off. Toss it over the chair. But when he would have reached for her again, she took one of his hands in hers. “Which room is yours?”

A slow smile crossed his lips. With one quick tug he had her in his arms again, his kiss hard and urgent. She returned it with an answering fervor that made his blood flash and strobe. And without lifting his mouth from hers, he moved them both in the direction of his bedroom.

The large bed was unmade and showed effects of a sleepless night. He wondered if she could look at it and guess that she’d been the cause. He hadn’t had a night’s sleep free from dreams of her since this case started.

Jaid braced her hands on his chest. Exerted slight pressure. Reluctantly, he dropped his arms. Let her back away. And then felt his skin grow tight and hot when her fingers went to her waistband. The button was released with agonizing care. The zipper descended in slow motion. And surely, her pants weren’t tight enough to require that she peel them, at an excruciating pace, over her hips. Down those long, slender legs. When they pooled at her ankles, she toed off her shoes and stepped out of them.

The glow from the security monitors and equipment lit the otherwise dark room. He’d gotten used to sleeping that way. But now the filtered light they afforded highlighted the sexy striptease. His throat went dry when she bent to roll first one dark stocking over her slim calf. Then the other.

His forehead was damp. His heart lurching and bucking in his chest like a racehorse. Patience was a trait that had been hard learned. But every moment spent with her tantalizingly out of reach had his patience fraying thread by thread.

He closed the distance between them, his limp more pronounced without the cane. And when he brought her close again, his palm shaping one of her breasts as his mouth ate at hers, all thought of finesse evaporated. There was only need too long denied. And a thirst for her that had never been completely quenched.

Her bra was released, and the shirt pushed from her shoulders. Both fell forgotten to the floor while he feasted on her in a desperate quest for flesh. In a dim and distant part of his brain, he knew he needed to slow down. To harness his restraint before it snapped and left him in uncharted territory.

He moved his attention lower, kneading the sweet flesh in his palm while he feasted on its twin. The sound of her breath shuddering out in breathy pants merely honed the need to a fever pitch. In primitive hunger he drew her nipple more deeply into his mouth, suckling strongly. Her hips did a quick grind against his, and he knew he’d been fooling himself earlier.