His Private Pleasure Read online

  “Yeah, well, we’ll put a nice fat bow on it tomorrow. Just keep it out of my town from here on in.” He ended the call with Quin, thanked the captain for his assistance, finalized the details on transporting Stubbs the next day, and got back on the road. A quick look at the dash clock told him he’d be at the hotel by eight. He only hoped Liza wasn’t an early riser. He wanted to catch her before she headed back to his house.

  No point going there now.

  He worked hard to focus on the glorious sunrise…and not what could have been taking place in his bed this morning. As stunning as the morning colors of the sky were, it ran a poor second to images of Liza tangled up in his sheets. Blue eyes, tawny skin, a tangle of dark hair.

  Maybe, he thought, when this was all over, he’d work it out to contact her, see her again. His laugh was harsh and hoarse from his going a night without sleep. “You were a side trip, Jackson.” Once Liza Sanguinetti tooled out of town in that hot rod of hers, she wouldn’t be passing his way again.

  12

  LIZA WAS STEPPING OUT of the shower when someone knocked on her door. “No housekeeping needed,” she called out. “Thanks.”

  The knock came again, more insistent. She wrapped herself in a towel and dripped out to the door. “No house—”

  “It’s me, Liza.”

  She froze. Dylan. “I thought we agreed I’d come up to your place. I know I was running a bit late, but…” She peeked out of the peephole, then yanked the door open a second later and pulled him inside. “You look terrible.”

  He smiled, though it wasn’t the full voltage grin she’d gotten the night before. “Thanks. I try.”

  “You haven’t gotten any sleep at all, have you?” She guided him into the room and pushed him down on the edge of her bed. “Don’t worry,” she teased, trying to conceal her concern. “I don’t plan to take advantage of an unarmed man.”

  His smile did flicker to a grin. “I am armed.”

  “Oh. Well.” What was it about this whole cop-with-cuffs thing that turned her insides into libidinous jelly, anyway? She tried not to be obvious with the little shiver of pleasure that intruded, along with images of what they’d been doing with those cuffs the night before. Gauging from the flare of interest in his oh-so-tired eyes, she failed. “I’ll be right back. Make yourself comfortable.”

  “Okay.” He snagged her wrist and dragged her into his lap. His mouth found hers a second later and she forgot to be mad about his heavy-handed, take-what-he-wants-when-he-wants-it attitude and— Oh dear God, but he tasted good in the morning.

  “You taste like sugared coffee,” she murmured, when he trailed his lips down to her chin, nipping it as he had the night before. She really liked that, she decided, that little chin nip.

  “Elixir of life,” he said, his voice all hoarse and raspy. A shame it was from fatigue and not passion, although he was doing a pretty decent job of getting her worked up. “Of course, this isn’t a bad second,” he mumbled, then pulled her mouth to his again.

  She thought about kissing him back, turning it up a notch, taking over…but his lips were soft, not hard and demanding like last night. And his arms seemed to cling to her, rather than lock her into place. It made her want to…well, take care of him.

  This was a role she was used to, albeit usually professionally rather than personally. But being caretaker also afforded its own balance of power, and she thought it might be a good idea, strategically speaking, considering how weak-kneed one kiss had already left her, to gain any leverage she could early on. Shore it up for later, when she might need it. He slid his tongue past her lips, pulled her more deeply into his need for her…and she forgot all about strategic campaigns and simply relaxed in his arms and let him kiss her. She’d worry about control issues later. This was…nice. And a little scary, if she let herself think about why it was so nice. So she didn’t.

  But just as she was sinking under, he was surfacing. “I’d better stop here or we’ll be crawling under the sheets.”

  “And?” she said, shifting just a bit in his lap. Yep, he might be tired, but he was ready.

  “And I’d embarrass myself by tucking you against me and falling dead asleep on you. Not the morning either of us had in mind, I’m sure.”

