Sin on the Strip (22 page)

“I want to thank you again for the men you brought in. I never want to see another body bag again.”

He kissed her nose. “I'm just sorry you were there. You, my sweet Maggie, have balls.”

Balls? She didn't have balls. What she'd done, she'd done without thinking. That didn't make her brave. “It was stupid, and I could have contaminated the crime scene had I taken one step further. I'm surprised Horace didn't—”

With an all-consuming kiss, he shut her up. This time when her body clenched it was her failing attempt to ride the wave of pleasure that began in her mouth, crested in her stomach, and crashed with a punishing force between her legs, sucking the breath from her lungs.

Strong, muscular legs slid between hers, pressing her to open. She felt the tug on her dress as he parted the silk, exposing her from the waist down. With her hand on his chest, she felt his heart pound beneath her palm. She was doing this to him. His passion, the hard erection calling out to her with the rocking of his hips, was because of her. Again, he made her blissfully happy to be a woman, to be the cause of a man's desire—his desire.

Beck fumbled with the knot at her waist, untied it and finished parting the dress. With nimble fingers, he unclasped the front of her bra, shoving it aside. Then pulling back from their kiss, he propped himself on one elbow.

“Maggie,” his voice husky with desire, “I love your legs.” He caressed her thigh, sending tiny shock waves to her core. Running his fingers down to her knee, he hooked her calf over his hip, cupped her bottom in his warm hand, and squeezed. “Not to mention your sweet ass. It drove me crazy from the first time I watched you strut off in a huff.”

That seemed like so long ago. Had it only been a few weeks? She hadn't wanted to talk to him, and now he was spending the night. She slept with him, and despite everything, she didn't regret it. That night he'd temporarily stripped her of the cowardly fears threatening to make her no good to anyone and made her feel safe. They'd gone from wary strangers to lovers in such a short time.

She was falling for him, falling for sinful, decadent Mr. Chocolate.

Her muscles cinched as he sucked on her lower lip. She swore she tried to push away, but his hair ran through her fingers, his stubbled jaw scraped her thumbs. She hadn't shoved him away. No, she'd pulled him in, returned his kisses with the same erotic heat they were giving. The pressure from his mouth, the demanding force of his tongue, shut out all reason. Later, when common sense hadn't vacated her brain for his touch, she'd think about her feelings.

A memory washed over her—the time she'd gone skydiving. Looking out of the airplane to the beauty of three thousand feet of open sky and knowing it was going to envelope you. Having the courage to jump, feeling only a portion of what it would be like to fly, nothing to hold you back, no fear or responsibilities, no recrimination, only you and the sky. As Beck pushed onto his knees, as his hands clasped her rib cage to suckle each nipple into hard peaks, before he slid down her body and pushed aside her thong, she fell from the sky and plunged into a well of hot pleasure. When his tongue licked her, she flew, all thoughts of stopping him forgotten.

Maggie dug her fingernails into his broad shoulders as Beck lapped the sharp ache between her legs. She cried out, unable to control her response to the warmth of his lips and sharp flick of his tongue. He lavished her with his attention, but he seemed to enjoy tormenting her. Each time he'd pull away, her body would relax only to arch again when he returned. With each teasing pause, she drew closer to climax. Hearing his soft chuckle, she knew he understood exactly what he was doing.

A hand on her ankle, Beck forced one knee up, then the other, exposing her to him even more. She felt the pressure of his finger at her opening and the drawn-out torture as it slid inside her, then withdrew, then slid back inside, mimicking sex. Combined with the pressure and friction of his tongue, Maggie spun in a free-fall. Head over feet, round and round, she expected to hit the ground hard, but instead found herself soaring upward into a black sky, into the heavens. Eyes clamped shut, she exploded into the brilliant colors of a thousand fireworks accompanied by the loud sizzle of burning gunpowder. She became every pinpoint of light. As she floated back to earth, he stayed with her, easing her hips down with a soft caress, his mouth still tasting her.

