For Love of Money (27 page)

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said before both doors clicked shut. The dome light extinguished, leaving only the flashing lights of the crime scene unit vehicles. With a sigh, Holly collapsed against the still-suspect backseat.

Criminal cooties were the least of her worries right now.

Chapter Forty-five

Hours later, Holly trailed JC out of the police station, so tired she could barely put one foot in front of the other. Captain Blake, a patrol officer, and some guy who looked like he’d been dragged out of bed and wasn’t happy about it had made her go over her story about fifty times. They’d asked her the same question about a dozen ways.

Any idea who might want to shoot you?
No
.

Any idea who might be upset with you?
No
.

As if asking a different way might make her give them a different answer.

Have you done anything to get someone upset?
Well, duh? Apparently
.

Any idea who that might be?
No
.

Of course, she’d told them about Frank, although she couldn’t quite believe he’d shoot at her. She’d asked about the paper Frank had given her, pointing out the two dark-colored SUVs. To her surprise, they’d actually told her it was a license plate number, registered to a Stevens Ventures vehicle. A truck Tim Stevens had reported missing.

The “Tim” connection had stunned her, but… Tim and Alex, she’d tap-danced a little there, not sure how much she could or should say about the fraud. But she told the policemen she suspected the pair might be doing something illegal. They could get a warrant and look at the records themselves. She’d even brought up Lee Alders and the ice-climbing episode.

JC walked beside her now. If she had the energy, she’d glare at him. He looked entirely too wide awake, which meant he probably took a nap while she answered endless questions.

He opened the passenger door to his car for her, grasped her elbow while she heaved herself into the seat, then walked around to the driver’s side. Somehow she wasn’t surprised by the car—a Bronco—or the color—bright red. Still, she wasn’t so tired she didn’t notice the courtesy. When was the last time she’d seen someone open the passenger door for a woman? And why had she let him? She was capable of getting into the car under her own power.

Still, having someone take care of her was kinda nice. Not that she
needed
anyone taking care of her.

JC started the car. “You okay?”

“Let’s see.” She ticked the items off on her fingers. “In the past week, I’ve found a dead person, who turned out to be someone I knew, been trampled at a wake, nearly run over in a parking lot, practically flattened by an 18-wheeler, shot at, tackled by a cute cop, and questioned for more hours than I can count by various guys in assorted uniforms. Yeah, overall, I’d say I was great.”

“A cute cop tackled you, huh?”

“I knew you’d focus on the critical element.”

His dimples showed in the light from the dash, but she was too tired to react.

“Detectives notice details like that.”

Her answer was a jaw-popping yawn.

The gate for the restricted parking area behind the police station opened. He turned left onto Jadwin, then made a quick right. Figuring his car was probably free of criminal cooties, she sagged against the headrest and wondered if a five-minute nap would make her feel better or worse.

A few silent blocks later, JC pulled to the side of the road.

She tensed.
Oh, no
. She didn’t want to discuss the kiss or anything else that might require more than three brain cells.

“I know this isn’t the best time or place, but I need to tell you a few things.”

She fought the urge to lie down on the seat and howl. He wanted to Talk About It. Which “it” didn’t matter—the lecture about personal safety, questions about the psycho who apparently was stalking her, or the meaningless nature of that earth-shattering kiss.

Should she look at him or stare out the windshield? What if he wanted to apologize? What if he regretting kissing her? How embarrassing would that be? Especially after she’d slipped up and called him “cute”?

She stifled a groan. “Okay.”

He took a deep breath, and flexed his hands over the steering wheel. “The Richland officers think we’re dating. It looked like I was walking you home and we were a little…rumpled…when they showed up. I told them we were just friends, but them thinking you’re my girlfriend actually might be to your advantage.”

This wasn’t what she was expecting. In fact, this wasn’t so bad. She turned her head and cocked an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”

He smiled and his dimples did their thing. Man, she liked those little dents even when she was dead tired.

“Cops tend to take care of each other. And Holly?”

“Yeah?”

He turned to face her. “I’d like it if you’d think about that.”

