She laughed. ‘Shut up. I meant temperature.’
‘Hot-blooded, that’s me.’ But the light moment passed by and they were serious again, eyes locked as she slid all the way down.
Then he couldn’t hold her gaze anymore, because his eyes were rolling back in his head and he was biting his tongue not to come right away. She lifted and fell, harder and harder, and he forced himself to look up at her face, not wanting to miss a second of her taking her pleasure.
She sped up, rocking on him, gorgeous little whimpers coming from her throat. And then her back arched, her head falling back like a flower too heavy for its stem, and she was coming, clamping down on his cock so hard he couldn’t hold back another second.
Grabbing her waist, he planted his feet on the mattress for purchase and thrust upward once, twice, and then it was like he was flying. He came, shouting her name, just like he’d dreamed so many times.
I love you. He wanted to say it, to scream it, but stopped himself. It wasn’t time yet. He knew that. But it would be time eventually. He’d waited seven years. He could wait a little while longer.
Baltimore, Maryland,
Tuesday 14 June, 2.45 P.M.
Gwyn woke to find the sun high in the sky outside her bedroom window, the ceiling fan spinning lazily, and more than half of her bed taken over by a huge, sprawling man who slept on his stomach, snoring softly. The sheet was pooled at his waist, showing off acres of muscle and the tattoo that she’d always wanted to trace with her tongue. They’d been in too big a hurry for her to do so the night before. Both times. They’d just had too much lost time to make up for. Too much stored-up need.
Next time, she promised herself. In the light of day, while the world did its own thing outside her window. Next time she’d take her time and lick him all over.
She might have snuggled closer, but her cell phone was buzzing with an incoming call, the number an unfamiliar one. ‘Hello?’ she answered, and Thorne immediately woke, his eyes doing a quick tour of the ceiling before landing on her. His slow smile was enough to make her want to end the call and jump him. Again. And again.
Shifting to his back, he reached for his own phone, checking his texts. Then, rolling onto his side, he propped his head on his forearm, smiling a little smugly when he saw her gaze glued to his bare chest. God, the man was built.
‘May I speak to Amber Kelly?’ The voice in Gwyn’s ear was smooth, cultured and female.
It took Gwyn a minute to remember that Amber Kelly was the name she’d given to the hair salon owned by Angie Ospina, the woman Thorne had rescued from Richard Linden’s clutches nineteen years ago.
It seemed nearly nineteen years ago that she’d made the appointment, rather than only a little more than twenty-four hours.
‘This is she,’ she said cheerfully, because she was supposed to be eloping tonight. She blinked rapidly, bringing back all the details she’d used in her phone call yesterday.
‘I’m calling from the Heavenly Salon, confirming your appointment for five thirty.’
Gwyn glanced at the clock. Just enough time to get there. ‘I’ve been looking forward to it all day,’ she gushed. ‘See you in a little while.’
She ended the call, then snuggled back down on her pillow so that she and Thorne were face to face. ‘How is Phil?’ she asked, pointing to his phone.
‘Resting comfortably. He sent Jamie home with Frederick to get some sleep. They stopped by Clay’s to pick up Julie, and now they’re headed to Frederick’s. Jamie’s house is still a crime scene.’
‘Sam?’
‘Ruby texted. He’s fine, and she is too.’
‘And Agent Ingram?’
He frowned. ‘Still critical. He hasn’t woken up yet.’
She reached out to rub at the deep groove that bisected his forehead. ‘Not your fault, baby.’
‘I know. At least we know how the shooter got in. Phil was finally lucid enough to tell Jamie what happened. He got a text on his cell phone – from my number.’
‘Shit.’
‘Exactly. The text said that I’d lost my key. Phil was making hot chocolate in the frother for Sam and asked him to open the door.’
‘Spoofing site again.’
‘Yeah. Sam opened the door, and pow, he went down, but Phil didn’t hear.’
‘Because he was running the frother. It’s so loud.’
‘Right again. Phil saw the intruder and yelled, but Ingram was bleeding, and Sam was unconscious.’
‘But he saw him?’
‘Not really. The intruder was wearing a mask.’
‘Of course he was,’ Gwyn murmured.
‘Phil might not have been able to see his face, but he got a good hit in.’ Thorne’s lips curved a little. ‘He picked up the frother, tossed the hot milk in the intruder’s face, then hit him with the metal pot. It didn’t stop the guy, so Phil picked up a ceramic cookie jar and hit him with that too. The jar shattered.’
‘So the shooter may have left some blood behind on the broken pieces?’
‘If he left anything behind, it was too small for Jamie to see. He saw the cookies all over the floor when he rushed to Phil’s side, but the jar was gone. The intruder picked up all the pieces. So there was probably blood on them, or he was afraid there would be. The guy never actually touched Phil, although Phil said he was holding a club – probably the one he hit Sam with. The doctor says it was likely a combination of the exertion of Phil fighting back and general fear that triggered the heart attack.’
‘But he’s going to be okay,’ Gwyn said positively. ‘The doctor said so.’
A small smile. ‘Yes, he did. Who was on the phone?’
‘The salon, the one that your old classmate owns.’
He frowned again. ‘You can’t keep that appointment.’
‘Why not?’ She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘And don’t even bother to say it’s not safe. I know it’s not safe. Which is why we have to make this thing stop as quickly as possible. It’s not like you can go in my place.’ She raked an appreciative gaze over his body. ‘No offense, but there’s no way you’d fit in at a salon like that.’
‘I could get a haircut,’ he muttered.
She laughed. ‘Baby, they’d take one look at you and a fight would break out over who got to put you in their chair. All the stylists would be stabbing each other with their shears and blood would flow.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Stop it.’
‘Why?’ She smirked at him. ‘It’s true. There is no fucking way I’m letting you anywhere near a bunch of women in a beauty salon. They’re worse than a pool full of piranhas.’
‘You’re not going in alone,’ he snapped.
‘Okay,’ she said quickly, chuckling when he realized he’d all but agreed she could go. ‘You can wait in the lobby.’
His scowl returned. ‘You can’t do this. What if Angie is connected with Tavilla in some way?’
She blinked at him. ‘That’s a leap.’
‘He got details from someone. The only people who knew about that damn key ring are either dead or too scared to talk to anyone. Now we’re down to the original cast of characters – Richard’s three friends and Angie.’
She thought about that and he was right. ‘There is a connection between Tavilla and somebody in your past,’ she agreed. ‘Detective Prew knew.’
Thorne frowned. ‘I’ve thought of that too. He was so helpful. Made me suspicious.’
‘Plus we gave him a road map of where we’d be yesterday. How else would someone know we were going to be at the EMT’s apartment?’
‘I know,’ he said, still growly. ‘I need to check him out. But don’t think you’ve distracted me. You’re still not keeping that appointment. We’ll get someone else.’
‘Who?’ she challenged. ‘Lucy? Stevie? Paige? They’re all new moms with babies. Maybe Ruby? She’s only seven months pregnant. No? That leaves me, unless you want to tell Hyatt and have him give the job to one of his female officers. And of course Hyatt will be so forthcoming with whatever they find out,’ she finished sarcastically.
‘Now you’re just playing dirty,’ he grumbled.