He held the report aloft. “Mind if we take this with us?”
Ford waved a hand at him. “Your copy. Be my guest.”
Celia followed him outside. The morning already held a sultry promise of afternoon heat to come. She ran a finger along her necklace. “We’re not any closer to the answers, Cook. What was Doe doing with that baby? Where did she come from?”
He tugged a pack of gum from his pocket and extended it in her direction. She shook her head and he popped a piece in his mouth. He chewed, brow wrinkled in a thoughtful look. “Well, we have a couple of possibilities.”
“What?”
Her cell phone pinged, forestalling her answer. She tugged it from her waistband, stomach falling when she glanced at the display. McMillian’s private line.
Oh hell. She really didn’t want to talk to him.
Celia lifted the phone to her ear. “St. John.”
“Got your message from Raquel.” Papers rustled behind McMillian’s terse voice. “What did the ME say?”
With a suppressed sigh, Celia slid into the passenger seat. “The baby wasn’t murdered. She died of natural causes.”
“SIDS?” His voice tightened and she didn’t miss the pain winding through the single syllable. She steeled herself against a spurt of sympathy. She didn’t need to feel any soft emotions for him.
She glanced at Cook as he settled behind the wheel and fitted the key in the ignition. His jaw remained as taut as her nerves felt. The radio beeped, static crackling. “No. A congenital heart defect.”
“All right.” More paper rustling, and she pictured him standing behind his desk, phone propped under his chin while he pulled court papers together. “I’m headed out to Darren County. I’d like to see you this afternoon before you leave.”
Her stomach plummeted. “Sure.”
“Good. We need to talk.”
The line went dead and she snapped the phone closed, letting her head drop forward with a muffled groan. Cook laughed. “Let me guess. You’ve been summoned to the principal’s office.”
Worse. She could just imagine what McMillian thought they needed to talk about. Her face burned. She straightened and blew out a long breath. “You’re a bad influence, Cook.”
“You’re just now figuring that out?”
A strand of hair, escaped from her loose knot, tickled her cheek, and she brushed it away. “You said something about why Doe had this baby in his car? Which, by the way, we still don’t know
was
his car, because it belongs to a nonexistent person. God, we’ll never sort this case out.”
“Are you done?” He pulled into traffic. “I’ve been thinking about that, you know, possible reasons why he’d have the kid if it wasn’t his. The most unpalatable? Kiddy porn. Or the sex trade.”
She shuddered. That possibility had occurred to her as well. “Give me another option.”
“Black market for human organs.”
“I think that one’s an urban legend, Cook.”
He shrugged. “Still gotta consider it. And there’s always adoption.”
“Like he was the adoptive parent?”
“Like an illegal baby ring. Gray market adoptions.” He glanced over his shoulder before changing lanes. “White newborn, desperate parents with lots of money. Tick and his wife are looking at adoption routes and the process is huge. I can see someone wanting to buy their way around that.”
She tapped her phone against her lips. “That’s a possibility. So if there are no legal adoption papers, what do they do about a birth certificate?”
“I don’t know. Buy one? Call it a home birth? You’re the one who works for a shyster. Ask McMillian.”
“I will, this afternoon. Maybe the Florida Department of Law Enforcement will have something on a missing baby, since the GBI hasn’t turned up anything—”
“Ford said something about a home birth, remember?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Somebody has to supervise that, right?”
She laughed. “You’re asking me? How would I know? Besides, if I ever have a kid, it’ll be in a hospital, with a doctor and lots and lots of drugs. But I think most women who do a home birth have a midwife or something similar.”
Cook nodded. “We find that midwife…”
“And we find our parents.”
“McMillian?”
Celia’s voice washed over him and Tom glanced up from the case-law update. The cascade of relief at her appearance startled him. It was late, after six, and with the office empty and quiet, he’d almost given up on seeing her.
He pulled off his reading glasses and laid them aside. “Come on in.”
She took two steps inside and stopped. Her fingers edged along the fragile links of her necklace. “I’m sorry to leave this so late. I’ve been tracking down birth records for the counties bordering the state line.”
Arms crossed behind his head, he leaned back in his chair. “Any luck?”
“Not yet.” A tight smile flitted across her mouth. “Cook thinks we might be looking at an illegal adoption ring. Parents desperate for a baby, willing to do anything.”
He nodded. “Makes sense.”
She waved a hand toward the door, looking everywhere but at him. “Well, if that’s all, I’m going—”
“Celia, wait.” He rose and came round the desk to stand before her. She lifted her eyes to his, but the blue depths revealed none of her emotions. Tension coiled in him, tightening the muscles along his shoulders. He had to do something about this situation between them, and he couldn’t afford to screw up again.
“I have—”
“Listen to me. Please. I value you as a member of my team.” He ran a hand over his nape, tendons bunching under his fingers. “You intrigue me as a woman. I’d hate to lose the former because of the latter. This morning, I was completely out of line. Professionally and personally.”
“Fine. Apology accepted.” She folded her arms over her midriff, the line of her body screaming of stress.
His hands itched to grasp her shoulders, rub down her arms. “I’d also hate to miss the opportunity to discover who you really are.”
