In the Arms of the Wind (5 page)

“Nice desk,” he said of the antique rolltop sitting between the two front windows.

“It’s my pride and joy. Please, sit down,” she said. She left the front door open and followed him. When he took a seat in one of the two chairs flanking her sofa, she offered him coffee.

His dark gaze locked onto hers. “Can I take a rain check on the coffee?” he asked in a deep, sensual voice she was beginning to love. “I’m sloshing now when I walk.”

She grinned. “My mother used to say that,” she said, and sat down on the sofa, tucking her legs beneath her.

He was sitting with his elbows braced on his knees, fingers entwined and he gave her a level look. “How are you doing this morning? You said you didn’t sleep.”

“Nerves,” she said, ducking her head, then thought of the black car and snapped it up again. “Oh, there was this car last evening. A black…”

“Two thousand seven BMW M6 convertible,” he said. “That was me.”

“Oh?” She was again at a loss for words. She just stared at him.

“I wanted to make sure you got home okay and kind of scope out the neighborhood.”

“You think those men will come after me?” she asked, face suddenly pale.

“No,” he was quick to tell her. “I really don’t believe they will. They were without a doubt professional hitmen, Miss Connor, out-of-towners, and they’re long gone by now.”

“But if they find out about me…” Her bottom lip trembled.

“We are keeping your presence in the house out of the press and I would suggest you don’t tell anyone you were with Gerring last evening either,” he told her. “For your own protection.”

“Do you have any idea why they would have murdered…?”

“Kaycee?”

She snapped her head around and wanted to groan when she saw Mr. Phillips with his hands to either side of his face as he peeked through her screen.

“My neighbor,” she mumbled, unfolded her legs and rose to her feet.

“Dear, there is a strange car parked in your driveway,” Mr. Phillips told her when she reached the door. He was still trying to see into the house. “A very expensive car.”

“Yes sir. It belongs to my visitor.”

For once the old man didn’t have his little dog with him and Kaycee knew he had come over to fish for information. If she invited him in, it would be hours before he’d take his leave.

“About that policeman last evening…” the elderly man began.

“That would have been me.”

Kaycee felt a warm hand fall onto her shoulder as the detective came to stand beside her. His thumb began to stroke the nape of her neck in an intimate way that sent shivers down her spine.

Mr. Phillips arched a thin brow and it was obvious from the expression on his wrinkled face that he was trying to recall how the policeman from the night before had looked.

Drawing Kaycee against his side, the detective put his free hand on the doorjamb, standing there as though it was his house and not hers. “We look different in uniform, don’t we?”

“Indeed,” Mr. Phillips agreed, and seemed to relax. “I hope nothing is wrong.”

“You asked me last night if a beau shouldn’t bring his lady home after an evening out.”

Kaycee turned a surprised look to the man beside her.

“He did bring her home, Mr. Phillips, and he’s visiting her again this morning.” He playfully squeezed her. “I can’t seem to get enough of this woman’s company.”

The old man looked down his nose at Danny. “Well, young man, it doesn’t look good to bring her home in a police vehicle.” He lowered his voice. “Causes the neighbors to talk, you know.”

“I was called into work while we were out last evening and had to cut our date short. I changed clothes at the station then brought my pretty lady home before going on to the crime scene.” He leaned over and placed a soft kiss on the top of Kaycee’s head. “And I would not take kindly to anyone who would spread gossip about my lady.” The softness left his voice and a hard edge entered. “I’m sure you understand how protective cops are of their women.”

Mr. Phillips took a step back, his wizened eyes wide. “Well, yes, I’m sure,” he said. He nodded to Kaycee. “It’s good to know you’re in safe hands, Kaycee.” His gaze shifted for a moment to the man beside her. “Nice meeting you, ah…?”

“Danny. Danny Gallagher.” He changed his position so that he was behind Kaycee and wrapped his arms around her. “As of Monday morning, it will be Detective Gallagher, homicide.” He dropped his chin to the top of Kaycee’s head. “In case you feel the need to call in and check to make sure I’m who I say I am.”

“Ah no! Of course there’s no need for that!” Mr. Phillips insisted. He spun around and hurried down the three steps to the sidewalk, waving a hand behind him. “I will talk to you later, Kaycee!”

Kaycee watched the old man scurrying away like a mouse with a cat on its trail. She felt her visitor’s arms leave her and she turned to look up at him. “How did you know…?”

“I read Officer Reynolds’ report this morning. There was a comment about the nosy neighbor.”

“But how did you know he didn’t know who I had gone out with last evening?” she asked.

He smiled. “I don’t think you’re the type of woman to hand out personal information to the neighborhood gossip,” he answered.

“I’m not, but now he’ll tell everyone that I’m dating a policeman and…”

“No,” he countered, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans. “He’ll tell everyone that you are dating a homicide detective and he won’t be wrong.”

Kaycee’s lips parted. “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s a Saturday night tonight and I happen to know you are a fantasy movie aficionado. I also know there’s a new movie playing at the Strand and I’m hoping you haven’t seen it yet.” His brows shot up. “You haven’t, have you?”

“No,” she said, drawing the word out. “How do you know I like…?”

“Elementary, Miss Connor. You have stacks of dark-fantasy paperbacks under your coffee table.”

She laughed at his tone. “Are you really asking me out, Detective?”

“Danny,” he corrected. “And yes, I really am, Kaycee.”

She felt her heartbeat accelerate. “Is that permitted?”

He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“You won’t get into trouble?”

“I’ve been getting into trouble since the day I was born. I have no intention of ruining a nearly perfect record.”

His cocky grin, tousled hair that looked as if he’d spiked his fingers through it several times over the last few hours and the completely male persona he was oozing out of every pore called to the woman in her.

