He started the engine and then turned the heater on high.
Lance checked the time on the dashboard block. “Dry clothes are next. Then we regroup. Want to make a quick stop at your house?”
“No.” She held her hands out to the heat vents. “I have a change of clothes at the office.”
“We can update Sharp while we’re there. He’s going to want to know about the necklace. We’ve found the first real evidence that Chelsea was forcibly taken.”
“I almost wish we hadn’t.” Morgan’s voice was quiet.
“I know.” Because now they knew that Chelsea was either being held captive or dead.
The rain stopped as Lance drove to the office. He parked at the curb, and sun burst from the sky in biblical fashion. “Sharp’s not here.”
“I’ll grab my bag.” Morgan ran inside and emerged a minute later, garment bag in hand.
Lance had a two-bedroom house in town just six blocks from Sharp Investigations. They went in through the garage, passing piles of hockey equipment.
“How’s your team?” Morgan asked.
Lance had coached a team of at-risk youths when he was a patrol officer with the Scarlet Falls PD. He’d bonded with the teens and stayed on after he’d left the police force. “Their skills are improving, their self-control not so much. They could start winning if I could keep them out of the penalty box.”
They placed their shoes on the heating vent in the laundry room to dry. Hooking the top of her garment bag over the doorknob, Morgan hung her coat on a peg and then stripped off her socks.
Lance stripped off his flannel shirt and tee. He tossed both into the washer.
“Oh.” Morgan was staring at his chest.
“Do you want a hanger for your clothes?”
And would you like me to help you take them off?
She turned to face him.
“You have man candy abs?” She grinned.
Heat rushed to Lance’s face. And elsewhere.
She stepped forward, her gaze roaming over his chest, her eyes hungry. With slow, deliberate motions, she unsnapped her pants and slipped out of them. Her sweater hung past her hips, but he could see the lace edges of her dark-gray panties. She held out her pants by a belt loop. “You offered to hang these up.”
Holy . . .
Lance’s breath caught in his throat. Her legs were slender and long enough to wrap—
You’re getting ahead of yourself. Be cool.
Right. He’d been waiting to put his hands, and other body parts, on her skin for months. There was nothing cool about his desire. He shifted his gaze to her face. There was nothing cool about the playful heat in her eyes either.
He took the pants. Without taking his eyes off hers, he grabbed a hanger from the bar over the washer, draped them over it, and hung them from the bar.
“You should get out of those wet pants.” She moved closer, her hand reaching for the snap of his cargo pants. He flinched at the brush of her fingers against his belly.
“Are you sure?” He grabbed her hand.
Her face turned serious. “Very. We’ve been clearheaded and logical about whatever this is between us for weeks. Where has that gotten us?”
“There’s nothing wrong with waiting for the right moment.”
She smiled. “The right moment is the one that’s happening right now. Life isn’t perfect. If we wait for all our ducks to be lined up, we’ll be waiting for a very long time. My little ducks are tough to herd.”
“We do have complicated lives,” he admitted.
“I don’t want to wait for anything. I want to seize the moment.” She smiled. “Or something.”
He loved the powerful look in her eyes, and the confident tone of her voice was a huge turn on.
“I could really use a hot shower.” She lifted the hem of her sweater, exposing another inch of gray lace. His heart skipped second gear and shifted into third. He ripped his eyes from her tantalizing striptease and focused on her eyes. As much as he wanted her body, he craved the rest of her just as much.
There was no other woman like her. Not for him.
She tugged off her scarf. The bruises around her neck were the color of ripe plums. Lance pictured Tyler Green with his hands around her throat. The quick surge of anger was followed by a cold dash of fear. She could have been killed, that lovely and slender neck broken.
His heart stammered at the thought.
“What’s the matter?” Her confidence faltered. She lifted the scarf, as if to put it back on and cover the bruises. She licked her lips. Was she nervous?
The thought disconcerted him. It had been a long time for her, he supposed, but she was so capable that he often forgot about her vulnerabilities.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” He cupped her face in both hands. Her hair smelled of rain and lemons. “This is perfect.”
He tilted her head and touched his lips to hers. God, the taste of her . . .
It would never be enough.
With a soft moan, she dropped the scarf, and it fell to the floor at their feet. She slipped her arms around his waist and splayed her fingers across his bare back. She pressed her body against his, all her softness lining up with his hard planes and angles.
He lifted his head. “You’re perfect.”
“Keep talking like that, mister, and you might get lucky.” Her eyes shone with desire, humor—and yes . . . nerves.
“I’m already the luckiest man in the world.”
“You asked for it.” She wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down to kiss her again.
He moved from her mouth to the curve of her neck, nipping lightly at her ear before tasting her collarbone. She groaned, a heady sound of need that slammed him in the gut. Well, below the gut.
“Let’s get out of the laundry room.” Moving backward, he tugged her into the hallway with him.
He walked backward all the way to the bedroom. Her hands were busy, stroking his back and shoulders. He slid his hands under her sweater and up her back. Her skin was smooth and soft. The backs of his legs hit the bed. He took his hands out from under her sweater to unsnap the holster at his waist. Reaching behind him, he set the gun and holster on the nightstand then got his hands back on her body and his lips on her mouth.
He tugged her sweater off, tossing it over his shoulder. She pressed against him, her skin warm and soft. Reaching behind her, he opened the clasp of her bra. The straps slid down her shoulders. He leaned back, letting it fall to the floor between them and exposing two absolutely perfect breasts. He cupped one, his thumb grazing her nipple. Her eyes drifted closed, and she moaned from deep in her throat.
Lance closed the inches between them, his mouth crushing down on hers. Her hands were at the snap of his pants. This time he helped her. They could not get naked fast enough. There were too many parts of her he wanted to touch and taste.
He lifted his lips from Morgan’s, disbelief flooding him. Her eyes opened, the blue of them dark and needy. Finally.
This was actually going to happen.
Annnnnnd the Magnum PI theme song sounded from his pocket.
No.
No. No. No.
He froze. The absurdity of the situation rolled over him like a wave of ridiculousness.