Cold Fear (30 page)

“Ticklish?” He found her giggle disarmingly attractive. She was so not a giggler.

“Never,” she denied.

He lay on one side of her as he trailed his hand from her little finger all the way down her arm. She laughed and jerked her arm free of the post.

He removed his hand with a heavy sigh. She bit her lip and grasped the wooden strut again. This time he trailed his finger harder against her sensitive skin, and although she squirmed beneath him she didn’t let go. Her eyes never left his face. He traced the line of the towel across the swell of her breasts, then across the top of her thighs. “So pale, Dr. Campbell. I’m starting to think you’re a figment of my imagination.” Beautiful. Flawless except for the occasional freckle or mole, which he wouldn’t call flaws—more punctuation marks. Like the one on the side of her mouth that he kissed again, tasting the edge of her lips.

“You’re teasing me,” she groaned.

“I
am
teasing you, but I intend to follow through on my promises. If we’re going to break the rules we may as well do it properly.”

“We’re breaking rules?” she asked.

“My rules.” His fingers found the edge of the towel and tugged it free. Unwrapping her like the sort of Christmas present that made grown men weep.

She smelled of sunshine and heat. Salt spray and vanilla soap.

He trailed a finger along her breast and up over her nipple, watching it tighten and harden into a dark bead. He leaned down to capture the nearest one in his mouth, scraping his tongue over the sensitive flesh as his fingers caressed its mate. Isadora’s hips jerked and her thighs parted an inch. He bit down a little harder and her hips arched up off the bed. His hand moved lower and traced the fine skin where her thighs met her body.

He let go of her nipple and nuzzled the skin beneath her ear again. Licked the hot beat of her pulse. “Open up,” he whispered.

She complied, and he sank his fingers between folds and deep into wet heat. She came up off the bed but still she didn’t let go of the bedposts. He pressed deeper, first one finger, then two, finding a rhythm that matched the roll of her hips, and he curled his fingers inside her and pressed the heel of his hand against her mound. Over and over again, slowly, patiently, as her hips increased in pace until finally her back bowed up off the bed, feet digging into the mattress as she cried out. The expression on her face was one of ecstasy, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone more beautiful.

Pure unadulterated pleasure.

Not twisted lust.

His own heart raced, and he tried to cool his raging lust by concentrating on her body. On the subtle curve of her stomach, the dip of her navel, the deep dusky pink of her nipples. Playing, stroking, easing her back down to earth.

After a few moments her breathing slowed, and she lowered her hand to grab a fistful of his hair, pulling him up to meet her lips. “My turn,” she mumbled against his mouth. “On your back and assume the position, Frazer.”

A deep laugh rumbled through his chest. “What if I don’t want to?”

She raised a brow that told him how stupid that suggestion was, and he rolled over on top of her, pausing to press a kiss to her mouth before lying on his back and reaching up to grab the headboard.

“Fine.” He used his “this better be good voice” but she laughed at him. Jesus, he liked that. Loved the fact his usually icy demeanor didn’t offend her the way it did so many others.

She knelt beside him and ran her fingers over his chest. “I think I’m going to need to know your first name even if I have to torture it out of you.”

“Do your worst, Isadora Jane Campbell.”

She grinned and leaned down to kiss his mouth. “Is that a challenge?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Her lips drifted over his unshaven chin and down the front line of his throat. He swallowed at the strangely intimate act, trying to remember if anyone had ever kissed him there before. Next her lips touched his shoulders, but he was distracted by the stroke of her hand across his stomach, and then lower. Her hands were warm, fingers strong and, shit, he gasped out loud as she brushed her thumb lightly over the top of his penis.

“Try to hold out a little longer,” she whispered knowingly as she ran her tongue around the shell of his ear.

She knew exactly how to drive him crazy. She caressed and stroked him, and his eyes rolled in his head as she touched all of him with light, dancing fingers that made him want to pant for more. She started to slide down the bed, but he caught her arms and dragged her back up over him. There was no way he’d last if she used anything but her hands on him.

