This is where I listen to my heart.
I reached up and pulled his lips down to mine.
Heat kindled in that kiss, his mouth shifting gently to surround first my top, then my bottom lip, soft, slow, as if he had waited too long to taste me and wanted to make this last. He tasted of coffee and, slightly, oranges, and some other deep note that was wholly him. His tongue pressed gently at the seam of my mouth and I opened gratefully to him, and lost myself to the reality of my fantasy, of kissing him as I’d longed to for almost my entire life.
Eventually, he pulled back, rubbing one thumb over my swollen bottom lip.
“Delaney,” he breathed. He lowered his mouth and kissed me again, longer, and so slowly it ached. I made a needful sound and rubbed my hands up his wide back. I tugged on his soft, short hair, then rubbed my hands back down to his lean hips.
I wanted this to last forever, this slow exploration, but I trembled with the need for more.
He was wearing too many layers. My fingers tugged at his T-shirt, slipped up beneath the soft cotton, and finally stroked the heat of his smooth skin along the edge of his low-slung jeans.
Ryder Bailey, I’ve been waiting for this. Waiting for you. I don’t care what the vampire says.
I pulled away from the kiss so I could unbutton my shirt. Ryder’s hands fell over mine, stilling my clumsy fingers over the line of buttons. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss on the tender skin beneath my ear.
“I have too many clothes on,” I whispered.
“What should we do about that?” he growled against my ear, his breath soft and hot.
I shifted, twisted out of his hold, then scooted back on the bed.
“We should get naked.”
He smiled and shucked out of his flannel shirt and T-shirt in one smooth over-the-head move. I tried to peel my gaze away from his bare chest.
Okay, no, I didn’t.
I’d seen him naked. Recently, as a matter of fact. But here, in the butter-soft light of the candles, the hard muscles of his wide shoulders, thick chest with a dusting of dark hair, and flat stomach were even more defined.
He dropped his shirts to the floor. And crawled across the bed after me, then over the top of me, one hand braced on both sides of my shoulders.
We were so close, I could see the pulse of his heartbeat at his throat, but we weren’t touching.
He was watching me, waiting.
I reached up, stroking his left shoulder where the tattoo of Leonardo da Vinci’s hand capped it. I traced the bold lines of the words there and bit at my bottom lip. The art was stark in sepia brown against his tanned skin. Simple and beautiful on its own—on him, incredibly sexy.
I pressed my other hand—only my fingertips—on his other shoulder, and then dragged my fingers down the warmth of his hard chest, seeking the tight muscles of his stomach. His breathing hitched, and he held it as I explored. When he took his next breath, it shook a little.
I loved that I could make him feel that way. Loved that just a simple touch from me could make him tremble.
“Delaney,” he said. I didn’t know if it was question or request. I was focused on his other tattoo, the artist’s compass and stars that spilled over the edge of his hipbone.
I wanted to put my mouth on it. I shivered a little, but not from the cool of the house. I felt like I was fevered, burning.
I watched Ryder’s eyes as I slid my fingers into the waistband of his jeans.
He exhaled, almost a moan, and his eyes fluttered closed as his throat worked to swallow.
I unbuttoned his jeans and then pulled the zipper.
His eyes snapped back open as my fingers brushed softly over his boxers.
“Are you ready for this?” I asked him with a low burr in my voice.
He was firm and hard beneath my hand. I knew what his body wanted, but that wasn’t what I was asking him.
“Are you?”
The moment stretched. Neither of us moved. The only motion in the room was the shifting of candlelight swaying in the shadows. I thought I saw something change in his gaze. Something that looked like worry or guilt. His mouth half opened, as if he were trying to decide if he should tell me something.
Then he smiled and that fleeting look was gone. His smile was soft, and honest, and said more than words ever could.
Don’t make me regret this, Ryder Bailey. Please don’t break my heart.
I draped my arms over his shoulders, holding the back of his neck with one hand, the other hand dragging up into his hair.
He closed the very short distance between us, his hands skating under my shirt and across my ribs and then around to my back and hip as he pulled me against him.