She gave him a puzzled look. Okay, the local police would look out for her more vigilantly if they thought she was involved with him. She could handle that. Especially since he was actually telling her about it up front.

Wait a minute. The mental light blinked on.
Was he asking her to be his girlfriend?
That sounded like a middle-school kid, not the confident detective she kept tripping over. Although right now, he didn’t look especially confident.

He reached across the console and took her hand. Gently, he stroked the bandage covering her palm, slowly drew his fingers to the tips of hers. The contact cut through her fatigue and confusion and shot sparks up her arm. He took a deep breath. “I screwed up the first time we were together. We’ve both grown up and changed since then. Seeing you this week…”

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the small patch of bare skin.

Her heart did a stutter-step
.
Was he…serious?

“That kiss tonight.” He toyed with her fingers. “You’re the first woman I’ve wanted to kiss since…since I got divorced. I don’t know how you feel about it, and I wasn’t sure how I felt to tell you the truth, except I was thinking about it while I was waiting for you to finish your statement and I’d love to do it again. If you want to, that is.”

Huh?

Her gaze moved from their intertwined hands—interesting that her brain hadn’t sent “retract” signals down her arm—to his face. She couldn’t be sure since the only light in the car came from the dashboard instruments, but she could’ve sworn he was blushing.

Who are you and what have you done with arrogant, cocky JC Dimitrak?

“Are you asking me out? Or just asking if I want to have sex?”

His mouth opened, but no words emerged. He swallowed and tried again. “It sounded a lot better when I was practicing.”

He rehearsed that? She had a mental flash of him trying out various phrases, but couldn’t see it. “Practicing?”

“I haven’t had much—shit, this is humiliating.” He snatched back his hand, jerked the car into drive, and with a chirp of tires, accelerated away from the curb.

“JC.” She reached across the console and laid her hand on his arm. “I can’t believe you aren’t fighting off women every day, but I think I’m okay with being your girlfriend. We could try that. And we might end up having sex, but when we do, I want it to be making love. So tonight’s probably not a good idea.”

He turned beside the high school, then clasped her hand and pulled it to rest on his thigh. He smiled and cut his eyes toward her. She could read the expression in them. Forget that college stuff. If the current preliminaries were any indication, they were going to really, really enjoy it when they did. His fingers caressed her hand and the tingling spread to other sensitive body parts. Apparently, her body wasn’t as tired as her brain insisted.

JC powered onto the interstate, crossed the Yakima River, and took the Queensgate exit.

She turned over his oblique offer. It was far more interesting than the other things she could be obsessing over. She didn’t want to deal with the shooting right now. Peeking at him from the corner of her eye, she found his attention on the road. His gaze alternated between the mirrors and the pavement ahead.

Just because she was scared and JC rescued her wasn’t a good reason to jump into bed with him. But if he could make her melt from the things he was doing to her hand, imagine what he could do with the rest of her body.

She sat up straight.
Whoa, woman. Get a grip
.

JC rotated his hand against the steering wheel and glanced at his watch. “I’m only going to get a couple hours’ sleep. It’s barely worth going to bed.”

Who was going to sleep?
Between the gunshots, his girlfriend offer, and that kiss, she didn’t foresee peaceful slumber. But if his comment was fishing for an invitation to spend the night, she still wasn’t sure it was a great idea. “Turn right here.”

He flicked on the turn signal. “What are you going to do tomorrow…later today?”

Who bothered with turn signals when there wasn’t another moving car in the whole neighborhood? “You mean you aren’t going to tell me to stay home?”

“I’ve learned the futility of issuing that stellar bit of advice.”

“Glad to see you’re so flexible.” Another yawn nearly split her face in two. “I have to go to the office for a while. You going to show up there, too?”

“Too?”

“Well, you have made it kind of a habit this week.”

“Oh, really?” He drove up the hill in front of her house. “What have I made a habit of doing?” He parked in her driveway.

“Following me.” She opened her door and stepped out.

He got out and rounded the hood. “You make me sound like a stalker.”

She dug in her purse for her keys. “So your turning up everywhere I went this week was mere coincidence?”