  She was shaking her head, but mostly because she was trying to deny just how incredibly appealing that suggestion had sounded to her. And she was the one with a good night’s sleep under her belt.

  Liza was typically not a snuggler. She was an action girl, then she liked unencumbered space to sleep. Bless the soul who had created the king-size bed. Because a well-rested Liza was a happy Liza in the morning, when adventure and acrobatics could continue. Her partners tended to appreciate her all-fun, no-work attitude. No awkward physical entanglements that led to messy emotional entanglements.

  Not that she was emotionally entangled here. Yet, her little voice whispered. She hadn’t even had sex with him. Which, of course, when she thought about it, made her sudden yearning for snuggling even odder. Since when was sex not the priority?

  “I shouldn’t have started this,” he said apologetically, but made no move to get her off his lap. “I hadn’t planned to.”

  See? Messy entanglements already. She should have just shoved him back on the bed and taken away whatever little willpower he might have had left in him. Not much, judging by the ragged look of him. He clearly hadn’t shaved and was still wearing the same henley and jeans he’d left in last night. Why he looked so endearingly sexy, all rumpled and tired, she had no clue. She liked her men sharp, well dressed and most definitely alert.

  And look where that got you, her little voice piped. Enough, already. It was too early and he had her too confused to deal with this…this libido bait-and-switch. What should have been about mind-blowing sex was suddenly seeming like it was about something else entirely. He’d just said he hadn’t meant to start something. Well, she could help him out with that, too.

  She pulled away and stood, clutching her towel to keep it on. “So I take it that was a goodbye kiss?” Fine, she was cool with that. Only instead of shrugging it off and waving him out the door, she heard herself ask, “What changed your mind since last night?”

  Ack! She didn’t want the answer to that question. No woman did. Which was why she never asked. Actually, she never had to, being the one who usually ended things first. Maybe she’d been prodded to say it because, while his mind might have been changed, his body was clearly still on the same page as hers. And, dammit, she hadn’t finished with him yet. She hated not finishing what she started.

  And he’d definitely started her the night before.

  Recoup and recover, she told herself calmly, praying he’d assume the question was rhetorical. She strolled to the corner, where she’d laid out the few clothes she’d brought inside with her last night. If she thought she could have pulled it off, she would have casually dropped her towel and dressed, showing him just how unaffected she was by his little announcement.

  Only she wasn’t unaffected. She wasn’t angry at his rejection. Her ego wasn’t fragile. But she was…disappointed. Yes, disappointed. Surely that was the real emotion behind what had actually felt a whole lot more like hurt. Liza never got hurt. Conrad notwithstanding. And as Natalie had already pointed out, her little…whatever, with Conrad had really just been a case of happily-ever-after envy.

  This…well, this wasn’t anything. A private little pleasure detour was all this had been. So what if it had ended more abruptly than she’d have liked? She was already over it.

  And yet she still took her clothes to the bathroom to change. No point in advertising what he wasn’t willing to work for, she told herself.

  “You look beat,” she called out, leaving the door open just to prove how little he was affecting her. “If you want, you can just catch a little sleep here. Checkout isn’t till eleven. I’m taking care of the bill on my way out, so just close the door when you leave.” Perfect. Breezy, casual, so not affected.

 
Then he appeared in the doorway, just as she was pulling her flower-print cotton sundress down over her hips. No knock, no clearing of throat, just there he was. And there was absolutely nothing casual, breezy or unaffected about the way he looked at her.

  “I’m sorry about breakfast. About…this.”

  She found a smile somewhere, though her lips trembled a bit. Dammit. “I understand,” she lied. Well, she did, really. He was tired, he was busy, he didn’t have time for dallying with her. She just didn’t want to understand it. She collected her toothbrush and makeup bag and turned sideways to slip by him. Only he turned that big body of his so that he blocked the door.