He brushed her hair off her forehead, holding her gaze. “Linc. Lincoln.”

“Suits you.” A dimple cut into her cheek. “No middle names I need to know about?”

“God, I wish.” He didn’t recognize the guttural voice that came out of his mouth.

She straddled him, and he handed her the condom because she seemed to need to be in charge, and right now he liked what she was doing. Who was he kidding? He was going to like anything she wanted to do to him as long as she did it naked.

She ripped open the condom and rolled it over him gently. He shook uncontrollably. He held her thighs in a firm grip and then she was lowering herself over him, and he was engulfed in the feeling of rightness.

He’d had sex too many times to count, but it had never felt like coming home before. He froze at the thought, but realized any woman would feel good after months of abstinence.

Probably
.

She moved over him with grace and confidence, arching her back as she slid lower and lower before raising herself back up again. His hips followed hers, mindless as they sought her engulfing heat. Her breasts jiggled, and his mouth went dry watching her move so sensually above him.

“You feel amazing,” she said.

Christ, how could she talk? He couldn’t form a single coherent word let alone an entire sentence. She rode him slow and then she rode him fast and he held onto his control by a whisper as her fingers bit into his chest and her face turned toward the ceiling and inner muscles contracted around him, driving him to the very edge. As she cried out again, he pulled her tight against him and carefully turned them over so he was on top. Then he began moving, harder and faster, until he was worried it was too fast and too hard. But she was right there with him, matching his rhythm, fingernails digging sharply into his back in a grip that felt gloriously uncontrolled. She wrapped her legs around his waist, digging her heels into his ass as she started to climax again. He held onto her hips as she writhed and twisted, smooth muscles and soft skin feeling like silk against his fingers.

His own release snapped at the base of his spine as her inner muscles milked him until finally his hips were bucking into her and he flew off that cliff, spinning over the edge into blinding light that made pleasure screech along every neuron.

Holy crap.

He lay panting on top of her, the pounding of his heart loud enough to block out the ever-present drum of the ocean. Slowly he opened his eyes. They were nose to nose and she grinned at him, a satisfied grin. Then she squeezed him again and ran her heels down the back of his legs, letting them rest on his calves as he stayed inside her.

He couldn’t move.

“You’re good at that.”

He withdrew carefully and rolled onto his back, disposing of the condom. “My ex-wife said I was good at two things. That was one of them.” Although, honestly, he hadn’t done anything except let her have her way with him. It had felt good. It had felt incredible.

“What was the other thing?” she asked curiously. So Isadora Campbell was one of the few women on the planet not to be pissed off by the mention of another woman while in bed.

Was that why he’d said it? As a test? To drive her away? That was cold, only moments after red-hot sex.

He found himself grinning down at her because she never reacted exactly as he thought she would. He kissed her. Long, lingering. Exploring more of her mouth, which he didn’t feel like he’d even begun to get enough of. He drew back. “The other thing she said I was good at was making her miserable.”

“Ouch.” She brushed his hair off his forehead. “You left her?”

“Officially, she left me.” He shrugged. His marriage had died long ago. “We met in college. I was studying criminal justice. She was pre-law. I told her from the start what I wanted to do with my life, where I was going, but the moment I became a beat cop? Let’s just say the offers from her daddy’s firm kept getting higher and higher until one day she realized that I actually meant what I said, and wouldn’t be swayed from my path.” He blew out a huge guilt-laden sigh. “She called me ‘emotionally derelict’ and ‘borderline sociopath’.”

“Ouch. The worst I’ve ever been called by an ex was a cold bitch.” Isadora pushed him off her, stretching her arms over her head.

He watched her breasts and wanted her again. “I guess no one wants to feel like they matter less than your job.”

“Some careers aren’t just jobs. It’s not what defines us, it’s literally a part of who we are—like hair color or how many fingers we have on our right hand.”

He picked up her hand and kissed each finger.

She smiled. “It was her mistake for not seeing it.”

