Unforgivable (35 page)

“Mia’s working on it,” he improvised, watching her rummage through her purse. “I should know more tomorrow.”

“You need to get real with this thing. He’s the goddamn lieutenant governor. We either have to put up or shut up, and if we don’t do it soon, heads are gonna roll. Starting with yours.”

Mia twisted her hair into a clip and crossed the living room to the kitchen. He caught her attention and held out a beer for her. She paused and looked at him.

“Ric, are you listening to a damn thing I’m saying?” Rey’s voice came distantly through the phone.

“No.”

She walked over and stood in front of him, all warm and damp and sweet-smelling. All of the blood rushed out of his head. She took the beer and watched him as she brought it to her lips.

“Later, bro.” He clicked off and tossed the phone away. For a few seconds, they stared at each other, and she looked as if she was sizing up an opponent.

“You took a bath.”

“A shower.” She leaned over to set the bottle down, and his sweatshirt rode up on her.

That tight, strangled feeling he’d been battling all week was back again, and all he could think about was having her. He wanted to drag her to the floor and pound himself into her. And then he wanted to haul her into bed with him and do it again. And again, until he finally got this choking lust out of his system.

He wrapped his hands around the backs of her thighs and pulled her closer, watching her face to see if she’d resist. She didn’t, and he slid his hands up and found all that smooth, bare skin beneath his sweatshirt. He leaned his forehead against her stomach and cursed softly.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

He took her perfect hips in his hands and squeezed. God, he’d missed her. He kissed her through the sweatshirt. Then her fingers slid into his hair, and he felt it in every cell of his body. He looked up at her, and there it was again. The look.

A little knife twisted in his chest. He didn’t want to hurt her. Never in his life had he been so determined not to hurt someone, but he couldn’t stay away. He couldn’t leave her alone. He’d tried to be cool and distant, but it hadn’t worked at all. He burned hotter for her than ever, and knowing what she would be like, warm and pliant underneath him, just made everything worse.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“It’s just … this.” Her skin was hot silk under his fingers, and all he could think about was making her come. He filled his hands with her lush, beautiful breasts and watched her eyes glaze over. “Do you know how much I’ve wanted to touch you?”

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “You can show me.”

•   •   •

His eyes locked on hers as he slid the zipper of the sweatshirt down and pulled her against him. The stubble on his chin rasped against her breast, and she felt a hot jolt of lust. She held his head against her and sighed as he pulled her into his lap. He pushed and tugged at the sweatshirt until it disappeared and she was sitting on his thigh without a stitch of clothing, while he was completely dressed right down to his sidearm.

“Get this off.” She pulled on his belt.

He tipped her back onto the cool leather and jumped to his feet. She smiled at his rush to undo his belt. Seconds later, it, along with his gun and badge, had been tossed onto the coffee table. He started to lower himself over her, then cursed and jerked a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and tossed them to the floor.

She laughed. “In a hurry?”

He planted his knee between hers and leaned forward to kiss her, stroking his hands over her arms as his mouth moved from her lips to her chin to her rib cage, completely bypassing her breasts, and she realized what he was up to.

She sat up. “Ric, wait!”

He shot her a glance. “No.” And then made a dive for her navel, and she squirmed beneath him, but he held her firmly by the hips as he kissed her. And kissed her. And kissed her some more, until she saw stars behind her eyelids, and her entire world was reduced to a tiny blissful pinpoint. She was dimly aware that she should object to this, that she didn’t want to be in this heavenly place all by herself, and she took his head in her hands and moved her leg to force him up.

“Please.” She gasped. “Please, come here.”

He came back to her and kissed her thoroughly, and she was so gone for him that she wanted to weep. She felt his heat through his clothes and started jerking at the buttons of his shirt. He sat back to help her, then stripped the shirt off and threw it onto the floor. She glided her hands beneath his undershirt so she could feel the muscles there. His skin was warm, the roughness of his hair achingly familiar. He pulled the T-shirt over his head and tossed it away, and then he was back again, and she kissed him and smoothed her hands over his strong back.