When she could open her eyes, Beck laid a kiss on her tattoo and crawled up her body. He cradled her in his strong arms, cocooning her in his body heat. Still in a haze, she realized he was dressed. Aching to touch his skin, she slid her hand between them, and grabbing a fist full of fabric, tugged at this shirt. A tight grip held her wrist.

“Don't,” he said, his voice strained.

“Why not?” she answered, wiggling her arm in attempt to free her hand. “I can't be the only one half naked.”

“True,” he grinned, sending a shiver up her spine, “let's get you all naked.” Pressing her closer, he began to slide the dress off her shoulder.

Maggie clenched her arm to her body. “You can't take any more of my clothes off, until you remove some of yours.”

“I can't,” he said, his gaze locked on her shoulder.

“Why not?” She never expected to hear that.

“Because if your hands touch my skin, I won't be able to stop.”

Certain he wanted her, evident by the hard erection pressed to her hip, she didn't understand. “Is it the hard sofa?”

Beck laughed, the low rumble strangely soothing.

“Maggie, darlin', hard sofa or hard floor, it wouldn't matter. Hell, standing up or sitting down, I want you. I also
don't
want you doing anything you're not sure of, or ready to repeat. The last time you seemed, well, frazzled.”

“I was not,” she vehemently denied, knowing she had been.

“Yes, you were. I felt like a jackass. You were vulnerable, upset, and I took advantage of it. I think you regretted what happened between us.”

“I don't regret sleeping with you.” Part of her was telling the truth. That night she'd forgotten her fears and taken refuge in his arms. It had been wonderful, something she could quickly get addicted to. She could feel the pull now, the craving for more, the compulsion to be joined to him, the obsession of never getting enough of him. And like an addiction, some part of her brain knew it was wrong and didn't care.

“Then what, Maggie? Tell me, please. Let's get this out in the open. If it wasn't the sex, then what? What did I do wrong?”

“You didn't do anything wrong,” she assured him. “If it had been any better . . .” She had no words, so she kissed him. This wasn't about him and knowing that he blamed himself. That was just wrong. “I hate to say this, but it wasn't you. It was me.”

He gave her the look she expected a normal human being to give when fed such a cliché. But in this case it was the truth. Maybe now was the time to admit—not all, but some of it. She let one leg drop to the floor and pushed at him to get up. “We should talk.”

While looking disappointed, he gave her enough room to fasten her bra as he drew circles over her belly. “God, you're beautiful.”

Heat warmed her cheeks at the compliment.

When she'd finished closing the clasp, he kissed the crevice between her breasts.

“Why don't you grab your jacket and we'll go on the patio. I'll get us a couple glasses of wine. White good for you?” She stood.

“Sure, whatever you—”

As she wrapped her dress around her, his muffled groan made her smile. “I'll meet you out there.” She didn't turn around, only snagged a black, woolen sweater out of Shannon's closet and headed to the kitchen. Not long after, she stepped onto the concrete patio and joined him, two glasses of wine in hand.

She handed him one. “I guess we both have things to say to each other.” She admitting to more than once letting her heart rule her brain and he, he to being whatever he was.

“I haven't forgotten. I simply got distracted.” He drew closer, sliding an arm around her waist. “You go first, then I promise, my turn.”

“You're not trying to avoid having that conversation, are you?”

“No, Maggie. Honestly, I'll tell you everything you want to know.”

She regarded him skeptically, but his expression was so earnest, she had a hard time not believing him. Beck pressed his lips to the side of her brow and tightened his hold. The haven of those strong arms gave her courage.

“I think everyone tries to figure why they do the things they do and in my case, my friends make a point of asking me often. Right before they proceed to ball me out,” she said, muttering the last sentence.

“You're lucky to have them. Women who get mad, who show you how much they really do care.”