“It was my mistake. She thought she knew me but she didn’t.” He’d been wrong to marry her. Because although he looked okay on the outside, inside he was a writhing mass of flawed humanity, trying to save his family and failing every single time. No one should have to cope with a career drive that came from a constant sense of failure. “I knew it wasn’t going to work. I married her anyway.”

He started nibbling her neck, surprised he was growing hard again. “What about you? Why aren’t you married?” And why was he talking about marriage when he was in bed and had just had sex with a woman?

“You’re not the only one with an important career, Lincoln Frazer.” Her eyes shone with humor, but he knew she was hiding something. Some bad breakup? Unrequited love? Shit happened. Why should she tell him everything? They were simply spending a few hours having fun. God knew they both deserved a break from their never-ending workload.

“You don’t let anyone close, do you?” he realized. Neither did he, but suddenly he wanted her closer, he wanted more than a few hours. His hands caught her hips and he captured one of her nipples with his mouth. He moved over her as she arched off the bed to meet him.

“This is as close as it gets, Frazer.”

Not close enough
. The voice in his head should have scared him, but for once being held at arm’s length wasn’t enough. Or maybe Isadora’s own reluctance to get involved made him feel more secure. More able to be who he really was. Not pretending to be perfect. Not pretending they were gonna get married and raise rug-rats. The marriage thing hadn’t worked for him, and he never wanted to feel that miserable or out of control ever again. Maybe he could manage a relationship, though. Definitely more than one night of fucking. The thought would have worried him if the woman he was contemplating it with hadn’t been sliding down the bed doing something amazingly hot with her mouth.

He could definitely get used to more, if more included having this woman in his bed.

*     *     *

I
T WAS STILL
dark when she slipped out of Lincoln Frazer’s bed. She’d stayed far longer than she’d intended. He didn’t strike her as the cuddling type, but they’d fallen asleep entangled and sated.

A strand of blond hair fell across his forehead as he lay on his back, sleeping. She dressed quietly, not wanting to wake him, not really wanting to leave, but knowing she had to. The sex had been fantastic and she ached in all the right places. But she wasn’t hanging around for that awkward morning-after moment. And she wanted to get back to Kit.

Dammit, she shouldn’t have let herself get distracted, and yet she’d needed this particular distraction more than she’d needed her next breath. Unfortunately having sex hadn’t ended her fascination with the guy. He was direct, determined, demanding, and competitive. It didn’t make for an easy personality, but it made for an interesting one, not to mention a hell of a partner in bed.

The fact she was reducing everything to sex told her more than she wanted to know about how she was trying to push her feelings for this guy into a box. He was gorgeous, built, and fought monsters for a living. She’d been halfway in love with him before he’d proven to be an attentive and generous lover, and to have an unexpected vulnerable side.

And he carried a badge.

Yeah, she was totally screwed.

She grabbed her Glock and held her keys in her pocket against her thigh so they didn’t jingle as she walked. She eased open the door. The other bedroom door was open, and Barney leapt off the top of the blankets as someone turned over in bed.

Agent Randall. And from the way he moved he was awake. Her cheeks heated because it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure this out. She hoped Frazer didn’t get in trouble, but she didn’t know what the rules were regarding hook-ups during work time.

She snuck past the murder board and guilt crawled up her spine and expanded inside her brain until it forced her to blink hard against the pressure. She still wasn’t convinced she knew anything about the current murders, but she knew who those bones belonged to. She knew how they’d come to be buried in the dunes. Without a word she opened the front door and let her dog out. She closed it softly behind her, hurrying down the wooden steps in her bare feet, aware of the intense chill in the air.

The waves still crashed against the shore, but the tide was out and the storm didn’t seem so bad, yet.

As she went up the steps to her porch she noticed the blanket that Barney had dragged to the floor earlier was now neatly folded and placed on the wicker sofa. She looked across to the beach house and saw Frazer’s silhouette at the window. Her heart beat a little harder, not only because he was watching her sneak away, but also because anyone standing here could have seen them earlier. God, had Agent Randall stood here? Or Kit? A wave of humiliation rolled over her at the thought.