  She didn’t move back, though it took serious willpower. No doubt her reaction to being so close to him was quite obvious through the thin cotton of her dress. So what? Let him deal with it, she thought, studying the tiny row of buttons marching down his chest.

  “Look at me.”

  She glanced up through her lashes. “You don’t stay to play, you don’t get to order me around anymore.”

  His lips quirked, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. He looked so weary, as if the dark edginess had invaded and sapped the warmth, the life out of them.

  “And don’t go pulling handcuffs out of…wherever it is you stash them.” She wagged a finger, falling back on the moxie she used to keep men off balance, a little unsure of themselves in the face of her oh-so-sassy confidence.

  It took serious effort this morning, and she doubted Dylan was falling for it, anyway. Even when he was dead tired, those eyes of his…saw things. Things most men didn’t notice. But what the hell did she have left to throw his way? Except herself.

  Don’t even think it, Liza.

  He lifted a hand, as if to brush away a stray curl on her cheek, only her hair clung to her head in wet ringlets, not brush-awayable, and he let his hand drop without touching her at all. She had to work to stifle the yearny little sigh of disappointment.

  “You’re not an easy woman to walk away from.”

  “Yes, I know.” She beamed a phony smile as her heart clutched. Her heart was supposed to be unclutchable. “It’s one of my finer points. Now if you’ll excuse me…” Please let me get out of here while I still can.

  “I want to. In fact, if I’d been smart, I’d have just called you this morning instead of showing up.”

  She fluttered her lashes and tried like mad to unclutch her damn heart. “Honey, you know it’s always better to do it in person whenever you can.” He didn’t laugh, didn’t smile. He just looked at her, in that way of his that went past her phony repartee, straight into her eyes and right down into her soul.

  Now she pushed past him, not caring about the contact and the shivery way it made her feel to brush up against that hard, muscled body. She forced a light, sexy grin and looked back at him, telling herself she didn’t care if he saw through her. Phony repartee served a purpose in times like this. It allowed both parties to retreat with pride intact, so that both could nurse their wounds in private. Always preferable over some messy public implosion.

  “I do appreciate that you made the effort to stop by. And it’s just as well we don’t take this further, you know?” She tossed her makeup bag and toothbrush into her leather overnight clutch. “I’m not really that into bondage, and despite what you think, you’d have probably gotten weird when it was my turn at the controls.” She scooped up her pants and shirt from the day before and her sleep T and panties, not bothering to fold and pack them carefully. She was a decent actress in moments like these, but this performance was straining even her talents. She grabbed her purse and her bag. “This way we can each fill in the details of what might have happened according to our own personal fantasy.”

  “That’s just it,” he said, crossing the room, “you are my own personal fantasy.”

  She laughed even as he closed the distance between them. “Oh, I don’t think so. You like your women willing and pliable. I’m flexible, but only in the way that leads to incredible orgasms.”

  “Not a bad place to start.”

  She crossed her arms, sending her mind and her heart back to their separate corners. “You need to make up your mind here.”

  Now he laughed. “I know.” He rubbed his hand over his face, then through his short but already rumpled hair. “I have a serious case on my hands that’s top priority.”

  “The fire?”

  “That’s part of it. I have an out-of-state meeting in a couple hours and will very likely be tied up for the next couple of days. I don’t have time for—”

  “Me.”

  “For anyone.” He laughed again, but there was no humor in it. “The irony of which overwhelms me at the moment. For years in Vegas I tried to force relationships into the cracks between my job, but my job didn’t leave too many cracks. So I came home, made a grab for a life that actually leaves time for one. And when I finally get around to wanting the relationship…my old job comes back to bite me on the ass.”

  Her eyes had widened at the R word. “We don’t have a relationship.”

  “Exactly.”

  She shook her head. “I’m missing something here.”

  He stepped closer and gently unfolded her arms. “Exactly.” He pulled the bag from her shoulder and tossed it on the bed. “Letting you walk away from me now, before I even get to figure out why it is you make me crazy and hot all at the same time, is missing something.”

