Authors: Tamara Larson
“Language? What kind of language?”
Duncan
asked, stupidly. These were not the kind of questions he was supposed to be asking her, but he couldn’t help himself. At this point, his mission was completely beyond him. All he wanted, more than anything, was to watch Jessie’s rosebud pink mouth form some dirty Victorian word. He felt his groin tighten in anticipation.
“Well, the Victorians had a tendency to use rather flowery words to describe things. Intimate things. They were also prone to exaggeration,” Jessie said, embarrassment forgotten, she warmed to her subject matter, and leaned forward in her seat. Her voice took on an academic tone. “For instance, male genitalia might be referred to as something ridiculously large or colorful; like a lance or a sword or a spear. Also, male parts did quite a bit of spurting, swelling, and leaping about. Kind of like in today’s modern romance novels, except way more graphic.” She looked up at him and finally noticed the volcanic look in his eyes.
It must be the subject matter, she thought, as he moved forward in his chair until their faces were inches apart. He stared deeply into her eyes for a moment and Jessie forgot completely about everything in the world, except him and that compelling look in his eyes.
“How graphic?” he asked, huskily, closing the distance between them. Jessie half closed her eyes in anticipation of his kiss and gave her dry lips a lick to moisten them. But he didn’t kiss her mouth as she’d expected. His breath puffed against her parted lips for a moment and then he bent his head to lightly press his mouth to the side of her warm throat. She sighed and he dropped his pen and pad of paper on the table next to him. He moved far enough away to look into her eyes again. Hers were dark with desire and her pink lips were slightly open in anticipation of his kiss. He could hear her sweet, minty breath coming out in soft, barely audible pants.
Without a single thought to their surroundings or his purpose for being there, Duncan placed his long legs on either side of her knees, and his big hands on the outside of her thighs. There they stayed, slowly bunching up her skirt until her ankles showed, and then her calves. She tore her eyes away from his and watched, mesmerized, as her naked knees appeared below the slowly advancing hem.
Jessie felt completely separate from her body, like she was watching these things happen to some other girl. Men never looked at her with that intense look in their eyes, especially men like
Duncan
. Her sister, Jamie, was usually the object of men’s desires, not her. Jessie wanted to see, just for a moment, what it was like to act impulsively like her sister.
Duncan
abandoned her skirt where it was and moved his callused fingers to the back of her knees. There he smoothed the delicate skin with feathery touches, while continuing his exploration of her throat with his mouth. Then, he wrapped his warm hands around the back of her calves and pulled her gently forward until her knees were firmly snuggled into the V of his hard, denim-clad thighs.
She raised her eyes to meet his again and stared at his chiseled mouth, begging him with her eyes to kiss her. Softly at first, he touched his lips to hers. Jessie hadn’t done this for years, and had forgotten how overwhelming a kiss could be. She closed her eyes and attempted to copy his movements. His lips were surprisingly soft and Jessie almost giggled as his tongue tickled the corner of her mouth. He licked at them for the longest time; like they were a delicacy he couldn’t get enough of.
Timidly, Jessie opened her mouth slightly.
Duncan
caressed the inside of her lips with just the tip of his tongue. She wasn’t sure what to do, but she experimented by touching his tongue with hers. He responded with a fevered groan against her mouth and pulled her chest against his. “Yes,” he whispered against her lips, and reached behind her to knead her buttocks.
Jessie hadn’t touched him yet. In some part of her mind she knew it was crazy but she desperately wanted to feel this stranger under her fingers. Timidly, she moved her hands from where they still rested in her lap, and placed them on his wide shoulders.
“Touch me,”
Duncan
gasped against her ear.
“How?” Jessie asked, unsure how to proceed.
“It doesn’t matter. Just touch me. I need to feel you,” he said, taking her earlobe firmly between his lips, he began to suck on it as his hands slipped beneath the bottom of her sweater and began caressing her back with just his blunt fingernails.
