He pulled her forward until her nose was less than an inch from his. “Kiss me, Max.”
He smelled of musky aftershave, toothpaste, and pure animal magnetism. She was sure he’d taste better than Cookie Dough ice cream on a hot August afternoon. The idea was almost better than sex itself. But ...
“Hell, Max, work with me here.” His hand was warm against her skin, his fingers kneading the back of her neck. “At least tell me you wanna. Bad. But you’re afraid.”
She loved a challenge. But she’d never admit she was afraid, not aloud, not to him, and certainly not now. “You don’t scare me, Long.” She bit her lip. “But ...” She drew the moment out.
“But?”
“But I want to. Bad.” She looked at his lips so close, then let her gaze rise to his again. “Really bad.”
“Then just get it over with,” he whispered. “Might not be as bad as you think.”
That was the problem. She was sure it wouldn’t be bad at all.
“Just do it, Max.”
She gripped the edge of the door and focused on those lips. She couldn’t be sure whether it was his hand at her nape that pulled her in, or her own fingers tugging on the door.
She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent. Her lips parted and when she finally touched hers to his, she was amazed at the softness, the sweetness.
He sighed, or maybe groaned. The taste of him overwhelmed her. Chocolate and ice cream and powdered donuts, all the sweetest, most forbidden things. She leaned in, put a hand on his shoulder and opened her mouth to his tongue. He moved against her, took her, swept her along until she wanted nothing more than to climb right back in the car.
Then he pulled away. She opened her eyes once more, surprised at the dark hue of his irises. “Why’d you stop, Detective?”
He grinned and said, “Because it’s all I can take.” His fingers slid from her neck. “For now.”
Epilogue
Witt would kill her if he knew.
Cameron surely did know and had washed his hands of her.
But a girl had to do what a girl had to do.
She pulled the Miata into Bud Traynor’s driveway, next to his Cadillac. No sneaking this time. It was late afternoon. The sun cast long shadows across his green lawn. She climbed out. Down the street, children laughed. Someone started a lawn mower for that weekend chore. She climbed his red brick steps and rang the bell.
He kept her waiting. Max didn’t ring again. She knew; somehow, he expected her.
Five minutes passed. The door opened. He wore plaid golf pants, a navy polo shirt, saddle shoes, and a cunning smile.
“Here for a little sex, Max? I do so love a good lay after a round of golf.”
Friday night she’d been in the one-down position, scared, hiding the DVD, and totally unsure of herself. Not today. She went for the jugular. “Pippa Lamont confessed to Tiffany’s murder. It’s only a matter of time until she tells them about your part in it.”
He smiled, relaxed and in control. “Pippa doesn’t even know what my part is. You should understand that, Max. Women simply can’t admit, even to themselves, when they’ve been manipulated.”
“What about Jules?”
She’d expected the name to at least crease his brow. His eyes merely sparkled with the challenge. “Jules, poor soul, was another victim of Pippa’s machinations.”
“She isn’t admitting she killed him.”
“It is, however, obvious.”
She hated him and his smugness, his indefatigable belief in his own power. “Yes, it is obvious. Why did you kill Jules?” She asked though she had little doubt there was anything to connect him. The man was beyond dirtying his own hands.
He laughed outright. “Oh, Max, you are so transparent. You’d give anything to pin something on me. But you’re sadly lacking in evidence.”
“I’ll get it.” Her hands fisted at her sides. She didn’t care if he saw. “I’ll spend my whole life getting it, if that’s what it takes.”
He shook his head in wonder. “Why do you care, Max? That’s what I find so fascinating. Two whores and a moron. What possible difference can their deaths make to you?”
If she’d had a gun, she’d have shot him for the monster he was. “What I find fascinating is that you can say that about your own daughter.”
“Wendy was a whore. We both know that beyond a shadow of a doubt. And you know about Tiffany. After all, you watched the DVD, didn’t you?”
That disk. The one she’d stolen and thereby destroyed all proof of his involvement. The one she’d remember for the rest of her life. The one that would always remind her of her own guilt in Jules’s death. It was that guilt that had driven her here.
“I watched.” Just the way he’d wanted her to.
“I’d say she was a whore, wouldn’t you?”