“I am. But I grew up with every eye on me. I have to think part of my problem stems from my childhood. I would have done anything to win my father's approval. And not just his, anyone's. He was a leader in our community and the adoration he received when he spoke on Sundays . . . It made you want to be the same.

“He was always helping, always on call no matter the hour or the day. He saved not only their souls but on more than one occasion, their lives, once or twice risking his own. He once talked a man out of shooting his wife. Then, when he turned the gun on my father, he talked him out of that. But when he couldn't talk him out of shooting himself, they fought over the gun. Lucky for my father he had a few pounds on the guy.”

“So stupid acts of bravery run in the family?”

She should be mad at him, but the comment rang too close to the truth. Only she'd never thought of herself as brave. “My parents taught me to give. It goes against me not to.”

“Maggie, there's giving, and then there's risking your life.”

She could hear his frustration and needed him to understand. “I don't look at it that way. I see someone in trouble and I have to help. In small town New England, you don't worry about angry pimps or strung-out dealers. I get it. I do. I don't think ahead. I allow my emotions to blind me to the very real possibility I might get hurt. My adrenaline kicks in and it's like trying to stop a freight train.” Like she'd done with him. Only that hadn't turned out so bad. Not yet anyhow, and she saw it the moment it clicked in his brain.

“You did that with me. You slept with me and realized the next day it might come back and bite that sexy ass of yours,” he said, his smile rueful.

“I barely know you.” She pulled out of his arms. “So if you're going to complain about my behavior, then you'll have to include what happened between us.”

Christian had the strange urgency to shelter Maggie, to keep her in his arms forever. It should have made him want to run. He reminded himself he'd been paid countless times to be the hero. He told himself she was vital to his case, the key, or at the very least her father was. All this was true, but not the reason behind his insane need to protect her. The reasons had more to do with this vulnerable beauty than wiping a killer off the face of this earth. Brushing those feelings aside, he listened to Maggie, knowing this might draw them closer together and unable to walk away.

He could tell there was more she wanted to say, but she stayed silent. He considered pushing but uncertain if he wanted to hear the rest, he let her break the silence.

“I don't sleep around. I can count on one hand how many lovers I've had. But I let what happened with Hannah cloud my better judgment. And you were the first person to never judge me. Plus, for good reasons of your own, you understood my need to get Hannah out.”

“Are you saying I was a mistake?” he asked, the very idea stinging his ego. At least, that's what he told himself.

She regarded him, taking the time to answer his question. It made him nervous.

“No, not a mistake.” She leaned in and kissed him. “I'm just explaining why I was so
frazzled
that morning. I'd gone and done it again and I had no idea what was going to happen afterward. But honestly, I don't regret what happened. When this is over, we'll go back to our separate lives. I can focus on the other girls and you . . . You, what?”

She smiled so sweetly, he knew what she was asking. And she'd just handed him a way out, to end this “what happens to us after this is over” conversation. Was there an us? Because this wasn't a one-night stand. Not if he had his way. But the reality was, he had no answers. She was right. They had their own separate lives. Lives that didn't include each other. Couldn't include each other, for both their sakes. He was saved from further girlie emotions by his phone.

He considered manning up and not answering, but seeing Maggie's gaze dart to his suit pocket, he figured she wouldn't let him.

He kissed her, wishing like hell kissing wasn't all they were doing, then reached for his cell.

“Beck?” The caller hadn't waited for a hello.

“Lieutenant?”

“Is Maggie with you?” The question was hurried—too much so.

“Yes,” he replied, eyeing Maggie. “Why?” The hair on the back of his neck stood up.

“Have you been with her all evening? Is she all right?”

“Yes and yes. What's going on?”

Maggie's hand touched his arm. He wanted desperately for this not to be bad news.

Cooper's heavy sigh carried over the line. “Don't let her out of your sight, you hear me?”

“Cooper,” he growled, impatient to hear the news.

“Have you seen the white truck?” he asked, impervious to Christian's irritation.

“Not since about five. Why?”