She sat up and unhooked the frothy lace that hardly covered enough to earn the term. She let the straps slide down her arms and quite suddenly, took his breath away.
“You’re beautiful.”
She dropped her eyes to her hands as she worked his belt free. “So are you.”
David’s hands stilled. She knelt on the edge of the bed, her gaze dropping as she reached for the button on his trousers. He covered her hands with his, stopping her. “No. Look at me, Olivia.”
She looked up until she met his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything.” He cupped her face tenderly. “Why do you think I’m here?”
“Because you want me more than you want to breathe.”
“And that’s because you’re beautiful. I couldn’t get you out of my mind, Olivia. I tried. For months and years I tried and nothing worked. Nobody worked. I kept seeing your eyes when we talked and your face when you smiled.”
Something shifted behind her eyes and he knew he’d never convince her with words alone. He let his trousers drop to the floor and pushed his boxers down with them and felt a wave of satisfaction when her eyes widened, heating again.
She ran a fingertip down his length, then ran her hands down his sides, grasping his hips. He knew what was coming, but still nothing prepared him for how utterly incredible it felt when her mouth slid over him, wet and warm. His head fell back, his eyes closed and a guttural groan escaped his chest.
It was heaven. But he didn’t want to come like this. Not tonight.
“Stop.” Summoning every ounce of strength, he dug his fingers through her hair and pulled her away so that he could see her face. “To you, for you.” He dragged her up, ground his mouth on hers, fiercely satisfied when her arms came around his neck and she pressed her breasts into his chest, kissing him back. “In you.” Blindly he reached into the bedside drawer for a condom. “I want to be inside you.”
“Then hurry,” she whispered, yanking him down to the bed with her. Fragile she certainly was not. She snatched the packet from his hand and he had to clench his teeth to hold back when she slid it over him, her hands like little licks of fire.
He rolled her to her back, determined to do all the things he should have done before, praying he had the strength to hold back, to give her what she deserved. But when he pushed into her she was hot and wet and so damn tight. He stopped midway and shuddered, holding to his control by a thread. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
She met his eyes and he could already see the pleasure he’d hoped to put there. “More.” She rocked up into him, pulling him deeper. “God, please. David. More.”
His control snapped on the first more and he drove deep, making her gasp. But there was no pain on her face, only a growing sensual need as he moved, harder, deeper. Faster. She met each thrust as he watched her climax build. He could feel the orgasm tingling at the base of his spine and fought it back. Not yet. Dammit, not yet.
Then her short nails dug into his back and once again she went taut. He plunged harder, recklessly driving them higher until she screamed and the blistering wave hit and everything went black, her name on his lips as he fell.
Tuesday, September 21, 11:30 p.m.
All systems were go. He sat in his van a block away, watching the house Barney Tomlinson had purchased for his whore. Its destruction would mean more insurance money for Mrs. Tomlinson and it was one last way to stick it to Barney, in memoriam.
Dorian was currently sprawled facedown on Barney’s desk inside the house. Minus his face, of course. That would give the cops a fun puzzle to solve. How did Dorian and Barney connect? They didn’t of course, except through me.
The beauty was that the money he took from both men had been held in offshore accounts that nobody would know to look for. No connection.
There were Albert and Mary. Right on time. They’d argued earlier about this job. Their voices had come through loud and clear via the mike he’d hidden in their phone.
Albert had been furious with Mary over the glass balls. Mary had been furious for his having lied to her about Tomlinson being an environmental villain. Neither one seemed terribly upset over Eric’s demise. Mary hadn’t wanted to do this job. Albert had threatened to break her neck and throw her in the Mississippi River. It had been most entertaining. But after all that, here they were. And from the looks of them, still arguing.
He tuned the receiver clipped to his belt to their frequency and listened. Albert had the disposable in his shirt pocket, so his voice was loud. Mary held her own, though.
“Goddammit, woman, shut up,” Albert growled. He was speaking with his French accent. Maybe he hadn’t faked it after all. Maybe he’d been trying to get back at Eric.
Given Eric’s present state of death, I’d say he did that pretty well.
“This is stupid,” Mary hissed. “We’re just digging ourselves in deeper.”
“And if we refuse?”
“So he publishes the video. We’ll say we were Photoshopped in. Besides, he’s the one who has the girl on tape. It proves he was there, not us.”
Mary had a point, but Albert wasn’t buying it. “Just do what I say or the fishes will love you. Big nasty ones in that dirty river of yours.”
“I hate you.”
“Good thing you don’t need to like me. You just need to do as you’re told.”
You go, Albert. Somebody should have smacked that girl down a long time ago.
He videotaped them as they entered the house and were quickly out again. In minutes the fire was raging. The kids were getting pretty good at this. Albert pulled the cell from his pocket and snapped a photo, then the two of them ran for Eric’s car.
They drove away and he started his van, taking off in the other direction. He needed to get to the deaf school. He had a date with Kenny that the boy didn’t yet know about. He glanced behind him at the plastic dry-cleaner bag containing his costume. He’d have to do a quick change when he got there. His shirt was the wrong style, as was his hat, but he was betting Kenny wasn’t familar with the exact uniform worn by the Minneapolis PD.
Chapter Eighteen
Tuesday, September 21, 11:30 p.m.
Olivia woke slowly, sleepily contented. And totally naked. Her eyes opened abruptly, tensing when she realized where she was and whose hand possessively covered her breast. She was spooned against David, her back to his hard chest. And he wasn’t asleep, if what she felt pulsing against her bottom was any indication.
“Don’t leave,” he murmured in her ear, sending shivers over her body. “Please.”
“I won’t. But I need to get my phone, in case I get a call.”
“It’s on the nightstand. I found it in your coat pocket.”
She lifted her head, her eyes becoming accustomed to the darkness. He’d arranged her clothes on a nearby chair, her purse on top. “How long was I out?”
“Two hours. Thank you for giving me a chance to redeem myself. I did, didn’t I?”
“I’d say you more than did,” she murmured.
He hesitated. “Regrets?”
“No.” She still had questions, but no regrets.
“Good.” He kissed the top of her head. “I needed this.”
“So did I.”
“I thought you would want to talk first.”
Her sigh was silent. “So did I.”
“What changed?”
“Some of it was ‘I want you more than I want to breathe.’ Hell of a line, David.”
He shifted against her and she caught her breath. He was ready, again. So am I.
“That was no line, Olivia. I still want you more than I want to breathe. But now I can at least think. If that was some of what changed your mind, what was the rest?”
Joel Fischer’s wall, she thought. “We got a lead on one of the condo arsonists. It looks like one of them OD’d and drove his car off the road Monday morning. He’s dead.”