I missed you so much,
she wanted to say, but instead, she just touched him, reveling in his wonderful heat and the weight of him and the way his muscles bunched under her hands. She pressed her hips against him and knew how much he’d missed her, too, even if he’d never say it. But in a way, he
was
saying it with his long, deep kisses. With his low moans of approval. With the urgent way he clutched her to him, as if he couldn’t get enough.

He sat back, breathless, and stared down at her and she reached up and cupped her hand against his sandpapery cheek.

“What?” she whispered.

He kicked off his shoes and shed the rest of his clothes as she watched him, her pulse thrumming with anticipation. His gaze never left her, and her skin burned from it and felt feverish and much too tight. Finally, he kneeled between her legs again and kissed her breasts and her neck and then her face, and she felt the heavy weight of him pressing against her thigh. Then his breath was hot against her ear.

“You okay with this?” he asked.

She brought his mouth to hers and kissed him. He shifted over her as she braced herself.

“Mia?” He pushed up on one arm and looked down at her. She nodded.

He shifted her hips, and she felt the brutal force of him pushing inside her. He closed his eyes and made a low groan in his chest. He drew back and did it again. She pulled him as close as she could, and tears sprang into her eyes, because she was finally as close to him as she’d wanted to be. He moved above her, powerfully, forcefully, setting that perfect pace again, as if by instinct. As if he knew her, all of her, right down to the very beat of her pulse. His neck corded with tension. She brought his head down and kissed him roughly, with the same reckless abandon she was feeling with every thrust of his hips. She clawed at him, clutched at him, struggling for control as he pushed her and pushed her and pushed her into a place where there was nothing but the two of them, joined, and in a blinding flash, she knew she didn’t need control at all. She didn’t want it. She threw herself into the white-hot flame and let herself go.

Seconds or maybe minutes later, she lay boneless beneath him, her pulse still humming in her ears. He propped his weight on his elbows and stared down at her. His forehead was slick with sweat, and she wanted to reach up and touch his face, but she doubted she could move. His gaze was serious, and he seemed to be asking her something, but she didn’t know what it was. And then she realized.

“I’m on the pill,” she whispered.

“I know.”

He shifted her onto her side, and she gasped as her
skin unglued itself from the leather, like a giant Band-Aid being ripped off. Then he wedged himself between her and the back of the couch and pulled her snugly against him. His hand reached over and settled on her breast.

She closed her eyes and let contentment wash over her as their heart rates returned to normal and his thumb stroked her nipple. Then his hand glided over her stomach and found her hip.

“I love this.” He stroked his palm over the curve of it.

Her impossibly wide hips? She turned to look at him over her shoulder as if he was crazy.

“You do?”

He made a sound in his throat, kind of like a growl, and gripped her skin. Then his hand slid around to her rump and squeezed. “Yep. Every inch of you.”

Her already flushed cheeks warmed, and she turned away and settled her head on his biceps as she tried to think of something to say.
Actually, I’ve been working half my life to get rid of those particular inches.
But she wasn’t about to lie there against his perfectly toned body and start pointing out her flaws.

She closed her eyes and let herself drift, not thinking about anything beyond the contentment spreading through her and her heightened awareness of her own body. The minutes flowed by as he lazily stroked her. She heard footsteps in the hallway. A dog outside. The distant snort of someone’s Harley tearing out of the parking lot. How quickly she’d forgotten what it was like to live right on top of people.

He kissed her beneath her ear, and it was so gentle that her heart melted a little.

“Mia?”

“Hmm.” She held her breath, waiting for whatever he might say.

“I’m starving.”

She turned to look at him as he got up from the couch and went into the bedroom. When he returned a few minutes later in a pair of jeans, she was shrugging back into his sweatshirt. It was fuzzy on the inside, and she loved the feel of it against her newly sensitized skin. She stopped by the bathroom to freshen up and then walked into the kitchen.