She stared at him, cynicism washing her eyes. “I see you found a way to pretty it up. Admit it. You want me in your bed.”
“I’d be insane not to.” Probably insane for pursuing this, but doubly insane not to explore the possibilities vibrating between them. “Admit you want to be there.”
“I already did.” Pursing her lips, she glanced away. “Let me guess. We should have a one-night stand, get the sex out of our systems.”
“No, that’s what your buddy Cook would suggest. I prefer a monogamous relationship of limited duration with the terms understood by both parties upfront.”
“You’re such a damn lawyer.” She turned those crystal eyes, narrowed and calculating, on him again. “You mean you like short, no-strings affairs, as opposed to Cook’s one-nighters.”
“Exactly.” He tucked his hands in his pockets, making sure he couldn’t touch her. If anything came of this, it would be her decision, not because he’d influenced her. If she said no, that was the end of it. He’d just go quietly insane with sexual frustration. “We’re attracted and it’s getting in the way.”
She tilted her head, the movement exposing the tiny pulse beating in her throat. “We
are
mature, consenting adults. There’s always the option of exploring that attraction.”
An irresistible smile pulled at his mouth. “When it’s over, it’s over. We go in with our eyes open and no one gets hurt.”
She watched him a long moment, until the urge to shift under that steady gaze filled him. “Do you really think we can do that?”
He nodded. “I do.”
Her soft exhale sounded suspiciously like a snort. He frowned. Shit, she was going to say no. He rolled his shoulders under a sudden wave of tension. “What?”
“There’s no such thing as eyes-wide-open and no-one-gets-hurt. Someone always gets hurt, even if it doesn’t show.”
He refused to give in to the desire to lean toward her, to kiss her until she acquiesced. “I won’t hurt you. Let me prove it to you.”
“I don’t know.” She passed her thumb over her lips, gaze darting to his and away. “I need to think about it.”
Muted satisfaction rushed through him, like striking a deal on a particularly difficult case. He had her on the hook. He forced himself to appear as removed as possible. Being too eager was never a good thing. “That’s fine.”
He allowed himself to run a finger along her jaw, the skin smooth and soft beneath his touch. “If you decide this is what you want, we can have dinner tonight. My place, about seven-thirty. Bring your swimsuit.”
She’d crossed the line from stupidity to insanity. Celia killed the Xterra’s engine and reached for her sequined net bag. The bad part was she didn’t care. Well, almost. But with her desire for him outweighing the risk to her emotions, she was ready to dive into the craziness, her entire body buzzing and tingling with eagerness. All she had to do was keep her eyes open as the relationship closed over her head.
He wasn’t hers, this wasn’t about flowers and forever, and she could climb out and walk away before she got in too deep. No problem.
Bag slung over her shoulder, she slid from the SUV. His house was what she’d expected—a tall cedar contemporary on the lake, clean, modern, no frills. A small Honda sat in the drive, the silver Mercedes nowhere to be seen. Probably protected in the double garage. She followed the concrete walk to the front door, rang the bell and waited. Nerves jumped and she squashed the anxiety.
Deep breath. Eyes open. She just had to remember that.
The door opened to reveal a woman in her midforties, thick dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. She carried a tote of cleaning supplies. She fixed Celia with a perfunctory smile. “Ms. St. John?”
Anxiety jabbed at her stomach. “Yes.”
The other woman stepped outside, holding the door with one hand. “Mr. McMillian is in the pool. He asked me to tell you to go on back.”
She pointed across the foyer, toward the rear of the house, and Celia smiled. “Thanks.”
She stepped through the doorway and the door closed behind her. Italian tile swept through the foyer, segueing to polished hardwood floors in the living room. She eyed the glass doors at the back of the house and shook her head. So like McMillian. How many times had she seen him do the same thing to a defense attorney?
Make them come to you.
The man was a complete control freak. She’d let him have this one. The next shot would be hers.
She drifted through the living area, ran her fingers along the back of a butter-soft leather couch. The large room was beautiful and professionally decorated. Nothing here said it belonged to Tom McMillian. She couldn’t find a single personal touch.
The glass doors opened onto a wide deck, steps sweeping down to a concrete patio surrounding the Grecian-inspired pool. Beyond the pool area, thick St. Augustine grass flowed to a covered dock. A handful of ducks floated between tall cypress trees. The rushing buzz of cicadas filled the air and a light breeze carried the earthy smell of lake water.
As the other woman had said, McMillian was in the pool, swimming laps. Celia paused at the top of the steps, watching him cut through the water with powerful strokes. Tight muscles rippled beneath his skin and the nervousness fluttering in her stomach shifted, morphed into a liquid stab of anticipation.
Forget the deep breath and open eyes. She was ready to be in over her head with him.
Ready to drown in him.
She descended the steps. Ferns waved in cedar planters, and the setting sun cast blue shadows on the patio. Stainless steel lights spilled pools of gold here and there.