  “See, if you’d let me be in charge last night, we’d have ended up in bed and be out of each other’s system by now,” she said with a laugh she didn’t feel. Wishing she didn’t understand exactly how he felt.

  “You think so?” He tugged her closer. “I’m not so sure.”

  “Dylan—”

  “See? Just my name on your lips—” he pulled her up tight against him, wrapping a thick arm around her waist to hold her there “—does that to me.”

  “You have meetings,” she said, a bit breathlessly. Which made no sense. She had made men hard for her before. But not just by saying their name. Not in the way it is for him. Nonsense. They were all the same.

  Except they weren’t. Because Dylan wasn’t like any man she’d encountered before.

  “An important case,” she added, scrambling to find her footing physically, emotionally.

  “I know.”

  “So you shouldn’t do this. You should go.”

  “Absolutely.”

  They stared at each other for one long, screamingly tense moment. Pull away, Liza. This has advanced beyond the safety zone. Abort, abort. Detour over.

  She drew in a shaky breath. “So either throw me on the bed and take me right now, fast, hard, until we both can’t remember our names. Or let me walk out the door.”

  Okay, so that wasn’t exactly the firm dismissal she should have delivered.

  Her heart thundered in her ears and she honestly didn’t know which choice she wanted him to make. Another lie, but no less scary, and hard as hell to admit.

  “I should let you go,” he murmured, then slid the spagehetti-thin straps off her shoulders. “Because I have this feeling,” he continued, as she tried to suck in enough air to form some kind of response, but instead just stood there, riveted by the look in his eyes as his fingers brushed down her arms. “That once I get inside you—” he leaned down and nipped her shoulder, a light pinch that made her gasp “—they’ll need to send Tucker’s entire department over here with fire hoses to blast us apart.”

  “Dear God,” she finally said, exhaling shakily and knowing she’d truly lost the battle. She reached for the hem of his shirt, but he gently pushed her hands back to her sides.

  “Just let me have you the way I want, the way I need to have you.”

  Oh boy. The ache between her thighs had already reached viselike clutching proportions. She could only nod. Something about the fatigue and the need in those caramel-candy eyes of his prevented her from trying to turn this around. But it wasn’t like last night, either, where he was pushin
g her, prodding her. This was a request, by him…made for his own needs.

  So she kept her hands by her sides, and felt the shudder of anticipation climb higher as he skimmed her dress over her hips and left her standing before him wearing only a thin scrap of panty lace.

  His hands dropped away and she saw his fingers close into fists, then open again. His body was rigidly fixed to the spot, tension emanating from him in waves. Then his shoulders shifted, just a fraction, as if he was willing himself to relax, to slow down, to appease his needs at a pace that lent itself to true enjoyment of what was going to happen between them.

  His gaze never left her, and there was a strength there, almost tensile, that held them both in place. He finally reached out and traced one blunt fingertip along her collarbone, then down the center of her chest. She shuddered hard and her breathing came in hitches and puffs. But she stood still, squeezing her thighs together and wondering how in the hell the brush of one finger could make her burn like this. Need like this. Want like this.

  He drew it beneath the swell of one breast and she held her breath, willing him to cup the full weight in his palm, give her some relief for the sudden need in her nipples. But he merely traced his finger over to the other one.

  “Beauty,” he whispered. “Pure beauty.”

  She might have swayed, just a little, at the reverence in his tone. She felt unworthy. And at the same time wanted to plead with him to touch her, hold her, taste her, do something—dear God, anything!—to her.

  “Please.” The hoarse whisper was hers. And she was past caring that he’d made her beg. She’d do that and more right at the moment, if it meant…

  Her breath came out in a long sigh of unadulterated pleasure when he cupped the weight of both breasts in his palms. Then she sucked the air right back in when he flicked his thumbs, oh so lightly, over her now painfully puffy nipples.