Jessie moved her hands from his shoulders to his hair. It was wet and cool against her fingertips. She pulled gently on the strands and let them fall through her fingers. It felt so soft, like silk. She angled her cheek so she could rub it against the hair at his temple, like a cat against its master’s fingers.
This close to him, she was overwhelmed by his unique scent. He didn’t wear aftershave, but she could detect the clean smell of rain, and soap from a recent shower. She took a deep breath and held it in her lungs for a moment, imprinting his scent on her body’s memory.
“Are you smelling me?” he asked against her throat, his voice soft, deep and somewhat amused.
“Yes, is that okay?” she asked, quietly. Exhaling into his hair, her breath brushed his ear and he shuddered in response.
“I guess that depends on how I smell,” he said, pulling her sweater and silky ivory bras strap to the side so he could kiss a creamy white shoulder.
“You smell delicious,” she said, arching her neck to give him better access to the crease of her neck.
“Delicious? I like that. You smell like green apples. Like springtime,” he said, bringing his hand up, he gently pulled at the bun at the back of her head until her hair began to unravel. “I’ve been wanting to do that since the moment I walked in here.” He gathered the long strands of her hair in both hands and pulled it forward. It fell almost to her waist and was wavy, alive and vibrant against his fingers.
Duncan
reared back so he could see what she looked like with her hair down. He reached out and pulled off her glasses, placing them carefully on the table beside them. The transformation was dramatic. With her sweater pulled to one side to expose her shoulder and her skirt drawn up around her thighs, Jessie no longer looked like a spinster schoolmarm. He had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. She was a goddess. No, he thought,
a siren
.
He could easily imagine her sitting on a rock in the middle of the ocean, tempting sailors to their doom.
Duncan
almost told her this, but he was afraid he would sound ludicrous. He was a cop, not a poet. And cops didn’t go around spouting flowery compliments.
Jessie’s eyes were heavy-lidded and she seemed somewhat dazed. He looked down at his right hand, which was tightly fisted in a shank of her bright hair. His knuckles rested against her sweater-clad chest and he brushed one knuckle against the crest of one firm breast. Even through the barrier of bra and cotton knit, he could feel her nipple spring to life. Once, twice, three times he circled that aching tip with his knuckle until her eyes closed and she sighed.
Duncan
was leaning down to replace his fingers with his lips when the bell over the door sounded, again.
Chapter
3
A blond Adonis entered the store, shaking water from his perfectly highlighted hair. Clay Wood, Jessie’s Assistant Manager, had the finely chiseled, almost pretty features of a teenage pop star, and the compact, muscular body of a professional swimmer. He stopped abruptly when he spotted Jessie and Duncan staring intently at each other in the far left corner with
Duncan
’s hand firmly on Jessie’s left breast. Clay’s mouth opened in shock at the sight of them, but no words came out for several long seconds.
First to recover, Jessie stood up jerkily and sprung away from
Duncan
like she’d been electrocuted. She scrambled for her glasses, and despite her kiss-swollen lips and red cheeks, did her best to put a professional expression on her face.
“Of course, Detective,” she said to
Duncan
, surprised and delighted that her voice didn’t shake. “I will be sure to contact you if Theresa comes back.” She turned her attention to Clay. “Hi Clay,” she said, a tad too brightly. She waved her hand toward Duncan who was still seated. “This is Detective Reinhold. He’s here asking about Theresa. You know, the little blonde that comes in here at night sometimes?”
Duncan
nodded at Clay, and watched Jessie with amusement. He couldn’t quite understand why she was acting like a teenager caught making out on the couch with her boyfriend. She was the owner, wasn’t she?
“Theresa? Really?” Clay asked, with raised eyebrows. He moved behind the cashier’s counter, took off his fashionably fitted leather coat, and hung it on the back of the chair to dry off. “She hasn’t been around this week. Is that why he’s here? Looks like he was doing a very in-depth investigation over there.”
