Page 104 of The Last Close Call

He gripped her hand as they dashed across the parking lot, getting soaked to the skin in a matter of seconds. She jumped over a puddle onto the sidewalk and then crashed into him as he stopped in front of the door.

“Shit,” he said as the keycard dropped to the ground.

“Sorry.” She bent down to scoop it up and bumped heads with him. “Sorry!”

He stood up, cursing and fumbling with the key as they both tried to duck under the overhang, but the water was sluicing off it in sheets, falling right on their backs. It poured down the neck of Rowan’s jacket in an icy rush.

“Hurry!” she squeaked.

“I am.”

The door whisked open, and she stumbled inside with him right behind her.

“Oh my God.” She brushed water off the front of her jacket. “I’m saturated. How did—”

He caught her arm and pulled her against him, crushing his mouth down on hers, and she let out a little yelp as his wet hands snaked up under her sweater.

His fingers were cold, but she pressed herself against him, loving the heat of his mouth and the solid feel of his chest. She squirmed out of his embrace long enough to slide her hands under his shirt, too, and he jumped back.

“You’re freezing,” he said, and then kissed her again as she slid her hands around his waist.

She was trembling all over—only partly from the cold—and his body felt warm and solid.

“Rowan.”

“Hmm?” She kept kissing him, afraid if she stopped, she’d think this through and come to the conclusion that it wasn’t a good idea. It wasn’t. She knew that. But her hands on his skin felt good, and the same for his fingers dipping into the back of her jeans.

She kissed him harder, pressing as close as she could, trying to fuse their bodies together through their thick, wet clothes.

And then his hands were under her sweater again. The clasp of her bra came loose, and she felt a surge of lust and nerves and anticipation, all rolled into one heady adrenaline rush.

He pulled back. “Let’s get this off,” he said, setting his hands on her zipper and yanking it down. She wrestled out of her coat, then tossed it aside as he shrugged out of his jacket and flung it on the chair. And then he pulled her against him again, and everything was warmer and drier, and she flattened herself against the firm wall of his chest.

A waft of cool air swept over her as he tugged her sweater up. She lifted her arms, and he had her sweater and bra off in one quick motion. His gaze heated as he looked at her bare breasts and she instinctively brought her arms up, but he pushed them down smoothly as he pulled her back for a kiss.

“Don’t. I want to see you,” he said, and his breath was hot against her skin as he made his way down her neck and over her collarbone. He backed her against the wall, and she felt the cool smoothness behind her shoulders as his hot mouth settled on her nipple.

She stroked her fingers into his hair and watched as he kissed one breast and cupped the other with his big hand. He felt so good, everything he was doing, and she couldn’t believe she was here with him. Eyes half closed, she glanced around the room, vaguely registering the clutter everywhere—files and papers and fast-food cups. This room where he’d spent the last two days immersed in his work was a stark reminder that he was a detective, and that fact permeated everything he did. The thought needled her, along with the nagging possibility that she might be rushing into this, and maybe she should put the brakes on.

He pulled away, breathing hard, and looked at her. “What is it?”

“Huh?”

He cupped his hand against the side of her face. “You all right?”

“Yeah.”

He feathered her hair away from her eyes. “You sure?” He kissed her forehead, then her temple, and the sweetness of it made her heart ache. “You got really still there for a second.”

His skin smelled wonderful, all warm and masculine, and she leaned her cheek against his biceps as he kissed the side of her neck.

“I’m good.” Enough with her stupid thoughts and her stupid caution. She wanted him to touch her. She wanted his hands and his mouth on her, and she was sick of being cautious about every damn thing in her life.

She pulled his head down and kissed him, taking charge of it now and showing him exactly how determined she was to do this now, no distractions. She gripped the waistband of his jeans and felt for his belt buckle. His hand clamped around her wrist.

“Hold on.” He kissed her forehead and then stepped back, leaving her standing there half undressed as he turned to unfasten his holster and put it on the dresser. Next came his wallet and keys. As he crouched down to deal with his boots, she reached for the light switch and plunged the room into darkness, leaving only a narrow wedge of white coming from the bathroom.

Then he was kissing her again, and the heat of his bare skin directly against her breasts was electrifying. She slid her fingers into his hair, kissing him deeply as his hands dipped into her jeans again. And then she felt her button loosen and heard the soft rasp of her zipper. He knelt in front of her, unzipping her ankle boots. One by one, he took them off and set them aside, then peeled off her socks, and the whole time she stared down at his dark head as butterflies swarmed inside of her. Then his hands were on her waist, and she felt her damp jeans easing down her legs. She was dizzy, off balance, like she’d been drinking, but she hadn’t had a drop of anything, so maybe it was nerves. She rested her hands on his shoulders as she stepped out of her jeans, and the only thing left was a thin bit of satin.

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