The Art of Love and Murder (25 page)

Chance broke the kiss, yet stayed, and her nose rubbed his. A nose rub had never been so sexy. The hand, high on the underside of her thigh, massaged, fingertips inching dangerously close to the throb. She wanted to moan, to beg him to go further, touch her. Could she tell him what she wanted? Would she know what to say?

“Stop thinking,” he whispered across her face. “Stop thinking, Lacy.”

She nearly laughed, but kissed him quickly instead, then pulled at his T-shirt.

“Oh no, not yet.” His words were accompanied by a wicked smile. In one swift movement, he clasped her wrists and pinned them against the bed on each side of her head.

“But, Chance—”

His mouth covered her words, tangoed with her tongue and withdrew to trail kisses from her jaw line to her ear.

“You first.”

Big palms swept down her arms to her breasts and massaged firmly. She released her breath in a moan as he flicked through the buttons in seconds, pushed her blouse aside and buried his face between her breasts. Leaving thoughts behind as he’d ordered, her hips responded and arched into him. His hands slipped under her, deftly releasing the bra hook. With one hand, he lifted her from the bed, slipped her blouse and bra from her and flung them to the side.

She turned slightly, inhaled, giving him direction to her nipple. He smiled a triumphant welcome, and his tongue teased and tested before he took her fully into his mouth. Her hands cradled his head, and she pushed him harder against her then thrashed to the side, guiding him to give equal time to the other.

“Mmm... Chance, oh Chance.”

When his mouth trailed wet kisses to her stomach, she released the hold she had on him, threw her hands to the bed and laughed.

He stopped, came up on his hands and leaned over her. “What?”

“Damn, this feels so good, so right.”

With a quick kiss, he rolled to the side. She made a move to roll with him, but he pushed her down with his hands at her waist. He undid the button on her jeans while kissing her nipple then slid the zipper down and kissed her other nipple. She squirmed and sighed.

God, could he hurry it up?

His fingers tucked in her waistband, and in measured deliberation, inched her jeans and undies down her hips. The heat built with each inch of exposed flesh until she thought she might start kicking to rid herself of the damned pants just as he pulled off her shoes and tugged the jeans over her feet.

Hands feathered up her calves, her thighs, skimming lightly between her legs. She gasped, and he continued to her breasts until he reached her lips like a man reading Braille.

“You’re perfect.”

He kissed her, draped a rough, jeaned leg across her hips. There was something incredibly sexy about being totally naked while he, fully clothed, kissed and caressed her.

But only for so long. She tugged at his shirt, squirmed against the restraint. “Join me, Chance. Now!”

He laughed and, with an economy of movement she enjoyed watching, soon stretched beside her equally naked.

She didn’t think she’d ever seen such a beautiful male body. Not perfect. Like the scar flawed his face and made it that much more handsome, his mature body, strong and hard and not perfectly defined like a young man, took her breath away.

One hand propped his head so he gazed down on her while his other stroked, tingling flesh from breast to hip.

She flattened her palms against his chest and his heart thumped in response. She let one hand glide along his muscled side; his heart picked up the pace, and she teasingly stopped at his hip, tipping her head upward. Hot breath bathed her face and she inhaled him, pushed his hand lower so it slipped over her hip and cupped her bottom firmly against him.

“Oh, Chance.” She closed her eyes and relished the hot, hard flesh pushing against her stomach. He rocked her hips, and his other hand came down, slipping under and seizing her bottom with both hands to increase the pressure. He kissed her as if he couldn’t taste her fast enough. Her fingers bit into his back, the muscles rippling with the contact.

One hand eased off her bottom, reached across her and opened the drawer beside the bed. The tearing of the paper behind her back was a signal and she shivered with anticipation. When he slipped the condom on and clasped her thigh, she parted her legs, not waiting for him to do it. She thought she would die before he took her, and when he did—she thought she would die from the pleasure.

****

Prickly pain woke him. His arm, under Lacy, protested the lack of circulation. Gently, ever so slowly, he withdrew from beneath her shoulders. She sighed and cuddled closer as he peeked over her. The clock showed 4:16. He shifted his head a little farther from her so he could peer at her sleeping face. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, she came more into focus. Her exhale bathed his chest in warmth, and when she inhaled, he wanted to follow it, taste her again. Get lost in hot, demanding kisses. And equally hot relinquishing ones. Once relaxed, she’d let her emotions guide her—and the pleasure she’d given and taken far exceeded his expectations.

