The Hunk Next Door (21 page)

“You got the win today.”

She snorted and started pacing across the room behind him. “No one to question is hardly a victory. They didn’t recover any helpful prints at Mrs. Wilks’s house.”

“Has Filmore offered anything more?”

“No.”

Her impatience was disconcerting. He’d bet his fake cover story family and their shepherd’s pie that she’d done something drastic. “I trust you,” he said. “So do Mrs. Wilks, Calder, Peg, your department. They aren’t idiots, Abby, and you don’t have to be a lifelong resident of Belclare to see they rely on you because they know they can.”

He wrestled his way through the middle section of the tree, grateful that it kept him from reaching for her. She had to bring him a stepladder to finish the top, but he could tell she was pleased when the job was done.

“I hate stringing lights,” she said.

“Happy to help.”

“Whether I start at the top or the bottom,” she continued, “I always get irritated and careless before the job is done.”

“That sounds really out of character for you.”

“It’s one place patience fails me.” Laughing at herself, she handed him a star for the top of the tree.

“Don’t you want to put it on?”

She shook her head. “You’re already there.”

“All right.” He secured the star to the top and stepped down, setting the ladder to the side so it would be there when she put on the ornaments. “Looks good, if I do say so myself.”

She pulled the drapes across the window. “I agree.” But she was staring at him, not the tree. “You have sap on your shirt.” She came closer and pointed to the offending spot.

“It’ll wash.”

“It’s not your only good shirt?”

“No.” Though most of his clothes were in storage while he sorted out where he’d live in Belclare.

“That’s good.” She reached out and yanked his shirt open, sending buttons flying.

“Abby?”

“I’m living in the present,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to do that, but until you, I haven’t been inspired.” Her hands, warm and soft, flattened against his bare chest. “Tell me you’re surprised. Please?” She pressed up on her toes, her lips brushing fleetingly against his.

“Surprised?” Then he remembered her words last night in the truck. “Oh, yeah.” He wrapped her in his arms and pulled her close, the silk of her shirt an enticing, filmy barrier against his skin. Slowly, taking his time instead of just taking, he lowered his mouth to meet hers.

Her lips were soft and needy, and when her tongue stroked against his it was sweeter than it had been last night. She tasted of the deep red wine she’d had at dinner, a dark, sultry counterbalance to the crisp pine and sweet roses scenting the air.

She pushed the shirt over his shoulders and down his arms. Reluctantly, he released her to shake free of the binding fabric. He was nearly ready to beg, desperately eager to learn everything about her body, about how well it would fit with his. He wanted to discover what she liked and more, what made her absolutely crazy with passion.

Her hands molded and caressed his arms while he feathered kisses along the side of her neck, nipping gently at the warm curve of her shoulder.

She tempted him to rush with her kisses, her touch and her soft sighs. “Abby,” he whispered against her skin. His blood pounded through his veins. If there had ever been another woman, he couldn’t remember it.

There was only her, here and now in this moment. He skimmed his hand up her ribs to cup her full breast. With a moan, she arched into his touch and he felt her nipple pebble against his palm. He couldn’t wait to taste her.

He heard the soft purr of a zipper followed by the rustle of fabric as her skirt fell to the floor. Ready to protest as she stepped away from him, the view stole his breath and he couldn’t form the words. Lace-topped stockings caressed each thigh and the creamy skin above invited a thorough exploration.

She came back to him and wound her arms around his neck. He hitched her up until those long thighs circled his hips. He turned, bracing her back against the wall. Happily, he’d take her right here, or on the couch—hell, even the steps looked good.

All of the above. All in good time.

He carried her to the couch and sank into the cushions, her legs straddling his thighs, all of her open to his touch. He peeled away her shirt and trailed his fingers along the straps of her bra. When he unhooked it and let the lingerie fall away, he held her, learning how she wanted to be touched.

He set out to show her how beautiful she was to him. How she made him feel so wanted. Skimming his hands over every inch of her flesh, he showed her what she meant. He pulled her close, taking first one breast then the other into his mouth, teasing her soft flesh with tongue and teeth. Her palms were braced on his shoulders, and her little moans were sweet encouragement.

