Mad About You (13 page)

*****

A pang of disappointment cut through Kat's chest. "So," she said lightly, lifting the silver lid from the tray, "when you leave, no one will even know you've been here, is that what you're saying?"

He was quiet for so long, she glanced up to find his head angled toward her. "Are you saying you will miss me, Pussy-Kat?" His voice was husky and colored with surprise.

She dropped the lid and lifted her chin. "I said no such thing."

His mouth twisted in an infuriating smile, then he wagged his finger at her and stepped closer. "Thou doth protest too much."

"You're putting words in my mouth."

"Then allow me to occupy it elsewhere," he murmured, pulling her into his arms.

Her heart cartwheeled as he dipped his head with calculating slowness and captured her lips with his. The desire she'd smothered all morning, hoping to extinguish, rose like a phoenix out of the flames. All the reasons to avoid this man who'd become much too important to her, much too quickly, were incinerated as his mouth moved against hers. With his tongue, he coaxed her mouth open, then ravaged the inside ruthlessly, stealing, commanding, demanding.

Her glasses became too fogged to see clearly—surely that was why everything seemed blurry?—but her other senses roared to life. He moved his warm hands beneath her shirt to span her back and waist, and Kat instantly felt her nipples bead. She moaned into his mouth and he shuddered against her, fueling her passion higher. He
massaged
her back
in
small circles,
tracing
her
spine,
lazily working his way up and around to caress the sides
of
her quivering rib cage. When the urgency of his kiss intensified, she rolled her shoulders and inhaled sharply, poised for the feel of his hands on
her
breasts. But just when his thumbs grazed the underside of her bosom, he lifted
his
head and slowly straightened, then dropped his hands away from her.

Confusion washed over Kat. She wet her lips carefully, then asked in a deadly calm voice, "Is this where you mumble good night and make a hasty retreat, Agent Donovan?"

He stared down at her with a clouded expression. "Kat, you're vulnerable right now. I don't wish to take advantage—"

"In case you hadn't noticed, James, I'm all grown up." She pressed her lips together hard. "Able to make my own decisions, and live with the consequences."

He pulled her closer to him, and rested his forehead against hers. "And you want this as much as I do, Pussy-Kat?"

In answer, she took one step back, looked him directly in the eye, and began to unbutton her shirt.

As if spellbound, his gaze dropped to her fingers. With outward control that belied her quaking insides, Kat divorced the white buttons from their buttonholes, never taking her eyes off James's face. When she'd reached the bottom, she paused, allowing the shirt to reveal an inch-wide strip of her cleavage and stomach. His lips parted, his undivided attention on her covered breasts.

Ever so slowly, she peeled the fabric back, feeling her nipples contract as soon as the cool air of the room enveloped them. Passion glazed his eyes, gratifying her. She thrust her breasts forward in a slow-moving shrug out of her shirt. The whoosh of the cotton garment falling to the rug sounded like a lead weight dropping in the silence of the room.

"Kat," he breathed, standing statue-still. "You are magnificent."

A thrill raced through her body. "So touch me," she whispered.

"I thought you'd never ask." He bent and swept her into his arms, then laid her gently on his bed. She removed her glasses and folded them safely on the nightstand. He stood and kicked off his shoes, then shed his shirt and undershirt, tossing them carelessly onto an armchair.

Heat and moisture pooled between her legs at the sight of his naked torso—broad, muscled shoulders, lightly haired chest, with dark, flat nipples indented in firm flesh. He lowered himself beside her, supported on one elbow while his hungry gaze swept over her bared breasts. Lifting his free hand, his fingers hovered over a budded nipple almost reverently before descending for a soft squeeze that elicited a groan from both of them. Sexual energy raced through her body, triggering chills in one place, muscle contraction in another. He kneaded her breasts and reclaimed her mouth, his breathing as frantic as hers.

Kat arched toward him, rolling on her side to face him and press her breasts against his chest, hot skin on hot skin. He interrupted their kiss long enough to whisper, "I have to taste you, Pussy-Kat," then lowered his head to lave her nipple thoroughly. He licked, nipped, and drew as much of her breast into his greedy mouth as possible, devouring her. And when she thought she would go insane from the waves of desire flooding her body, he shifted his attention to her other breast and started over.

Anxious to touch every inch of his flesh, Kat ran her finger around his waistband, stumbling over various tabs and buttons, at last revealing white boxer shorts and his straining shaft. James paused from his ministrations just long enough to groan with satisfaction when her fingers closed around him.

Driven by the rhythm of his mouth on her skin, she stroked him, drawing wetness that oozed over her fingers. His hand snaked down to palm her stomach, then pushed the flimsy leggings over
her
hips and plunged his hand into her drenched nest. Hot splinters of desire bolted through her and she convulsed around his probing fingers, gasping. With feet and legs, they skimmed off each other's remaining clothes, at last lying on their sides fully naked against each other, mouth to mouth, hand to hand, sex to sex.

Kat wondered if her face held the same expression of desire and blatant need as James's. His black eyes were hooded with passion, his smooth cheeks and forehead covered with a fine sheen of perspiration. His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something.

"James?" she whispered. "Is something wrong?"

An unidentifiable emotion flitted across his face, then it was gone just as quickly. His mouth pulled back to reveal both dimples as he rolled her beneath him. "No, Pussy-Kat, everything seems to be in top working order." With his knee, he urged her to open to him, and she obliged almost involuntarily, readying herself for his swift entry. But he took his time, rubbing his hard staff against her slick folds, circling the sensitive nub of her desire with mind-blowing accuracy. A slow hum of pressure began building low inside her, like a swarm of tiny, vibrating bees. Then with a groan of raw passion, he thrust inside her.

