He didn’t believe her, but when she held out her arms he went into them and forgot everything but the desire to surround himself with her.
He should have slowed down; he should have taken his time, but his body kept shouting that there’d been foreplay enough in the car. She seemed to agree because when he began to unbutton her shirt, she shoved away his hands and did it herself, so fast he was afraid she lost a few buttons.
She pressed the front clasp on her bra, and her breasts sprang free. He reached for them, and his fingers closed on nothing as she sprang off the bed, removed her shoes, then tossed every last stitch away.
He would have enjoyed the view—creamy smooth skin he wanted to lap like a cat, raspberry nipples that begged him to discover if they were as sweet as they looked—but she pressed his shoulders onto the bed and straddled him.
His gasp was a curse when she took him inside. Her mouth captured his. Her hips rocked, back and forth, lift and lower—the speed blinding. He placed his palms on her waist, tried to set a rhythm, but she had her own, and he was helpless to fight it. He could barely think beyond, yes, now, more.
“Raye,” he managed—a warning, a promise. She arched, taking him even more deeply, and as she tightened around him, her breath caught, her breasts jiggled, enticing him to taste.
Not raspberries. Better. Heat and life. Sweetness and light. Raye.
Together they gasped, moaned, came.
She collapsed on top of him, as boneless as he felt. He wanted to lift his arms and hold her, but he couldn’t quite manage it. He buried his face in the curve of her neck and inhaled the scent that both matched and enhanced her taste—sweet and spicy, cool and warm.
She was everything.
He must have dozed because when the bedroom door rattled, he came awake with such a start she slid off his chest, mumbling words he couldn’t understand.
He turned his head, hand reaching for the gun on the table, then falling away when he saw the paw that shot through the gap between door and floor, curving upward, yanking on the portal and making it clatter.
“Stop that,” he ordered. Samhain only did it again.
He laid his arm over his eyes. As annoying as it was to be woken like that when all he wanted to do was stay here and sleep all tangled up in her, he was due at the police station. He peeked at the clock.
Five minutes ago.
*
I was in the middle of a lovely dream of a future without maniacs. No knives, witches, or ghosts. Just me and Bobby, maybe a baby or two. A boy with his hair and my eyes, a girl just the opposite.
Foolish dream. I knew that even while I was having it. The ghosts had been with me always. Why would they suddenly go away? And how would I explain them to a husband who didn’t believe and to children who wouldn’t understand?
Ghosts. There was something about ghosts that needed my attention.
I opened my eyes. Twilight and I was alone. If the pillow hadn’t smelled like Bobby I might have thought I’d imagined everything. Then Samhain landed on the mattress, and I knew that I hadn’t.
“Is he gone?” I asked.
The cat blinked.
“One for no, two for yes.”
Samhain blinked twice.
I stared at her. “That was just a coincidence.”
Her freaky blue eyes closed, then opened.
Great. I was halfway to being a cat lady just by talking to her. If she started answering …
I got out of bed, padded into the living room naked. When I heard a creek on the landing, I dived into the bedroom, scaring the cat so badly she jumped straight up in the air, hissed, and scooted under the mattress. I nearly followed. Managed not to only by remembering that the chief had promised to send a guard to stand outside my apartment while Bobby was at the station.
I got dressed before I peeked out the window. In New Bergin the choice of officers other than Johnson was limited. I was glad to find Larry Abel leaning against the railing, his gaze on the quiet town. The last time I’d seen Brad I’d duped him. I’d prefer not to see him again for a very long time. Knowing Brad, he would pout.
I poured a glass of wine. The bottle was almost gone. If I wasn’t careful I’d have to buy more sooner than usual—something a kindergarten teacher shouldn’t do in a town like this. Everyone would notice. They would talk. I should be more worried about that than I was.
“Henry?” I said, not too loudly. I didn’t want Larry to hear, think there was someone inside and burst through the door.
Henry didn’t materialize. Had he ever when I called? Then I remembered the rosemary I’d scattered over the threshold upon our return and hurried to the door.
But the line of the herb had been disturbed when Bobby left. I found only a few leaves in place, the rest scattered by his feet and the wind.
“Henry!” I said again—more urgently but no louder. I received the same results.
I needed to speak with him before Bobby returned. Perhaps Anne’s Book of Shadows would light the way.