Page 30 of Bringing Chelsea Home

Her heart galloped in a frenzied tempo. “Do you suppose my lips taste like that?”

He pulled back a bit and frowned. “I guess, for the sake of research, I should find out. I really wasn’t paying attention the last time I kissed you.”

Leaning in again, he moved his mouth over hers, slowly, deliberately, inching across the space as if he were savoring the taste of her. Sighing, Elaine pulled him closer and began her own exploration. His mouth tasted of cream-laced coffee and oh-so faintly of cinnamon.

A low groan escaped him, and he deepened his kiss, as if he were starving and she was his banquet. His hands moved to stroke her hair, feathering his fingers through it. “Elaine,” he whispered. “Oh man–”

The bright cheery notes of a cell phone sounded and with a muffled curse, he pulled away. He jerked the phone from his jacket pocket and gave a low whistle. “It’s Silas Clark,” he said.

“You gave Silas Clark your phone number?” Elaine was aghast.

“No, ding-a-ling. Special phone.” He hit accept, and the speaker. “Abernathy.”

“It’s Silas Clark,” the voice identified. “I need to talk to you. In person and today.”

“What about?” Griff said and winked as Elaine mouthed, “‘ding-a-ling’?”

“Some good stuff aboutTheHoneys,” Clark replied. “Because they’re here and–”

“They’re here?” Griff and Elaine exchanged looks. “When?”

“Got here late Wednesday night,” Clark said. “The folks watching out for ‘em say they’ve all been down with flu or something female, so they didn’t let me know until this morning that they were starting to feel better. But we need to meet ‘cause I’ve got a chance for us to make more money.”

“I like making money,” Griff’s tone was professionally affable. “Where and when?”

“This afternoon, four o’clock, downtown at The Main Place. I’ll be at a table near that statue of that woman and man.”

“You mean the Burn Memorial? The statue of representative Harry T. Burn whose mother convinced him to cast the deciding vote that got women the vote?” Griff raised an eyebrow at Elaine, and she nodded.

“I just know it’s of a woman and a seated man,” Clark said dismissively. “And bring that woman with you. The one who came to the club with you.”

“You mean my colleague, Ms. Jones?”

“Yeah. The hottie,” Clark cackled. “I like looking at a woman with really long legs, you know?”

“Yeah, I do.” Griff managed to get out the words without choking, his features contorted, and Elaine realized how hard he was fighting not to laugh. “We’ll see you at four o’clock.”

He ended the call to release a howl of laughter. When he finally stopped, she cocked her head and hoped she sounded at least a little bit irritated. “So first I’m a ding-a-ling and now I’m a hottie?”

His grin was heart-stopping. “My dad’s favorite endearment for my mom when she asked an obvious question.”

“I’ll bet,” Elaine retorted but couldn’t help returning his grin. “So, what are we going to do now, ‘Mr. Abernathy’?”

He raised her to her feet, then groaned as his knee gave away. “Give me a minute, there, Ms. Jones,” he pleaded.

“What am I going to do with you?” she scolded. “Do I need to get you a cane?”

“Naw, I’ll be okay,” he said, pulling himself upright. “Maybe this will make it better.”

He kissed her again. Quickly but thoroughly and leaving Elaine aching for more.

“Okay, first,” he announced, slipping his arm around her waist. “I’m not sorry about that kiss. But we can talk about it later.”

“Right,” Elaine said. “But not too much later.”

“Agreed. Now, we’re gonna tell Miller about our little meet-and-greet with good ole Silas, so we’ve got back-up in place and he’s in the loop. Not good to have our favorite cop mad at us. Then we’ll go wake up Patrick. He’d never forgive us if we left him out of this.”

“And then?” she asked, wanting this moment alone with him to last just a little longer.

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