Dead Girl in a Green Dress (15 page)

Wagging her finger at him, she asked. "What about a shower?"

"Since you are dessert, might as well combine them." Tate stood and laced his fingers with hers.
"Dessert and shower."
 

She allowed him to tug her to her feet and lead her into the bathroom. As he adjusted the water temperature,
Byrony
started to undress, but Tate stopped her. "I want to do that, and this time, we’ll go
slow
."
 

"Slow sounds good, as long as I get a turn with you."

His fingers caught the hem of her T-shirt. "I wouldn’t have it any other way."

With leisurely deliberation, he eased the shirt over her head,
then
discarded his own. The sight of his sculpted bare chest made the breath jam in
Byrony’s
throat. Her fingers itched to trace though the dark hair on his
pecs
, but somehow she forced herself to stand still while he hooked his thumbs in her sweatpants and drew them down her legs.

"Okay, into the water with you." His voice was a gruff whisper. "And remember to keep that brace dry."

"What about you?" She demanded, stepping out of the pants.

"Right behind you."

She caught a glimpse of his jutting erection as he discarded his own pajama bottoms, then she pulled the shower curtain aside and stepped under the warm spray. Holding her injured arm over her head to avoid the water, she felt Tate slide into the small space behind her. But when she started to turn around, his large hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"I better do your back first. Hand me that little bar of soap."

Byrony
passed the square back to him, and a moment later, she felt the warm wash cloth gliding over her shoulders and down her uninjured arm. She closed her eyes and reveled in the sensual rub of the wet cloth over her back and sides. When he reached her butt, she heard his breathing kick up a notch, but he continued his purposeful attention to every millimeter of her skin. By the time he moved on to her thighs, she couldn’t stand another minute.

"Your turn."
She grabbed his wrist and pulled the wash cloth through his fingers.

"If you insist."
Tate’s voice sounded rough and a little unsteady, and as they carefully exchanged places, his dark blue eyes smoldered.

Not daring to drop her gaze any lower,
Byrony
tossed aside the cloth and began her own thorough exploration of his deliciously muscled arms and shoulders with her hands. Then she moved on to his broad, tanned back which tapered to his lean waist. Just the sight of his taut rear-end made her hands tremble, so she skimmed quickly across the firm muscles and moved down to his thigh.

The deep gash and network of scars on his leg stopped her short. How she had not noticed during their previous love making was a mystery. No wonder he walked with a limp. Paige had told her about the car accident that had killed Tate’s partner, and ended his career in the Chicago PD, but mere facts were nothing compared to the stark evidence of his pain and suffering. She bent down for a closer look, but Tate shielded the old wound with his hand.

"Sorry, didn’t mean to freak you out."

Bending down,
Byrony
lightly traced the smaller scars. "It doesn’t bother me. How could it? It brought you to me." She moved his hand aside and glided her lips over the gash as she spoke.

He made a sound deep in his throat, and pulled her up and into his arms, his lips descending on hers as the water drummed against both of them.

***

So much for his vow to take it slow.
Tate broke the kiss just long enough to pull
Byrony
out of the shower and smack the faucet to off. He turned to see that she’d wrapped a towel under her arms, but it didn’t really cover her very fine ass. A new surge of heat hit him directly in his already hard cock. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had affected him this way. He was like some horny teenager.

Byrony
grabbed a second towel and started to rub the water off his chest. That lasted all of thirty seconds before he claimed her lips again, shoving her against the wall in the process. Somehow, they stumbled and lurched their way out of the bathroom to the unmade bed. As she licked the water off him, he struggled to find a condom, barely getting it on before they plunged into a frenzied mutual orgasm.

Light stabbed through the gap in the curtains and hit Tate directly in the face, bringing harsh reality crashing into his consciousness. In contrast,
Byrony
dozed in his arms.

Desire, possessiveness, and other emotions he hadn’t experienced in years spread over him, but couldn’t dislodge the guilt sitting like a lead anchor in his gut.

This is worse than trouble, Madison. This is a total
disaster !

He’d broken his own cardinal rule and let himself get involved with a client. And not just any client, she was
his
 
sister’s
friend. He had no excuse for such a lapse in judgment, and to make matters worse,
Byrony
Long was out of his league. He’d known that from the moment Paige had brought her up. She belonged to the world of bean counters in three piece suits, while his was full of insurance scammers and cheating spouses.
Worlds that didn’t intersect, except for a purely physical sexual encounter.
But this wasn’t just another sexual fling. He could tell himself it was, but he knew better. Meaningless sex didn’t feel like this.

Gently, he edged his arm from beneath her. But apparently not smoothly enough, for her golden eyes popped open and a contented smile curled the corners of her mouth. Struggling to sit up, he turned away, but not before his traitorous cock hardened with just one glance at her.

"Going somewhere?" Her fingertips skated over his bare shoulder blade.

"I’ve still got an investigation to wrap up." He stifled a groan as her lips replaced her fingers, and her naked breasts rubbed against his back.

"Can’t it wait for another half hour or so?"

"It shouldn’t.
Just like I shouldn’t be doing this with a client."
Admitting his disreputable behavior effectively doused his ardor and his fingers involuntarily clenched into fists.

Her caresses stopped abruptly. "Don’t do this, Tate. We’ve had a fantastic time, and we have nothing to feel guilty about."

He wished he could agree with her, but his suddenly awakened conscience wouldn’t let him. "You are still my client, and me getting personally involved with you isn’t exactly ethical."