He dropped his arm around her shoulders. They moved up the path to her porch. His scent and warmth bypassed her brain and detonated her female parts. She wanted to wrap her arms—and legs—around him.

“I hate to pop your bubble, sweet cheeks, but Monday was work. Tuesday—the wake—was work, and so was Wednesday at Stevens’s office. Thursday, the Pasco guys called me.”

“Sweet cheeks?” She noticed he’d left Friday’s argument—and revelations—out of the summary. “Let’s not forget that flag you put on my driver’s license.”

She unlocked the door and turned to face him. Silently, she argued with her conscience about inviting him inside.

He pulled her close. “Are you going to be okay staying here on your own?”

“It’s three o’clock in the morning. Where else am I going to go? I refuse to wake up my friends at this hour, and a hotel seems pointless.”

“If you decide to stay here, I’ll ask both the Benton County deputies and the Richland guys to keep an eye on you,” he began.

She tensed.
Don’t get mad. Talk to him
. “You know that Frank making those kinds of decisions was part of my problem with him.” She looked up into his eyes and quickly added, “I know you’re not like him. You’re trying to protect me, which I really appreciate. Frank used his badge to try and control me.”

“What are you saying?”

“Talk to me—ask me—before you decide to go do whatever you think is best.”

He nodded, processing her statement. “Fair enough. Ball’s in your court. I’ll call them if you want me to. There is a third option, though. You could come home with me.”

Her mouth dropped open.
Should’ve seen that coming
.

He leaned closer and his lips met hers.

It was as good as the first time. Some parts sparkled, other parts melted. Fizzy things in her brain suggested asking him into the house would be a nice idea after all. Her fingers played with his neck and hair. Apparently he liked that, because his arms tightened and he upped the voltage on the kissing until she couldn’t breathe, or even think.

Just as she started exploring his chest, he raised his head. His eyes were dark and hooded. His heart banged against her super-sensitive breasts and another body part nudged her belly. “If we keep doing that, we’re going inside. And if we go inside, I’m not leaving until tomorrow.”

She blinked up at him.
Speak
, encouraged her brain.
Kiss
, urged her body. He must’ve seen it in her expression. He lowered his head again. His hands caressed her. She arched with pleasure and he groaned.

“Damn, woman. You’re gonna kill me.” He stepped back, releasing her. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Later today. You know what I mean.”

He was pointing like a bird dog, she noticed with some part of her brain. The rest of her watched with astonishment as he turned and walked to his car. What? Wait.
You can’t
…

“I’ll call you.”

Terrific. That pretty much guaranteed neither of them would sleep tonight.

Chapter Forty-six

JC stopped at the end of her walkway, hand on his hips, staring at who knew what.

He turned.

That was more like it
.

He walked toward her—and right past. “Wait here.”

“Huh?” Holly stood still for about a second, then followed him through her front door into the foyer.

He turned and pointed a finger at her. “Do not move unless I tell you to. This is a unilateral protection police decision.”

Good sense warred with instinctive irritation. If there was someone in the house, she’d be both in danger and in JC’s way if she followed him. Except,
wait a minute
. “This is my house, my home. Nobody has a reason to be hiding in the dark waiting for me.”

JC heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Yeah, and no one had a reason to shoot at you, either. But that happened, remember?”

Like she could forget. She crossed her arms. “They could’ve been shooting at you. Cops have more enemies than accountants.”

He rolled his eyes, turned around, and walked into the black void of her living room.

She heard him moving through the house checking rooms for intruders, looking in closets and behind shower curtains.

Footsteps sounded in the living room. She swallowed, suddenly nervous. What if he wanted to start up again where they left off? Things between them were happening too fast. She pulled the front door open. “Thanks for clearing the monsters from under the bed.”

With just a few more steps, he stood in front of her. He pushed the door closed. His other hand rose and flattened against it, effectively pinning her between his arms. “Neither one of us is walking away this time.”

His voice was low and deep. This close, heat from his body flowed over her. Her defenses crumbled faster than she could raise them.

I surrender. I’m yours
.