Jessie flushed anew, but ignored his innuendo. She turned back toward
Duncan
. “Do you have a card, Detective? So we can get in touch with you?” Jessie asked, opening her eyes wide, she made a ’get out of here’ movement toward the door with her head.
Duncan
knew this was his cue to get up and get out, but unfortunately, his loose jeans would make his aroused condition a bit too obvious. Jessie was embarrassed enough without his enormous erection announcing his state.
He made a show of looking through his coat pockets and then taking it off completely to search for his cards. With the coat firmly in his lap,
Duncan
stood up and handed a card to Jessie. “Miss Martin,” he said, pointing to something on the card with one tanned finger. His tone was very cool and professional, unlike the sexy rasp he’d used earlier. “You’ll find that you can reach me at the bottom number anytime. Please let me know immediately if Theresa shows up. She’s been reported missing and her family is getting desperate.”
“Certainly, Detective. We’re happy to cooperate,” Jessie said, emulating
Duncan
’s crisp tone as she followed him to the door. She couldn’t help herself, her eyes dropped briefly to his high, firm bottom as he opened the door. He caught the direction of her stare and smiled wolfishly at her, pausing in the doorway.
“You never answered my question,”
Duncan
said softly, leaning toward her so only Jessica could hear.
“What question?” Jessie asked, clearly confused.
Duncan
reached out and gently pulled on a tendril of her hair. “You never told me how graphic Victorian erotica gets.” He gave her a meaningful look and walked out into the rain.
For a moment, Jessie had the impulse to follow him, but quickly came to her senses, shaking her head in disbelief at her actions, and closed the door firmly on the glorious sight of him and his rain-soaked, nearly transparent white shirt. She leaned against the closed door and fanned her hot cheeks with his card.
“What the hell was that all about?” Clay asked, approaching her and filching the card from her hand. “I didn’t even know you were dating someone, let alone that divine creature. You have been holding out on me, young lady.” He pointed at her with the card.
“We’re not dating,” she said casually, walking on unsteady legs to the box she’d been working through earlier. Leaning forward, her hair brushed the box and she stopped to put it back in its bun. The result was lopsided and looked like she’d placed a croissant on her head, but Clay ignored it.
“What?” Clay practically squealed. “Then why was he groping you in the literature section?”
“I have no idea. We never met before this morning. It just happened.” Jessie kneeled on the floor, looking for the pins
Duncan
had pulled out of her hair earlier.
“You vixen! I can’t believe it. You’re going to get rid of that pesky virginity of yours yet. I’ve been telling you for months to just go out and pick someone up, and here you are accosting cops at work. When are you going to see him again?” Clay asked eagerly, holding the card to his heart.
“I’m not,” Jessie said, taking the card away from Clay and putting it in the pocket of her skirt. “This was just some weird, isolated event. Besides, I’m sure I’m not his type. He probably has hundreds of emaciated, sultry blondes calling him on a daily basis. What would he want with someone as plain as me?”
“Maybe he has some taste?” Clay said facetiously, hands on hips. “He certainly looked into you from what I saw. He had his hands all over your girlie-parts. You should call him.”
“I will. If Theresa shows up,” Jessie said, evasively.
“You know that’s not what I meant. You should pursue something with that gorgeous cop. You’ve got his number. Ask him over to your place for dinner. Hetero guys love that. Make him something hearty like a Mamwhich or a side of beef and then take him into your bedroom and ravish him. That’s what I’d do.”
“I’m not you, Clay. I’m twenty-six years old, and virtually inexperienced. I’m practically a freak. They should put me in the circus,” Jessie shook her head, and nodded at two ancient Chinese women who had just entered the store. They headed over to the paperback bargain bins on the far end of the store, but Jessie lowered her voice anyway. “Seriously, a pheromone machine like that detective is probably used to a woman with some expertise in this area.”