He paused again, looking at her in the shadowy light as he slipped her tailored shirt from her shoulders. She nodded in answer to his unspoken question as she returned the gesture. Moonlight played through a slit in the drapes, falling on the sleek, tightly muscled, bronzed expanse of his chest. She leaned against it as her bra fell away. She felt the electric delight of touching so gently, and as he tilted her head, he stared into her eyes one last time, and kissed her.
He was everything she could have hoped for—a practiced lover with the ability to tease with his lips and tongue, to awaken hunger and longing with every brush of his fingers. His kiss was deep and compelling, his touch purely sensual and erotic.
She wasn’t even sure exactly how and when they lost the rest of their clothing. She just knew that they were entwined on the bed. She felt the stroke of his fingers and the caress of his tongue and returned both.
Only the foreplay with words had ended. The sweep of his touch continued; his kisses roamed the length of her, brought her near climax and then drew back, again and again. They were in a tangle of kisses and strokes and whispered utterances of pleasure and encouragement. He took the time to look after the necessary precautions, then he was on top of her and within her, and she felt she’d never had such an experience before. Maybe it was the longing, the loneliness she hadn’t known she felt, or maybe it was just the magic of this man.
Climax was explosive and sweet, and it occurred again and again. Eventually she slept; it was sheer exhaustion that led her to it at last. At times, she woke, and felt the cool air in the room and saw the moonbeams filtering through, and she basked in the comfort.
She knew that when daylight came, she’d worry again; she would doggedly follow any chance of finding Lara.
And she knew she’d be helped. By Matt.
She closed her eyes and couldn’t believe what it felt like to sleep in his arms, surrounded by his warmth.
*
Slash had watched many people over the years; it was necessary in his business.
He’d never felt like a voyeur before. He didn’t like the feeling. And yet...
He couldn’t quite turn away. The drapes had been closed. There’d been just that narrow little window. And what he hadn’t seen, he’d envisioned in his mind’s eye.
The two of them, beautiful people, naked in each other’s arms. Her long shapely legs, the curve of her back. And him...holding her, touching her, feeling her, breathing her in...
Slash had felt the fury inside him become something terrible. He’d smashed his fists on the dashboard—almost broken it, but then remembered it was his own car. He’d stared at the slit in the drapes again. He’d been so upset he’d gotten out and walked the open pavement. It was late, so no one saw him.
He realized they wouldn’t be leaving and he imagined them in bed. He imagined her hands on the other man, her long elegant fingers moving over his body...
And finally he’d realized that he had to control himself.
He also had to sleep. It was difficult being two people—one who appeared by day.
And one who killed by night.
He forced himself to drive away.
He could not force himself to forget.
*
Matt woke to the sound of his cell phone ringing. He saw that it was Jackson and answered immediately. They’d be at the cemetery, ready to exhume the body of Congressman Hubbard in an hour, Jackson said. He’d meet them at Arlington, along with Adam and Kat Sokolov.
Matt glanced at Meg, who was just beginning to stir. She could look so cool and efficient when they were working. Lying there, with her hair a dark and tempting halo around her face, she managed to look like a provocative vixen, even asleep.
He didn’t have time to wonder if what they’d done was a mistake, whether it was right or wrong; it had felt natural, and he could never regret the night.
Neither could he linger.
She was blinking at the daylight coming through the drapes. He couldn’t resist a tap on her backside. “Hey, new girl, no hot morning sex. We have to be at Arlington in an hour.”
In case he was tempted himself, he hurried to the shower and came out moments later, draped in a towel. He tossed one to her, trying not to look her way.
They hadn’t bothered bringing in her bag last night.
“I’ll run and get your things while you’re in the shower,” he told her. “Extra toothbrushes, soap, shampoo—in the cabinet over the sink.”
He dressed as she fled into the shower. Downstairs, he set the coffeemaker in motion, then went out to the car to grab Meg’s bag.
He paused. Something had been written on the car. He could hardly make it out because the car wasn’t dirty. But someone had written on the hood. He leaned closer to study the barely discernible scrawl.
It was just one word. DIE.
He hesitated, not wanting Meg to see it, but not wanting to remove it until he’d had the forensic team examine the car. There could be a fingerprint; of course, it might just be that of a neighborhood tough who knew it was a company vehicle.
It might also belong to the murderer—or at least the person who’d been following them, whether or not he was the murderer. Whether or not he’d taken Lara...