Tactical Advantage (10 page)

Annie smiled at the teasing chuckle that vibrated his chest against her ear. “So I should add Pinocchio to my list of nicknames? Or is it Pinocchiette?”

“Well, I don’t think ‘odd duck’ is a phrase I’ve ever used. Sounds more like something Grandpa would say. Surely, you wouldn’t describe yourself like that. Wait a minute.” He pulled back to frame her face between his hands. “Did he call you that? The guy you cut out of the picture?” The gleam of amusement in his eyes darkened almost as soon as she lifted her gaze to his. Then he was pulling her back into the hug, squeezing her tighter than before. “Forget I asked. Shutting my mouth now.”

“That’ll be the day.” But there was no answering laugh. This time, Annie loosened her grip and wedged some space between them. She didn’t need to mention he was spot-on about her ex’s less-than-flattering description of her. “You’re not who I thought you were, either,” she conceded. “You are so different from anyone who’s ever been a part of my world. I never know quite what to expect from you.”

He brushed a swath of stray curls off her forehead. “Is that good or bad?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Fair enough.”

That perpetual glimmer of amusement in his eyes never returned. Instead, something earthy and intent darkened them to a rich midnight blue. And then Nick was dipping his head, moving closer.

Annie pushed her hands up past his collar to capture his jaw. “You promised.”

“Technically, I never did.” Still, he hesitated. “If you don’t want this, say no.”

A voice inside her, louder than the one in her head, urged her onto her toes to seal the kiss.

His lips covered hers in a gentle press of comfort, a warm breath of reassurance, a match to an inevitable flame.

Skimming her palms over the raspy stubble of his jaw, Annie slid her fingers into the thick, damp hair at his nape and opened her mouth beneath his. Her ready welcome sparked the feverish desire that had simmered under words and threats and misconceptions all day long—for days, weeks, months longer before that, no doubt, judging by the eager exploration of tongues and lips and the breathy moans between them.

Always a keen observer, Annie was suddenly overwhelmed by sensation after sensation. With every breath, her head filled with the rich scents of coffee and Nick’s musky skin. Her fingers tugged at soft flannel to feel taut, warm skin underneath. She felt the ticklish abrasion of his beard against her throat, and the soothing caress of his lips and tongue following after.

Curiosity led her exploring hands across Nick’s shoulders, down his sturdy arms, up into his hair. Need led them to the front of his shirt, where the buttons easily gave way to her determined fingers. She tugged the soft cloth aside and branded her palms against hard curves of muscle and the tender spikes of his aroused male flesh. Nick’s skin bunched and quivered beneath her grasping touch.

“Easy, slugger. Not so fast. There are two of us here.” He seized her wrists and guided her arms back around his neck and walked his body into hers, driving her back against the countertop before reclaiming her mouth.

And just like that, the tables were turned. Every liberty she’d taken with Nick, his hands and mouth were doing to her. He slid his tongue along hers, twisting and tangling them together in soft, raspy caresses. He slipped his hands down to her butt and lifted her onto the counter, spreading her knees apart and moving between them, pressing the thick bulge of his zipper against the most sensitive part of her. Annie moaned against the sensual assault that robbed her of coherent thought and he dipped his moist, hot mouth to the hum in her throat. Her body, chilled the whole day long, was growing feverish from the inside out. The pores in her skin opened and she gasped for breath as the heat began to build. She squirmed atop the counter, bound by his hands and mouth and body, seeking some sort of release.

“Nick...I...please...”

Perhaps reading her thoughts more clearly than she, Nick slid his hands beneath her sweatshirt and found bare skin to claim. Her thighs clutched around his narrow hips. He palmed the lace of her bra and squeezed the achy nub of one breast. Annie tipped her head back, gasping at the shards of exquisite delight that shot through her like an electric current.

It had never been like this with her fiancé—this raw, this wild. With Adam there had always been steps, stages—
seduction protocol. Making out with Adam had been a slow, planned process—methodical and predictable, which she thought had been perfect for her. Nick peeled away any pretensions of decorum and went straight to the want, to the need firing between them. His kiss was all instinct, all impulse, all passion. And she reveled in it.

