My Killer Vacation

Christ. This is the last thing I wanted to talk about today. Or any day.

But maybe it’s a good thing, because it reminds me I’m not here to play boyfriend to a sexually frustrated second grade teacher from Connecticut who wants kids and a husband and the whole nine yards. “I’m only investigating Oscar’s murder because I owed a friend a favor, but I don’t belong doing this. Official investigations. It’s a one-time deal.”

“And you’re afraid of messing it up.”

I start to deny it, but hell, she’s right. “Yeah. Fine. Who wouldn’t be?”

“I don’t know,” she murmurs, studying me closely. Too closely. “Maybe someone who isn’t punishing themselves so hard.”

My throat constricts. “You don’t know anything about it, Taylor.”

Despite my forbidding tone, she isn’t done pursuing this. Am I relieved or angry about it? I have no idea. Only that I’m not budging and neither is she. “I know you were invested in the case because of a childhood friend you lost. Not for selfish reasons. Or negligence—not you. You’re right, I don’t know all of the details, but I know you must have had good intentions.”

“Good intentions aren’t enough in a life or death situation. Like this one.” The need to distract from the wounds inside of me, wounds becoming more and more visible by the moment, wins. “What happened last night shouldn’t happen again, all right? I’m responsible for letting it get that far and I’m sorry. But I just want to solve this case and get back to hunting bounties. There’s no room for a diversion.”

“Okay.” She’s flippant, but there’s something up her sleeve. I can tell. And by the way, I already want to take back everything I just said, even though I can’t. Even though putting a stop to this budding…whatever is the right thing for both of us. “Just do me a favor, Myles. If you’re not interested in distractions with me, don’t tell my other prospects to fuck off.”

Damn. Caught. “How…”

“I saw your reflection in Ryan’s sunglasses. Idiot.”

Hearing her say another guy’s name out loud twists up my nerve endings like a fork twirling spaghetti. “Oh, I’m sorry.” I lean down until our noses are almost touching. “You want flippity flop guy?”

“Better than a panty thief.” She shakes her head. “Why did you steal them anyway? Red isn’t really your color.”

I’ll burn them before you wear them for anyone else. That is the totally out of bounds chaos going on in my head. And no way can I let it come out of my mouth. “I’m saving you from putting them on for a guy like that—and being disappointed.”

She presses her nose—her cute, perfect little nose—right up against mine. “Who I wear them for is none of your business.”

I’m rapidly forgetting my firm resolution to keep a safe distance. To treat her less like a desirable woman and more like a part of the investigation. My brain is firing off warning signals, trying to remind me what happens when I stop being objective. I’m feeling too many things at once when it comes to her and I don’t know how to subdue something this urgent.

What makes it worse is she likes the rougher side of me. Asked for it by name last night. She’s all but inviting it out of me with her glazed eyes right this very second. They’re glued to my mouth, her fingertips tracing the cuts of my abs.

“That so?” I press my lips tighter to hers. Flush. So we’re trading breaths in a rush. “Get that mouth away from me before I fuck it again.”

Her intake of breath is reedy. It’s followed by a trembling moan. And I’m screwed.

I’m so beyond screwed.

And I’m almost angry about how thoroughly she sways me. Tempts me. I gather the front straps of her life jacket in my hands and yank the woman up onto her toes, her gasp bathing my lips and I just look at her. Look into her eyes and try and figure out what the fuck is so different about her. Which turns out to be a big mistake. Huge. Because she doesn’t even blink. She lets me look and doesn’t flinch away from the intimacy, the way I’ve always done. To avoid a situation where my guard will have to come down. No, she shows me she’s not afraid of it and dares me to come join her, even as her pulse races in her neck. That’s only one of the things that makes her different—her vulnerable courage—and like I said, I’m screwed.

Because her mouth is ripe and slick and pouty. And I know what kind of pleasure it gives when she’s turned on. I’m erect, balls heavy, sweat rolling down my spine. I couldn’t stop my mouth from raking side to side across her sweeter one if I had the willpower of ten thousand men. With a groan from deep in the recesses of my chest, I stop trying to fight the need that is simply too great. Still looking her in the eye, I unbuckle her life jacket and throw it down into the water. The rash guard is pulled off and thrown aside, leaving her tits out, covered by nylon triangles. God, she’s sexy. I want her. Need her. Without the impediments between us, she just sort of melts into me, my hands delving into her bikini bottoms, clutching her buns and throwing her up against me.

We dive into a kiss as she lands, her thighs hugging my waist, and the relief of having her as close as I need her staggers me back a step. And my driving hunger demands that I untie my board shorts and finish what we started last night. Just give her the business right here in knee-deep water, fast and furious and necessary. But then she mewls against my mouth, our tongues stroke together and we sink into a real kiss, the kind we’ve been dancing around without following through and my knees…my fucking knees turn to jelly.