Then he eased me down and kissed me again, lips catching, teeth nibbling at the corner of my mouth, tongue dragging and licking. I bit his bottom lip gently but firmly to get his attention, and he grunted. “Yes?” he said against my mouth.
“Strip.”
I felt his smile against my lips. He rose up on his knees above me.
“Is this a strip search, officer?” Mischief sparkled in his eyes. “Are you going to read me my rights?”
I laughed and covered my mouth with my hand, watching him with wide eyes. “Oh my God. You role-play?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
He shrugged, a fluid roll of his shoulders, then shifted to the side so he could pull off his jeans and boxers, which he dropped down to the floor. “Maybe when there’s a sexy lady cop in my bed.”
I made quick work of my own clothes while he was occupied. I pushed under the covers, a chill washing over my skin, and held the blanket open for him.
“My bed.”
He shouldered in under the covers, settling on his side, head propped on one hand, the other dragging over the curve of my breast, his thumb lingering sweetly over my nipple, then drifting down across my belly.
“Whichever bed,” he murmured. “Only one sexy cop.”
“Me?” I asked with all the feigned innocence I could muster with him looking at me like that, touching me like that.
He stilled. “Only you.” The worry flickered in his eyes again, or maybe it was just the fluttering light of candles playing tricks.
His smile turned rakish. “Mother, may I?” His hand slipped down and down, curved at my hip, fingers gripping and releasing.
I groaned. “Maybe you should go back to the sexy cop game.”
“Mmm. I don’t know…” His fingers shifted to drift over my skin so softly, it was almost impossible to feel. “I might have some other games in mind.”
“Do not pass go,” I said as my hands slipped down his back and I drew one knee up to hook my ankle around the back of his leg, pulling him closer. “Do not collect two hundred dollars.” I dragged my fingernails up his back and he inhaled noisily, arching his back up into my hands.
“Don’t need two hundred dollars.” He pressed his warm lips at the side of my throat, and a zing of pleasure rolled through my muscles, turning me into liquid heat. “How about a get out of jail free card?”
My stomach fluttered with desire and a tiny jolt of fear. What if I was making a terrible mistake?
I didn’t care.
“Right now, let’s just have us. No games.” I combed my fingers through his hair,and lifted my other ankle to wrap around his leg, allowing him to settle more intimately against me, molding our bodies to each other.
He paused, his gaze searching mine with something I could not begin to understand.
“No games,” he said softly.
He kissed me, and this time, this one moment, I knew there was nothing but truth between us.
Chapter 22
I WOKE slowly, the dreams of Ryder mingling with the memories of the last few hours.
Dreams couldn’t hold a candle to the reality of him.
I smiled and shifted my hands, drawing my pillow under my head in a more comfortable position. Sex with Ryder had been fun. But after the joking and teasing, it had become something more. He’d held me with his gaze, his hands, his body, like he was trying to memorize me.
Like it would be his only, his last time to touch me.
By the time we were too tired to do more than hold each other, hands stroking gently, absently, the sleep I’d been putting off for over two days caught at me and tugged me down.
I just hoped I hadn’t snored and drooled on him all night.
I opened my eyes. I was facing the west window, and from the soft blue-toned light seeping in through the curtains, it was just barely dawn.
It was silent in the room, dark.
And I knew without a doubt that I was alone.
I inhaled and let out my breath, calming the clatter of my thoughts all trying to crowd in past the roar of the unhoused power rolling through my head.
The swell of the power’s song made me realize it had been quieter last night. Whether that was because of Ryder, my fatigue, or the various concoctions of rhubarb I’d imbibed, I wasn’t sure.
I rolled over and pulled the covers tighter around my shoulders.
The other half of the bed was empty, the candles on the step ladder nightstand no longer burning.
A small piece of paper was folded into the shape of a little origami house, the door open to show writing on the inside, my name written above the lintel. I lifted the house and a tiny folded paper dog that somehow looked a lot like Spud sat in its place. So cute.