“God, woman, I’ve never met anybody who gets into my head the way you do.” He nuzzled his nose in her hair, his hard breaths and whispering lips teasing a sensitive bundle of nerves beside her ear. “You smell so good. You feel even better.” He slipped his fingers beneath the elastic of her sweatpants and panties, pulling her to the edge of the counter, anchoring the weeping pressure between her thighs against the pulsing heat of his desire. The layers of cotton and denim between them couldn’t hide what they both wanted. “You’re all silk and fire and the biggest surprise of my life. Who knew, sitting across that meeting room table at KCPD all these months...so that’s what the sparks were all about—”

“Stop talking, Nick.”

This driving need was so far out of control, so far out of her realm of experience that Annie couldn’t see the consequences. She couldn’t see anything beyond the moment. She couldn’t think. She only knew it felt good. It felt right. Coming to life in Nick’s arms smashed any feelings of isolation. There was no past to mourn, no future to worry about. There was only now, only this, only Nick. She linked her heels behind his thighs, tunneled her fingers into the soft mess of his hair and pulled his mouth back to hers, seeking the force of his body moving against hers, assuaging her hunger for the powerful claim of his kiss.

“I just want to feel. I want to connect. I want—” An alarm bell went off inside her head. “What was that?”

“Connecting. Feeling. Magic.” He kissed her with each word, pushed against her with every breath.

“Nick...” Annie tore her mouth from his with a breathless gasp. The ringing bell went off a second time, insisting that she regain a little common sense.

Nick pulled his hands to the neutral location of her waist. He pressed a chaste kiss to her swollen lips before easing some space between them. He rested his forehead against hers, his cobalt gaze looking down into her eyes. “It’s your phone. Got an answering machine?”

“Of course.” The machine on the far wall of the kitchen rang again. Annie wondered at the stuttering rhythm of Nick’s chest, heaving in and out like her own. Curiosity got her thinking again. And with thinking, a little bit of sanity returned. “But it could be the lab with the results from the serology tests I ran.”

“Serology?” He pressed the gentlest of kisses against the bandage in her hairline.

“The study of body fluids like blood and...” He angled his head to kiss her lips, but Annie pushed him away before temptation overrode the reality of her life. “We need to stop. I’m sorry. I was tired and sad and I wasn’t thinking. That was a—”

“Stopping,” he interrupted sharply. He stepped back, holding his hands out to either side, breaking all contact except for the piercing intensity of those eyes. “But don’t you dare say that was a mistake. It doesn’t happen like that between two people if it’s not supposed to. Didn’t it feel right to you?”

“Of course it felt good. That’s just hormones, Nick. It’s a result of loneliness and guilt and fatigue. We needed the endorphins...” But the grim expression behind those beautiful eyes had no interest in the reasons why that kiss had happened. When the phone rang again, she seized the excuse to escape. She wasn’t emotionally equipped to deal with the craziness Nick stirred up inside her right now. She hopped off the counter, landing on unsteady legs. “Let me get the phone.”

“Damn if I can’t think straight when you grab on to me like that.” If she didn’t know better, she’d think she detected some kind of hurt shadowing his gaze as it followed her across the kitchen. But he looked away before she could even formulate a question, turning his attention to rebuttoning his shirt. “Maybe
you’re
the one who needs to promise not to kiss
me
.”

“Nick—”

Another ring. “Your phone? Blood tests? Serology?”

His sardonic tone was a reminder that
she
was the one who’d used work as an excuse to end that grope fest on the counter. Fine. Work. She could handle that a lot easier than trying to understand whatever Nick was feeling—or what she herself was feeling right now. After pulling her own clothes back into some semblance of order against the nerve endings still sparking across her skin, she picked up the phone. “Hello?”

There was a beat of silence before a raspy, barely audible voice answered. “Is this Annabelle Hermann?”

Annie. Odd duck. Pinocchio.
Even
slugger
. Those nicknames were all fine. They made sense. But Annabelle? She’d only heard that name when she was in serious trouble from her parents or a teacher in grade school. Was this serious trouble?