“Say yes.”

“Yes.”

“All righty then,” he said, and put his hand on the screen-door frame. “Get some sleep and I’ll get some sleep then I’ll be back at six o’clock to pick you up. Movie starts at 7:30 so that should give us time to hit Hot Wings R Us for supper and a pitcher of Bloody Marias.”

“How did you know that’s one of my favorite places?”

He pushed the door open and walked out onto the porch. “I know everything there is to know about you, Kaycee Bree Connor,” he said, and skipped down the steps. He turned around—walking backward—and grinned. “Almost everything, and what I don’t know now, I’ll know by the time I bring you home tonight.”

She came out onto the porch and watched as he walked to the same car she’d seen the evening before. It was sexy sitting there in her driveway—especially with the top down—and once he was settled inside and had slipped on a pair of dark Ray-Bans, she realized his hair had been tousled from driving with the wind blowing through it.

“See you at six!” he said, and cranked the powerful engine.

Leaning against one of the porch supports, she watched him back out of the driveway with his right hand gripping the headrest on the passenger seat. She saw curtains being pulled aside and at least two of her neighbors staring at him from the relative privacy of their own narrow porches.

That man is definitely sex on a stick shift
, she thought as she kept watch until the Beemer was out of sight. “And totally out of my league.”

She yawned, feeling the lack of sleep and the tiredness catching up to her. Her stomach was protesting being empty so she went back inside and headed for the kitchen. A ham, green onions and cheese omelet, a couple of lightly toasted whole wheat slices, tall glass of ice-cold orange juice and a cup of hot tea was just what she needed.

And it would hold her over until supper and the first date in a long, long while about which she was eagerly excited.

“If only…” she said as she opened the refrigerator door.

When she’d filled the hunger need, she stretched out on the sofa and picked up the TV remote. Punching the list button on the device, she pulled up the programs she’d recorded and clicked down until she found a movie she’d been dying to see. Hitting play, she crossed her ankles, got comfortable and waited for the dark fantasy tale to begin. But not long after the first scene faded into the second, she was sound asleep and dreaming of a handsome amber-eyed hunk…

She had never known passion so intense as she was experiencing as the rain fell heavily against the old tin roof of the woodcutter’s cottage.

He was fully dressed but she lay there with the bodice of her gown pulled down to expose her breasts to his heated view. Her skirts were hiked up above her waist, her legs bare of stockings and feet of slippers. All that lay between the man lying beside her and the ache between her legs was the cotton of her bloomers.

Kaycee knew from experience not to rush him. He was not a man to be rushed. His hard, calloused hands could turn from gentle, teasing pleasure to rough, hard spite if she bid him hurry.

Biting her lip, she sucked in a breath as his fingertips trailed upward from her damp core to the waistband of the bloomers. She could feel the heat of his flesh on her belly.

“How badly do you want it, Kaycee?” he whispered in her ear.

“Oh, so badly, milord,” she whimpered. “Very badly.”

Kaycee jumped as though lightning had seared her, her hips leaving the mattress in an effort to impale her cunt on his long finger.

“Lie still!” he snapped at her, his voice rough, demanding. He was all male and his word law.

With a whimper, Kaycee forced her body back to the bed, her nerve endings alive with desire. She clutched the pillow tighter, drawing the two sides of it closer to her head, reveling in the coolness of the fabric against her heated cheeks.

He would take his time—tormenting her—until she could stand no more. At that point when he was through with her, she would be wriggling on the cot like an eel out of water, desperate for the release in the promise of his knowing hands and handsome body. She would do, would say and would give him whatever he asked for.

His hand was still on her mound, his fingertip just grazing the pulsing little nub that ached to feel him rub it, to circle it. He made no move to finish what he had started and when she forced her eyes open, she saw he was staring down at her, his eyes merciless.

“Are you going to behave now?” he asked in the tone that always sent a shudder down her spine.

“Aye, milord. I will behave,” she said, a tentative smile hovering at her mouth, though his face might as well have been cast from stone. Not a flicker of emotion showed in his eyes or in the firm set of his full lips.

“Please,” she whined, wanting more of him, needing more of him.

His hand stilled. “When I am ready and not a moment before,” he said in a low, gruff voice that never failed to both frighten and make her womb clench with need.

She knew better than to antagonize him and now lay there quivering, biting her lower lip lest he send her away unfulfilled.

He made her wait again and when he was satisfied she would adhere to his stringent rules, he began to tap her again, harder and with a longer duration of the fleshy pad of his fingertip to her aching clit.

Kaycee cautioned herself not to upset him again. It was not uncommon for him to simply remove himself from the bed and take with him the light, the joy, the pleasure that was hovering just beyond her reach.

For over a year she had been meeting him here in this out-of-the-way hovel where no one else dared venture. Over that time, she had come to know what pleased him as well as what brought out his punishing anger, an anger that was to be avoided at all costs. She had learned that lesson the hard way.

It had begun as a blatant tease that had generated into a mild flirtation, a sashay past him with coyly turned-down eyes and a sweep of her tongue over full lips. She had watched the evidence of his arousal straining at his britches as he stared at her and had gloried in her ability to stimulate him. He was a challenge, supposedly as untouchable as the stars in the sky, and though she knew all too well he should be left alone, he was far too handsome, too virile, too exciting to ignore. Soon the flirtation had become an overt invitation and—like a naïve moth—she had flown too close to his flame. She had overstepped her boundaries just the once and he had reached out to snare her in his strong, hard arms, dragging her roughly to him, pushing her up against a tree trunk and pressing his lips firmly to hers, bestowing upon her mouth a kiss that had made her womb clench. The kiss had taken her breath away and left her knees weak, her heart hammering in her chest, her blood singing, the moisture creeping between her thighs.