“I had no idea you were so clever with paper.” There didn’t appear to be any writing on Spud, so I unfolded the house. Inside, written in Ryder’s square, clean style was a note.
“A dear John?” I sighed and rubbed my hand across my eyes. “Terrific.” I sat, holding the covers against me in the cool of the room, and read.
D
ELANEY
, I’
M
SORRY
I
COULDN
’
T
STAY
. W
ORK
CAME
UP
. I
F
LAST
NIGHT
WERE
RHUBARB
, I’
D
GIVE
YOU
AN
ELEVEN
OUT
OF
TEN
.
—R
YDER
I didn’t know if I should laugh or be offended. Had he really just left me a note comparing me to rhubarb?
I rubbed at my eyes again, a mix of emotions rolling out as laughter.
“You jerk,” I groaned between snickers I couldn’t stop. “This is no way to romance a woman.”
The empty room had nothing to say about that, and I left the little unfolded house on the ladder and picked up Spud.
I took in a deep breath and let it out. Maybe it was better he wasn’t here when I woke up. Maybe that would have been too intimate, too much of a promise neither of us were ready to keep.
Still, I would have like to have opened my eyes and felt him there next to me. Would have liked the chance to settle against him, wrapped in the scent that was spicy and rich and wholly his, mingled with the lavender of my sheets and the heavy vanilla perfume of the candles.
“Guess we don’t always get what we want, eh, Spud?” I left Spud on the empty pillow and wandered off to the bathroom.
The scent of vanilla lingered in the smaller room. It had been sweet of him to fill the house full of candles. It had been romantic.
I smiled as I looked in the mirror.
“Well,” I said to my happy reflection, my hair mussed, my eyes still soft and relaxed. “No matter where it goes from here, last night was worth it.” I pulled out my toothbrush so I could get ready for the day.
I took a quick shower and had just finished pulling on my clothes and boots when my phone rang from the other room. I jogged out and picked up the phone, glancing at the screen.
“What’s up, Jean?”
“Are you okay?” She sounded out of breath, her words sharpened with worry that wasn’t quite panic yet.
“Yes? What’s going on?”
“I woke up with a really bad feeling, Delaney.”
“Woke up? You were supposed to be on night shift.”
“I traded with Roy.”
“Okay. When?”
“Last night. When else would I trade?”
“When did you get the bad feeling?”
“Just a few minutes ago. It hit me hard. It’s about you.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s about you,” she said. “I’m headed your way.”
I glanced out the window. Nothing but gray sky and wet trees and the low, quiet fog of morning. “Everything looks good here. Don’t come to the house. I’ll meet you at the station.”
She hesitated, trying to make up her mind. “I don’t know. I think you should hunker down. I’ll come by.”
“Jean.”
“And lock your door.”
“No need to be paranoid.”
“I can be paranoid if I want to be. Lock your door.”
“Sure,” I said. I was so not going to lock my door.
“See you in ten.”
I ended the call and stared at the phone for a minute. I knew Jean too well, trusted her small gift far too much to ignore her.
Something bad was possibly going to happen to me. Strangely, I wasn’t all that worried about it. What was the advantage to being warned about possible trouble cropping up if that warning only made a person panic?
I calmly took off my flannel and strapped on my holster, then checked my gun and put it in the holster. I slipped back into my overshirt and walked to the door.
The doorbell rang with a two-tone lilt.
Trouble. Right on time. I drew my gun and approached the door from the side, then glanced out the small square window beside the door.
Death stood on my doorstep. He wore a bright red overshirt patterned with monkeys, bananas, and fancy little drink umbrellas. Under that was a T-shirt I couldn’t quite read.
He was not the trouble I had expected.
“Killers don’t usually ring the doorbell,” I said through the glass.
“Indeed,” he agreed.
“So I think you can just move along. I’m not planning on dying today.”
“Very few plan to die any day.”
“Seriously, Than, I know why you’re here.”
“Do you?” His flat black eyes glittered with something that might have been humor. Or anger.