She shifted away, bringing her mouth down to his. The kiss turned into a sensual dual as her tongue slid across his. Her hands cruised over his chest and lower until he was rocking his erection into her delicious touch.

As she opened his slacks, taking him in hand, he slipped a finger under that lace and found her wet, hot and ready. Need surged through him. “Abby.” He raised up, stripping away his clothing. The only remaining barrier was her panties. With a wink, he reached out and tore them away.

Wearing only her thigh-highs, she came over him, gliding down slowly until she’d taken him fully inside her. He waited, holding back by some miracle, while she set the pace. It was worth the wait—when she moved it was heaven. Gripping her hips, he met her body with each stroke, until her climax shuddered through her and around him, her fingertips digging into his shoulders.

His release came a moment later and she dropped her head against his shoulder, panting and snuggling close as they floated back to reality.

After a few minutes she shifted again. “Told you the couch is too small.” She stood up, keeping his hands in hers. “Come share my bed.”

He didn’t know it was possible to go from completely sated to all-out need in the span of one staircase, but it happened.

When they reached her bedroom her tender kiss ignited an encore performance that stole his breath. Spent, her body felt as pliable as butter sprawled across his chest. He heard her whispering softly against his skin but couldn’t make out the words. “What was that?” he asked.

She raised her head, propping her chin on her hands to meet his gaze. “‘Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.’”

He ran a finger down her spine. “You’re quoting Shelley?”

“It seems to fit.” Her smile was nothing short of radiant. “You know the quote.”

“I do.”

“You consistently surprise me, Riley.”

He combed his hand through her hair. “Same goes, Abby.”

She pulled the covers over them and snuggled next to him. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me, too.” He pressed a kiss to her hair and listened to the simple perfection of her breath until she fell asleep.

Chapter Fourteen

Saturday, December 3, 6:40 a.m.

Abby slipped from the bed, careful not to disturb Riley. He was sprawled facedown across the mattress, the tangled sheets leaving him more exposed than covered. Of all her recent challenges, exiting the bed proved the most difficult.

With a wistful sigh, she kept moving. She’d make it up to him later. Tonight, after they had the terrorist in custody, they could celebrate. They could even go down to the park and join the fun of a successful opening day of the Christmas Village.

She found dark jeans and a sweater and dressed in the guest room so she wouldn’t wake him. Then she wrote him a note and left it on her pillow. If she was lucky, this would all be over before he realized she was gone.

Optimism was a good thing.

* * *

W
HEN
R
ILEY HEARD
Abby leave the house he opened his eyes. Rolling over, he stared at her bedroom ceiling, only moving after he heard the low rumble of her car engine. Still he waited until the noise faded before he rolled out of the bed.

He supposed he should be flattered she trusted him enough to leave him alone in her house. This was, after all, the opportunity he’d wanted since arriving in Belclare. He reclaimed his clothing and dressed quickly, pausing just long enough to read the apologetic note that said she’d been called to the station on an emergency.

Yes, he’d been sleeping deeply with her supple body in his arms, but he knew her phone hadn’t made any of the obnoxious sounds she’d programmed for police business. In between rounds of lovemaking, she’d made a point of putting it on the charger next to the bed.

So, if not official business, where had she run off to so early? He didn’t like the answers that immediately came to mind. Last night he’d suspected she had made a move of some sort in hopes of thwarting the enemy. Now, he was certain she was up to something she didn’t want anyone else to know about. Fastening his watch, he checked the time. Two hours before the official opening of the Christmas Village.

He did a quick search on his way out. In the kitchen he found another note inviting him to help himself to coffee and whatever else he wanted and asking him to lock up as he left. Eggs and toast weren’t his primary concern. He wanted her to tell him what she was up to.

He suppressed the sinking feeling in his gut as he violated her privacy and opened the laptop she’d left on the kitchen table, but it had to be done. Keeping her safely in her post as Belclare’s police chief was his first order of business.