Byrony’s
nails dug into his shoulder, making him turn his head and meet her probing gaze. "In that case, you’re fired."

His first thought was that she was joking, but her unwavering expression told him she was serious. "Not so fast. I know how important this case is to you and I intend to wrap it up properly."

"Yes, it’s important. But if I have to choose between you and this case, I pick you."

Her admission left Tate feeling as if he’d been
tasered
. Words dried in his throat. He hadn’t engaged in any relationship beyond a one-night-stand since his divorce. Until now, he didn’t want any more.
Didn’t deserve any more.
And after the accident, he didn’t believe himself capable of any more.

But
Byrony
had proved him wrong. He still didn’t know how the stubborn little bean counter had insinuated herself so thoroughly under his skin, into his heart. But somehow, she’d managed it, and one thing Tate did know with complete certainty –
Byrony
Long could never be a one-night stand.

Now he faced the daunting task of making himself worthy of her.

Chapter 10

After a quick breakfast of coffee and a pastry at the bakery around the corner, Tate and
Byrony
arrived at the city jail and sheriff’s office just as Nick Brandon unlocked the front door.

"Miss Long, Mr. Madison." His youthful face clouded with concern as he ushered them inside. "Is everything all right?"

Tate decided to get right to it. "We’re here about
Byrony’s
accident."

Brandon sat behind his desk, frown lines creasing his forehead. "Sorry, I questioned the witnesses but I’m afraid nobody saw much, so I don’t have any leads."

"Well, we do,"
Byrony
blurted, and at her words, Brandon’s frown deepened.

By the time Tate told him about Cristina
Woodleigh
Prince on her black horse, the sergeant was openly scowling.

"That’s a very serious accusation, Madison." Crossing his arms over his chest, Brandon returned Tate’s challenging stare. "Mrs. Prince is one of the island’s leading citizens. Why would she try to harm Miss Long?"

Tate leaned on the desk and held the other man’s gaze. "Suppose you ask when you question her about her whereabouts at the time of the incident?"

"Or maybe the stable hands when you check with them about the horse?"
Byrony
chimed in.

The sheriff shook his head. "All the Grand Hotel’s horses are black. That way their teams always match. Anybody at the hotel could have been riding that horse."

Tate blew out a frustrated breath. "Then I guess I’ll question Mrs. Prince myself."

"No." Brandon rose to his feet. "I’ll follow up on your complaint, but Madison, you need to stay clear of Mrs. Prince. I won’t have you upsetting the whole community when you’ve got no proof of anything."

"My sister is dead, Sergeant Brandon."
Byrony
stood up and answered his challenge. "And someone tried to harm me, twice!"

"The detectives in Mac City have made an arrest in your sister’s murder, Miss Long. Why don’t you just go on home and let the authorities handle everything?"

"Because they arrested the wrong person."
Byrony’s
expression showed both her outrage and steely determination. "And I’m not leaving until the real killer is found."

The ringing phone stopped Brandon’s reply. As the
Sarge
reached to answer, Tate put his arm around
Byrony’s
shoulders, and eased her away. "We’ll see ourselves out."

Though he wanted to slam the door behind them, Tate closed it with an almost imperceptible click. He let go of
Byrony
to turn the collar of his jacket up against the newly started drizzle.

"Well, that was a waste of time."
Byrony’s
eyes sparked gold fire. "And how dare he order us to stay away from that bitch! What are we going to do now?"

Pressing his hand against the small of her back, Tate urged her down the sidewalk. "I’m
gonna
ignore him, of course. As for you…" His hand roamed to pat her very fine ass. "No point in both of
us getting
wet and miserable, so you might as well wait for me at the motel."

"I’d rather go along." Giving him an impudent look, she reached behind and patted his rear. "And don’t
worry,
I won’t melt in the rain."

He grabbed her wrist. "All I’m worried about is keeping my mind on my work, which is harder than hell with you around doing stuff like that."

"All right, fine. But you better not be gone too long." Her luscious bottom lip stuck out in a pout that made him sorry he couldn’t go back to the motel with her.

You’ve got it bad, Madison!
But, even though the authorities were stonewalling him at every turn, he honestly had never felt better. And all because of one stubborn little bean counter.

They hustled back in the direction of the harbor, but when they reached the parking lot,
Byrony
insisted she could walk the rest of the way on her own. Nevertheless, Tate watched until she reached the door of their room. She raised her injured hand in salute before she disappeared inside.

Hunching his shoulders against the rain, he headed for the livery stable. Rather than being carted around in some prissy carriage or lumbering wagon, he much preferred a saddle horse. Fifteen minutes later, he turned his pretty chestnut mare onto the main road leading to the Grand Hotel. The mare had a nice even canter, and if the rain would let up, he could almost enjoy the ride.
Almost.

Byrony’s
comment about checking with the Grand Hotel stable was a good one, so he headed there first. He dismounted under an open shed and left his horse with the young guy who was unloading feed. Inside the main barn, he found the kid’s boss mending a harness. Tate introduced himself, and the wizened stable hand identified himself as Reuben.
 

"You were here the other morning with Sergeant Brandon." The old guy brushed his hand on his jeans before he offered it to Tate. "Didn’t find what you were looking for?"

"Not entirely." Tate glanced down the long aisle of the shadowy barn. "You don’t seem to have many horses."

"We get most of them from Mennonite farms, and we send two-thirds of them back during the off season since we don’t use them."

"And I’m guessing they’re expensive to feed all winter," Tate observed as he strolled toward one of the occupied stalls. "So you only have black horses?"