She didn’t need to say the words. They must’ve been written all over her. Desire flared in his eyes. He leaned closer—
oh, but he smelled good
—and his lips touched hers. It wasn’t a wimpy, kissy move. It was a full-out, lust-inspiring, you’re-gonna-remember-this-for-a-while kiss. Her arms wrapped around him and she gave him everything she had in response.

He groaned. His arms closed tighter around her.

Nothing had changed—and everything had changed.

Six years had passed. They’d had other lovers, but with his arms around her, his mind-blowing kisses, all her old feelings flooded back.

His hands slid down her back, cupped her butt, pressed her hips into his. His erection throbbed, hot and hard.

Oh God, but she’d missed him
.
Missed
this.

He kissed her neck, her throat. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you at Big Flats,” he murmured against her skin. “Hell, I’ve never stopped wanting you.”

“Is that all this is? Wanting?”

He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “You know there’s more to it than that.”

His lips claimed hers again.

Fire and need, passion and heat.

Their jackets hit the floor. He pulled her shirt free, his fingers warm against her belly. They rose, trailing ribbons of fire. His thumbs found her sensitive nipples. “I love your skin. Your breasts.”

His mouth moved, suckled her through the lacy bra. Pleasure shot through her. He gave her other breast equal time before working his way back up to her throat. He raised his head. His face was the picture of male gratification as he cupped her breasts. “I’ve dreamed about this. In my dreams, we took our time.”

“Mmm.”

He leaned in and kissed her again before whispering, “I don’t think I can wait.”

Thank God
.

“Waiting’s overrated.” She slid her hands under his shirt, explored the length of his back. “You have on too many clothes.”

In one fluid move, he jerked the shirt over his head. He had a wonderful body, hard muscle and smooth skin. Then somehow her slacks were on the floor and he stood between her legs—legs she wrapped around him—shifting her hips so he was exactly where she wanted him.

“Oh, God,” he groaned. “Holly.”

Her back pressed against the door. His warm hands caressed her. It wasn’t enough.

“More, more.” It came out as a muffled moan. His tongue was in her mouth again.

He made a sound that could’ve been her name, but she wasn’t sure because she’d quit thinking, quit listening, quit breathing. He shifted her weight and fumbled between them. She heard his belt jingle, the rasp of his zipper. Then his hands were on her, sweeping her panties aside.

Rational thought dragged her back from the edge of insanity. Incapable of speech, she dug her fingers into his shoulders to get his attention.
Wait
.

He thrust, and her body matched the movement, and then he was inside her, hot, hard, and oh, so male. It felt so damn good she nearly screamed with pleasure. He thrust again. Lights flashed behind her eyes and she could’ve orgasmed on the spot. She wanted him to keep moving so badly it was all she could do to make her mouth form the word. “Condom.”

He froze.

She watched comprehension register.

“I swear I’m clean.”

“That’s not it.”

“Oh, shit. You aren’t on the pill.”

She didn’t need to answer.

They stared at each other.

He groaned. “Don’t move. If you move, I swear I’ll come. My body thinks it’s eighteen again.” He shifted backward with agonizing slowness.

The slow withdrawal pressed against sensitive spots and her eyes nearly rolled up in her head. “I’m going to lose it in about two seconds,” she whispered.

His penis sprang free and stood between them, hot and wet. “Please tell me you have a condom.” Desperation made his voice ragged.

“Don’t you? I thought all guys carried them.”

“I stopped years ago.” He lowered her body so she stood on her feet. “Don’t you have
something
?”

Maybe if I’d had sex in the last year
. She shook her head. “Sorry.”

Really
sorry.

“If I go to the store, will you promise not to move?” He jerked up his jeans, and his phone chirped. With a curse, he snatched the phone off his belt. “Dimitrak.”

She was glad that growl wasn’t aimed at her.

His face transformed and just like that he turned into Detective Dimitrak.

Wordlessly, he closed the phone and studied her. He might still look like the sexist man she’d ever met—dark, hooded eyes, rumpled hair, enormous erection, testosterone to his eyeballs—but she knew both of them were about to end up alone and frustrated.

“Lee Alders just surfaced.”