At the feel of him burrowing deep, Kat gasped and drew up her knees, squeezing hard, arching her pebbled breasts against the solid wall of his chest. He resumed the pleasure he'd set in motion between her thighs by massaging her with his thumb in time to his long, unhurried strokes. With soft, raspy words of encouragement in her ear, he coaxed her mounting orgasm to the surface until she succumbed to the white-hot flash of release, crying out in abandon and digging her fingers deep into the flesh of his back as he rode through the waves with her.

*****

As Kat trembled around him, James felt dangerously close to losing control, and not of his body. In the many times he'd lain with women and shared carnal pleasures, he'd always managed to distance himself from the intimacy by concentrating on the act itself instead of the person. Only now, he felt overwhelmed by Kat's es
sence...
of her beneath him, all around him, her scents, her cries, her hands, her mouth.... His muscles bunched, readying him for the terrific explosion building in his loins. He plunged inside her silken depths one last time and shuddered his release over and over as sheets of pleasure-pain coursed through his body.

He slumped over her, smoothed back her hair and kissed her face around the smiles, nuzzling her neck and sharing low growls as their bodies pulsed with latent contractions. He'd suspected the minute he set his gaze upon her that she would be a luxurious lover. James sighed in satisfaction—at least his instincts in that department were still reliable.

It was only after he rolled to her side, gulping air to slow his pounding pulse that a thunderbolt of realization struck in horrific clarity—he'd actually gasped her name in the throes of his ecstasy.

Kat...my Pussy-Kat.
Floored by his own lapse, and the possible implication to his emotional well- being, James lay stock-still.

"James?" Propping up on one elbow, Kat tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear and stared down at him. "You look as if you have regrets."

His mind spinning with revelation, he glanced up into her clear blue eyes and felt like a condemned man. But if he'd learned anything in the last twenty years, he'd learned not to allow the opponent to see the chink in his armor. Act normal, as if his world hadn't just turned bottom side up. So he conjured up a charming smile and gave her a wicked wink. "Just one regret, Pussy-Kat—that we wasted so much time last night sleeping."

Her laughter filled the room, then she left the bed and walked toward the abandoned breakfast tray. "I'm starving." She lifted the lid and snatched a strawberry.

"Then let's eat," James suggested cheerfully, glad she seemed at ease with her superbly curved body. Then he shifted as his erection began a slow climb
—
he only wished he could be so nonchalant about her rounded hips and heavy breasts.

"I'll be right back," Kat said, then headed toward his bathroom with a wry smile. "I need to clean up your trail."

James watched her walk away and wondered how she had managed to worm her way into his well-guarded heart in only a couple of days. But even more important, how the devil was he going to evict her from the premises?

Chapter Nine

AS JAMES DELIVERED his theory in the cramped interrogation room, Kat wondered if the idea of Denise Womack pulling off the heist sounded as ludicrous to everyone else as it did to her. And on top of her other concerns, she found it difficult to keep her eyes off him while he talked. Since they'd left the hotel, she'd tried not to analyze the emotional fallout of their deed, yet stiff muscles had kept the memory of their energetic lovemaking close at hand.

Shifting uncomfortably in the metal chair, she flicked her gaze to Valmer Getty as James wrapped up with the information Kat had told him about Denise's penchant for Asian lovers. Dressed in outdated, casual clothes, her attorney sat forward on his seat, nodding his head nonstop in support throughout the recitation.

The assistant district attorney, a middle-aged woman of Hispanic descent, scribbled notes on a pad with an expensive pen. She looked as though she had been on her way to church when summoned to the station. So far, she hadn't asked a single question.

"So, Agent Donovan." Detective Tenner rose slowly to assume a wide-legged, authoritative stance—incongruous since his fly was down. "How did you discover the Womack woman had that sum of money deposited in her account?"

James lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug. "I have my sources—it was a matter of a simple phone call."

Kat nearly smiled at his nonchalance, but Tenner obviously didn't like James having the jump on him. His eyes narrowed. "I thought someone said you were retired."

"I am," James affirmed, then offered an amiable smile. "Detective, someone is trying to frame Ms. McKray, and in doing so, is endeavoring to trick you. We can get to the root of this matter if we work together."

"He's right, Tenner," Valmer chimed in, then extended a sweeping, empathetic smile to the detective and to the D.A. "Plus I'm sure neither your department nor Ms. Pena's needs a lawsuit from my client if she's indicted and tried when the police have substantial evidence that someone else might have perpetrated the crime." Kat felt a surge of appreciation toward Val. And a surge of something stronger toward James.

Ms. Pena pursed her lips, then capped her pen and stood. "Check it out, Detective. Judge Tyler won't appreciate being disturbed on Sunday morning, but I'll handle the search warrant."

Tenner gave a curt nod of resignation, then grimaced at James. "I suppose you want to go with me, Secret Agent Man?"

James nodded. "And I think it would be beneficial if Ms. McKray went along as well—after all, she knows the woman better than anyone else."

Everyone turned their gaze upon her. She wanted to decline, but Val had instructed her not to talk. Sitting there in silence, she hoped Tenner would object.

The detective frowned sourly in her direction, then withdrew a nugget of five-cent bubble gum from his pocket and unwrapped it. He noticed his open zipper and righted himself without turning away. "We got about an hour before the warrant’s ready, Ms. McKray. What say we give our polygrapher a call?"

Kat's heart jumped to her throat. "Now?"

Ms. Pena nodded in agreement, then addressed Val. "My office is not interested in prosecuting the wrong person, Counselor. Give me enough proof, and we'll drop the charges."

Valmer smiled magnanimously. "Call your technician—my client has nothing to hide."