“Annabelle?” the hoarse voice repeated. Definitely not the lab calling. Any friend or coworker would have identified himself. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

Oh, God. She knew that voice. From the alley.

“Who are you?” More silence. But the caller didn’t hang up. She could hear him on the line, his slow, audible breathing crawling down her neck like the cold promise of winter. Or death. Oh, hell. Where had that image come from? She hugged her arm around her waist, feeling exposed,
vulnerable—unsure of what was stalking her from the shadows. “I know you’re there. What do you want? Hello?”

She saw a flash of movement from the corner of her eye a split second before Nick plucked the phone from her hand. “Who is this?” he demanded.

The click at the other end of the line was loud enough for her to hear. She turned to ask Nick if he thought she had reason to be spooked by the call, or if she was letting her off-kilter emotions create another error in judgment. But he’d already punched in the code to call back immediately to get the caller’s number. She guessed that response was answer enough and wound both arms around her waist. She paced away from the wary tension radiating off Nick, but came right back when he muttered a curse and slammed the receiver back down on its cradle. “What is it?”

“No answer. No answering machine or voice mail, either.” That left explanations like the caller turning off his phone, disposing of a prepaid cell, knowing it was her number calling back, but refusing to answer—any of which doubled her suspicion that the call was no accident. Nick immediately pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and punched in a number. Seeing him go into overprotective-cop mode again confirmed that she had every right to feel like someone was watching her, monitoring her location, maybe even intentionally trying to frighten her.

If that was the goal of that call, it was working.

“What did he say to you?” Nick demanded.

“Nothing. He just asked for me by name. He asked for Annabelle.”

“Annabelle?” He shook his head. “I’ve never heard anybody call you that before. Is that how you’re listed in the phone book?”

A sense of dreadful clarity fell like a weight through her body. “Yes.”

“Hell.”

“I think it was him. The man from the alley.”

“And now he knows where you live.” His call picked up at the other end of the line and he turned away. “Spencer? It’s Nick.”

Needing room to tamp down her frayed emotions and make some rational decisions, she left Nick and the small space of the kitchen, still so full of the memories of their ill-timed passion and the charged energy that was Nick himself. Annie scooped Reitz up off his favorite chair and plopped down in his place, stroking his ears and hugging his familiar warmth to her chest. If she needed any more evidence that her ordered world had tilted way out of balance over the past twenty-four hours, G.B. popped out from beneath the couch and jumped up into her lap, seeking attention, too.

Stereo purring offered little comfort. “Every time I drop my guard around that man, I get hit with something else.”

“You still at the precinct?” She watched Nick stride out of the kitchen, checking the locks on her front door again. “Somebody’s looking for Annie. I’ve got a phone number I need you to run for me. I’ll wait.” He walked past her to peek through the blinds at the front windows and check the locks there. “Are you saying I’m bad luck?”

He’d heard that comment? Fine. She wanted to discuss this burgeoning relationship that shouldn’t be happening in the first place, anyway. “I’m saying you need to leave me alone. You need to leave, period. I have to focus on my work. I can’t keep making mistakes.”

“That phone call was intentional.” He buzzed by her chair, phone still at his ear, and headed down the hallway. “Not some mistake.”

“I’m talking about what happened in the kitchen. I’m talking about...”
Feelings.
Oh, damn. That could not be what was happening here. She was exhausted. The holidays made her feel blue. She had this stupid bump on the head that muddled her thoughts. Any one of those offered a plausible reason to explain why she’d dropped her guard and exposed every vulnerable nerve she possessed to this man. She supposed she could rationalize the physical attraction to those broad shoulders and blue eyes, but her discovery of his compassion and sense of humor, his die-hard loyalty to an idea, the heavy weight of the conscience he carried with him—she shouldn’t notice or admire or care about any of those things. She shouldn’t think Nick Fensom was the answer to any of her problems.

“Nick, wait.” Annie dumped the cats off her lap and hurried down the hallway after him. “We need to remember that we have to work together. There’s a serial rapist out there we’re trying to identify. And now there’s an accomplice, too? There couldn’t be a worse time for us to...get involved.”