She snored for three counts, actually more of a purr, and he smiled, convinced he could watch her sleep until he had to get up.

So this was it. What had happened, no casual roll between the sheets, sealed his future. He’d let go of the fear without a fanfare, without a proclamation. He might not always be able to protect her, but he could love her. It was possible he’d do unspeakable things for her in the name of love. But he couldn’t live without her in order to stay safe and unchallenged.

No. Hell, no.

He slipped his arm under her shoulders, drew her closer and settled her against his chest. The nighttime softness of her heat roused his desire. He inhaled her exotic scent and touched his lips to the top of her head.
I love you, Lacy Dahl.

Her arm snaked around his hips. “Mmm, Chance.” She wedged a delicate knee between his legs and brought it high to caress. “I’m sort of awake, and I need you.”

He tipped her head up, and she blinked sleepily. In one sleek movement, she brought her leg over his hip, straddled him and reached for the drawer beside the bed. Within moments, her fingers nimbly sheathed the condom.

“My kind of early morning woman.” He moaned as she took him in without comment.

She fell forward and rocked, her mouth next to his ear. “Shh!” she whispered. “Don’t talk, Sheriff, you might wake me up.”

****

Lacy ascended from deep sleep, like climbing a spiral staircase warm and dark at the bottom to light and airy at the top. She rolled toward Chance, but when only another pillow greeted her, her lids opened to the dim light in the room. She drew up on her elbows and glanced around. The bedside clock showed 8:17. He’d said he had to go into work for a couple of hours, but not until nine. A noise, maybe a cupboard closing, echoed down the hall. The smell of coffee followed.

She threw back the covers and hopped from his bed.
My God what a night
. From a person of interest at a murder scene to sleeping with the sheriff. Both thoughts gave her chills in entirely different ways. Her overnight case sat on the floor next to the bathroom door. How thoughtful of Chance to retrieve it from the guestroom. She grabbed it, flipped on the bathroom light and closed the door.

The shower ran hot, pinking her skin. She stood under the pounding rivulets, hoping to get her body revved up after so little sleep. The missed sleep had been worth it—twice. Goosebumps covered her in spite of the heat in the shower. She could get used to nights like last night. She shut off the water. A weekend and nothing more had sounded good when she’d told him that at lunch, and she’d meant it at the time. How free and easy it had sounded, caught in the mindlessness of desire. She’d made it clear a weekend and nothing more suited her fine.

It didn’t.

She pulled a fresh towel from the shelf. Perhaps Chance had taken her at her word, and the reluctant sheriff seduced her. She snorted—she’d done her own amount of seducing.

One step at a time. Today, she’d see the professor, learn everything she could about her mother then...see what came next.

She leaned close to the mirror to apply mascara. She’d invite Chance down to the valley to visit her. That’s what she’d do. Sure, she was okay with a weekend thing—as long as she could have more than one weekend.

One step at a time, one weekend at a time.

When she stepped out of the bedroom into the hall, humming a favorite old song, voices murmured from the direction of the front door. She stopped abruptly at the scene, the melody dying on her lips.

Chance stood in the open doorway; his arms folded Kitty against his chest.

She took a step back, but too late. She’d been seen.

“You!” Kitty’s head jerked from his chest. Her tear-stained face tilted up as he half-turned to look at her. “How could you, Chance?”

A weight descended on Lacy’s chest. Her heart beat against the heaviness. She peered into his copper eyes and saw...what? Surprise? Confusion? Deceit?

“Lacy—”

“Lacy?” Kitty reared back, cut him off and fisted her hands at her sides. “This bitch is responsible for all of this. I can’t believe
you
fell for her bullshit, too.”

“Kitty—” He put a hand on her arm.

“No!” She shook him off. “Everything was fine until she upset my mother by digging up all the hurt from the past that
her
mother caused. She’s just like her. Selfish, manipulating bitch. You think she cares about you, Chance? Ha!” She shoved a hand into his chest. “And Clark! What about Clark? Hurting my mother and me wasn’t enough? My son would never have gotten into all this trouble if she hadn’t come to town.”