He hadn’t noticed her. She stopped by a lounger and laid her bag aside. Tendons stretched and pulled in his back. She swallowed. The man was absolutely beautiful. Agonized expectation swirled through her, a rush of wanting and unadulterated lust, settling into a warm ache low in her belly and between her thighs.
No, he wouldn’t be
hers
, but he’d be her lover. And at this rate? All he’d have to do was touch her and she’d be a puddle at his feet. She needed to get a grip.
He reached the deep end and stopped, holding on to the concrete apron with one hand, pulling goggles off with the other. He wiped water from his face and grinned at her, short dark hair plastered to his head. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.”
“I’m glad you decided to come.” He released the apron, treading water. Water trailed down his neck to the tight muscles of his shoulders and biceps. “You should come in. The water’s great.”
Said the shark to the fish.
She shrugged off the whimsy and toed out of her skimpy sandals while pulling her camisole over her head. She slanted a quick glance at him. His grin had died, male appreciation sparking in the cool blue of his eyes while he surveyed her plain black bikini top.
She pulled the clip from her hair and shook it loose about her shoulders. A wicked smile tugging at her lips, she half-turned from him. Men were such simple, visual creatures.
Make her come to him? He was trying it again. Well, she’d make him wait for it.
She slid her chain over her head and dropped it into her bag. “I thought we were having dinner.”
“We are.” His voice was nearer and she looked over her shoulder to find him at the side of the pool, the strong point of his chin rested on his crossed arms. He was eyeing her legs and his gaze traveled up her body to her face. He grinned again, the expression purely male and predatory in nature. “But I thought you might want to cool off first.”
“It’s not that hot yet.” She turned her back, biting her lip to hold in a laugh. Taking her time, she slid her khaki shorts down her legs and stepped out of them. Not looking at him, she folded them neatly and laid them beside her bag.
“Oh, I don’t know. From here, it’s pretty damn hot.” His voice sounded a little strangled. She turned to face him and unclasped her belly chain, coiling it atop her shorts. He met her gaze, his face taut. “That bordered on cruelty, Cee.”
She liked hearing the nickname on his lips. With a sultry laugh, she took a running start and dove. The cool shock of the water closed in, enveloping her body. She surfaced, gasping a little at the sudden chill, and slicked her wet hair from her face.
He remained in his prior location, leaning against the pool wall, watching her. She blinked away water, the faint aroma of chlorine filling her nose. “You’re right. It is nice.”
That prowling grin curving his mouth again, he pushed away, doing a slow crawl to the other side. “It could be a whole lot nicer.”
God, he was all ego. And damn if she didn’t like it. She treaded water, cool waves lapping at her but doing little to soothe the heat spiraling under her skin. “Patience, McMillian. Good things come to those who wait.”
“Maybe I’m not a patient man.” He swam to her, stopping scant inches away. She stared into his eyes, droplets clinging to his dark lashes, falling free to follow the slashes by his mouth. His white teeth flashed in a shark’s smirk, one that sent heat pooling in her abdomen. “Sometimes great things come to those who make it happen.”
A heavy expectancy filled her, a stinging rush that tightened her breasts and sizzled along her skin. “I like the way you think, Counselor.”
She closed the minuscule distance between them, threading her fingers into the short hair at the back of his head. Her chest bumped his, stomachs rubbed, treading legs tangled. She saw the flare of surprise and desire in his eyes before she took his mouth.
The kiss was no tentative exploration. Instead, he opened his lips immediately, their tongues stroking, teasing, dueling. An arm clamped around her waist, dragging her against him and she closed her eyes before they sank beneath the surface. Excitement flashed in her, the intensity of sensations zinging along each of her nerve endings.
She moaned into his mouth and wrapped her legs around his waist, giving herself over to his strength and the cushioning hold of the water. He pulled her closer, dipping his tongue deeper into her mouth.
They broke the surface and she pulled her mouth from his, filling her lungs on an exhilarated laugh. He chuckled, finding his footing on the pool’s sloping floor, still holding her with one arm, smoothing her hair from her face. She held his gaze, finding her own reflection in the desire darkening his eyes.
He lowered his head and kissed her again, slow nips along her lips rather than the all-out ravaging they’d shared before. Surging closer, she explored his shoulders and arms, loving the play of muscle beneath her fingers.
His hands eased up and down her back, circled her waist, smoothed up her ribcage to the edge of her bikini top. His lips held hers, clung, let go. He smiled, stroking his thumbs along the line of her ribs.
Satisfaction cascaded through her. Tonight, he’d be hers. Fantasies and images kicked off in her mind—her head tossing on golden pillows, her body arching into his as he thrust into her.
She blinked. Not her fantasy. His. What he wanted, in her head again. She didn’t understand how, but she wasn’t in the mood to question. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her breasts into the hard wall of his chest and brushed her mouth over his. She’d just have to make sure every one of his fantasies came true.
She was sure he’d satisfy hers too. An arm hooked around his neck, she traced the line of his lips with a finger.
“I love the way you taste.” He pressed a kiss to her fingertip. “You’re incredible.”
Oh, he had no idea. She was going to be his dream come true, tonight anyway. She tilted her head back, the better to see into his eyes. Hunger blazed in the dark blue depths.