“You want some dinner?” He was already rooting around in the refrigerator, and she took a moment to look at him in the brighter light. In only blue jeans and with a day’s worth of beard darkening his jaw, he looked amazingly sexy. She couldn’t believe he found her so attractive—attractive enough to make love to her so fiercely that it left them both sweaty.

Of course, maybe he made love to all women that way. The idea put a sour taste in her mouth.

He switched on his stove and started melting a pat of butter in a pan, and her eyebrows tipped up as she surveyed the ingredients lined up on his counter.

“Grilled cheese?”

“Ham, cheese, and jalapeño. You’ll like it.”

“I’m really not hungry, thanks.”

Thirsty, though. She opened his fridge and peered inside. Beer and condiments dominated the scene. Out of curiosity, she peeked into the freezer. Pizza, TV dinners.

“Ben and Jerry’s?” Not only did he not strike her as the decadent ice cream type, but she never in a million years would have picked him for New York Super Fudge
Chunk. He worked on his sandwich as she pulled out the carton. Behind it was a tub of Chunky Monkey, and Mia froze, staring at it. A little lump rose in her throat.

“How did you know?”

He shrugged. “I can read a police report.”

She looked at him, stunned. He’d bought her favorite ice cream knowing he would ultimately get her there, in the middle of his kitchen, looking for a postcoital snack. She didn’t know whether to be blown away by his arrogance or deeply moved that he’d been so thoughtful. Her brain jumped at the second choice, and her eyes suddenly blurred with tears.

His brow furrowed. “Don’t tell me you’re crying over ice cream.”

She turned her back on him and took the Super Fudge Chunk to the other side of the kitchen, where she started opening drawers. She went through three junk drawers before finding the silverware.

He eased up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “See?” He muttered against her neck, then kissed it. “I’m not always a jerk.”

She gave a watery laugh and turned around. “Who said you’re a jerk?”

He cupped her face in his hand and gazed down at her. “I blew up earlier.” His hand trailed down and lingered at her elbow, right below where her line of stitches was healing. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

“You didn’t.”

He set the ice cream aside and pulled her against his chest. His heart was back to normal now, and it thudded strongly against her ear.

“I’m having a crap day,” he said against the top of her head. “Or I was. Until a minute ago.”

She squeezed her arms tighter. “Is there anything I can do?”

Laughing softly, he pulled back from her, and she didn’t miss the gleam in his eye. “Uh, yeah.”

Her cheeks flushed. She turned her attention to the ice cream, pulling the top off and digging in with her spoon. Someone had already made a dent.

“Looks like you’ve got mice living in your freezer,” she said around a rich bite of chocolate.

He switched off the stove, then leaned back against the counter and chomped into the sandwich, not bothering with a plate.

“Tell me about your crap day,” she said, scooping up another velvety bite. Even more than the ice cream, she was savoring just being with him at the tail end of an evening and hearing about work. She’d never had that kind of companionship, and it felt good.

“Investigation’s a mess. Basically, our search warrant netted us zip, not even any good prints. Just Lane’s family and his housekeeper.”

“Does that mean you’re backing off him as a suspect?”

“I’m not, but everyone else is.” He turned to retrieve a beer from the fridge and opened it bare handed before tossing the cap onto the counter. “Everyone with anything in the way of survival instincts.” He took a swig.

She got a flutter in her stomach watching him move and talk and drink in only his faded jeans. This seemed so natural to her. Couldn’t he see it?

“Maybe you should look out for your job a little.”

“My priority is this case.” His look darkened. “It’s keeping me up nights. And in my gut, I know I’m not that far off. I can’t be.” His shook his head. “I’m just missing something.”

The silence settled between them as he polished off his sandwich and she picked at the ice cream. One thing she did know about Ric, he was a good detective. She’d seen him in action many times. If he was that certain that he was onto something, she believed he was right. And she admired his courage in going after one of the most powerful politicians in the state the same way he would have gone after some low-life drug dealer who’d killed off a rival, even if said rival was just as much of a lowlife. He worked the cases for every victim, every time, whether the victim was a prostitute or a teenage gangster or a little old church lady.