Stunned by the scene, Lacy’s legs were lead. Kitty’s anger was at once frightening and pitiful, but it was Chance’s unreadable reaction that most unnerved her.

The woman took a step toward her. “Look at her, thinking my son is nothing but a bastard. Well, she’s a bastard, too, and struts around like she isn’t.” An accusatory finger pointed at her. “Who the hell is your father, huh? You bitch!” She lurched forward.

Chance’s hand shot out and grabbed her arm, whirled her around and took hold of her shoulders. “Kitty, stop!” He shook her gently. “You need to calm down, go home and get a lawyer.”

“I need to make her pay for this.”

“You’re talking crazy. Calm down.”

She threw herself into his chest, wrapped her arms around him.

He patted her back and glanced at Lacy. “You need to go home.”

Were his words directed at Kitty, or her?

She swallowed. Her stomach knotted and tears threatened. Chance held Kitty, and she stood dumbly; an outsider, a fool to think last night meant anything more than the sexual encounter she’d told him she wanted. He wasn’t so different after all. The words stung, but Chance’s actions cut like a knife.

He pushed Kitty from his chest, cupped her chin and forced her to look at him. “Go home, get a lawyer.”

She nodded, turned her face to kiss his palm, and with a heavy sigh, let her arms fall from him. Facing the threshold, Kitty glowered back at her. “You’ll pay for this.” The door slammed behind her.

Chance shook his head and paused before turning. “Lacy—”

“I should be going, too.”

“Lacy—”

“No.” She held up a hand. Listening to excuses would be her undoing. She’d cry and make a bigger fool of herself. “Really, I should. A gal can overstay her welcome, and apparently, I have.” Her heart pounded so loud in her ears, she could barely hear her own words. “If you could just take me to the police station to get my car, I’d appreciate it. I’ve got that meeting with the professor, and I can probably get back in my room now. If I can’t...” Her head spun. She backed up, turned.

“Don’t let Kitty get to you. You know it’s her son, regardless of what we think of him.” His voice rose as she continued down the hall. “She’s understandably upset.”

“Yes, understandably.” But she didn’t understand his willingness to comfort her. Her eyes stung with unreleased tears each step she took farther from him.

“Lacy, stop.”

His stern voice shocked her midstride, and she haltingly turned to face him. Although he didn’t move to close the distance between them, his presence still overwhelmed her. He stood, hands not quite resting at his sides as if he might stride forward at any moment. In his brown dress slacks and tan button down shirt, he looked less like a lumberjack and more like the sheriff. She couldn’t trust her voice not to shake like her insides, and so she waited.

“Don’t run off.” He checked his watch, and from the coat rack, grabbed the brown matching jacket to his slacks before striding within reach.

“I’m not.”

“Then have some tea. We actually have chai.” When she didn’t respond, he touched her arm. “I’ll be back in time to go see the professor with you.”

Turning slightly effectively broke the connection. “I don’t need a chaperon, Sheriff.”

The overhead light of the entryway showed clearly the flare of his nostrils and set of his jaw. “Kitty’s been a friend for a long time.”

“So I guessed.” And she was only a stranger passing through, volunteering a pleasurable interlude, and a person of interest in a murder. Someone for whom he had to assume custody and responsibility on a temporary basis. A twist of pain stabbed her just below the breastbone.

“I won’t be long.” He glanced at his watch again. “Just wait for me.”

Her breath labored, fighting back the tears, suppressing words she’d be sorry for later.

“Please.” He backed up, turned toward the door and grabbed his coffee travel mug from the hall table. The door closed behind him.

She didn’t move, listening for the sound of his truck leaving the drive, the scrunch of tires turning and fading as he drove away. A small choking sound escaped to accompany the tear rolling down her cheek. With a shake of her head and a swipe at the tear, she turned toward the kitchen, the smell of coffee reminding her of home, the Lacy Latte.

The box of chai teabags sat beside the coffee pot with a mug and spoon. She ignored it and poured a cup of coffee, a small defiance to his parting words. After adding cream, she carried the cup to the patio door and gazed out on the homey back yard. The spacious patio sported a brick barbecue at one end and a wooden picnic table in the center. A flower garden ran along the half-painted back fence. She wondered if Chance or his daughter was the gardener. A hummingbird feeder hung from the far corner of the patio roof. A tiny bird fed then flitted away with the sound of a car coming up the alley.