Finding the email requesting a meeting with the sleeper cell leader landed like a punch to the gut and his breath stalled in his chest. Irrational as it was, temper and a strange hurt surged through him. He knew she didn’t trust him completely, and he even understood why. But to take this step without any backup was desperate. The terrorist leader would cut her down without a second thought and use her death as a cautionary tale to others who would try to prevent further operations.

He closed her computer and locked up her house, darting across the driveway to his place. He fought his first instinct to don the tactical gear and weapons stashed behind the wall in the bedroom closet—that wasn’t the answer.

Instead, mustering his operational calm, he changed into jeans and a thermal shirt. He shrugged into a shoulder holster and checked the load on his 9mm. Covering the gun with a thick chamois shirt, he headed downstairs for his boots and down vest. He’d think of a reason to explain his return visit to the Christmas tree lot on the way.

Chapter Fifteen

Abby chose a spot close to the entrance of the Lewiston tree lot, not surprised her car was the only one in the parking area. She’d decided on this location because of the family and because it gave her enemy the illusion of several ways in and out.

The chicken-wire fencing didn’t offer much in the way of a challenge or a deterrent to trespassers. Though they’d never suffered a threat or lost property, the Lewiston family maintained an armed watch on the lot 24/7. One of them would be around, watching.

“Welcome to your last day in my town,” Abby murmured, as she checked her weapon and slid the extra clips of ammunition into her coat pockets. Provided her email had made it through to the right party and her challenge had been accepted, the terrorist grip on Belclare was about to end.

With her badge in plain view on her jacket and her Glock in hand, she stepped out of the car. The sun was bright in the sky, but the air was bitter cold. The wind nipped at her cheeks and chilled the denim of her jeans. Her boots crunched on the snow-covered gravel of the parking area. Alternately stepping and pausing to listen, her gun lowered but ready, she cautiously entered the forest of Christmas trees neatly organized by size and type.

She felt eyes on her and knew she’d drawn the attention of at least one member of the Lewiston family. Based on the increased patrols, she knew her officers could be on-site within three minutes of an emergency call. Three minutes gave her plenty of time to draw out a confession or at least identify a viable suspect.

Her radio crackled. “Mornin’, Chief,” a voice rasped. “One trespasser in the northeast corner. No visible weapon.”

Of course the Lewistons would know the police channels. She nodded, appreciating the tip as much as the automatic cooperation. She’d just started moving with more confidence to that position when the same voice sounded off again.

“Second contact directly east of your position has a shoulder holster. Don’t know what you’re up to but seems like you’ve got some interest.”

A quick prickle of fear skittered down her spine. She hadn’t expected this to be easy. With a bit of clever maneuvering she could still pull this off. Failure wasn’t an option.

Keeping rows of trees between her and the east side of the lot, she moved closer to the corner, eager to find who was waiting.

The sound of a shotgun rang out, sending birds into flight. The lower branches of a tree splintered on her right. Fresh pine filled the air. The tree slumped to the side and she caught sight of a familiar red vest diving for cover.

The terrorist could
not
be Riley. The words bounced around in her head. No, the jackass terrorist was messing with her. She couldn’t have been so wrong as to sleep with her enemy.

“Show yourself!” She dropped to her belly, looking for boots and listening for movement. “I thought you came to negotiate.”

“I believe he came to kill you.”

Where was that voice coming from? And what the hell was Deke doing out here? He’d never spent so much time away from his house. Feet appeared in her line of sight but no boots. The high shine on the shoes and the dark slacks warned that it was in fact the artist who’d come to meet her. Could she have so badly misjudged the man?

She measured the distance to the man and stayed low. “What brings you out this morning, Deke?”

“I’ve wanted to tell you for ages, darling,” he replied, not moving from his position. “I do so much more than paint.”

It was him! She’d been a fool! So grateful for his help to the town’s well-being—to her well-being, she hadn’t seen the forest for the trees. Now, with Christmas trees surrounding her, she saw exactly what she’d been missing.