Mind of the Phoenix (22 page)

My first thought is to let him think he has complete control, but then I remember that he had said he was a
just
man. So I kiss his neck again, letting my tongue trail across his skin, and finish by tugging lightly on his earlobe with my teeth and lips. He inhales deeply, and this time I know that it isn’t only
my
heart that’s beating loudly, for I can see his pulsing in the vein at his neck. He gently grabs a fistful of my hair to pull my head back, and I know in that moment he intends to kiss me on the mouth. His stubble grazes against my cheek as he moves toward my lips. I close my eyes because I’m scared of what I’ll see in those green eyes. Would it be pure lust, anger, disgust, or affection?

His lips meet mine and his tongue slowly slides forward to part my lips. I greet him eagerly, but he pulls his tongue away as if he intends to tease me. He wants me to the point where I will beg, and a part of me hates that that moment isn’t far away. He continues to tantalize me with his taste, his tongue leisurely gliding against mine before retreating once more. My submission is a lot easier to swallow when I realize that he is carefully memorizing the taste of me. His desire tastes glorious and sweet—much like an éclair—after days of bitter meals, and I greedily devour it with every intention of getting more. The soreness of my neck now pales in comparison to the shivers coursing between my thighs, and any moment now I will plead for more…

A knock echoes through the room and the door swings open. “Oh, I–” Constable Jamieson breaks off abruptly, red creeping along his neck and face. “I– sorry, I’ll come back later.”

He begins to turn around, but Keenan has already released me. “No, it’s quite alright Jamieson,” he says. Is it just me or does the constable hear the roughness of arousal in the detective’s voice as well? “I was just leaving.”

I glare at him. No, you weren’t, detective. You were
kissing
me, not leaving. I debate on whether or not to call him out on his lie with a teasing reply, but decide against it. If he wants to pretend that nothing was just about to happen between us, then I will too. I have pride after all, and I don’t like how he has so casually wounded it.

“Yeah, Rick, it’s not like you were interrupting anything interesting,” I say, pulling away from the detective. I realize that my nipples are hard and visible through the thin fabric of my chemise, and I hurriedly pull the blanket tight around my chest. Thankfully, any other sign of my arousal is hidden further beneath the blankets where neither man can see.

Those green eyes dart to my face, loaded with unbridled emotions. I sense anger, suspicion and…

“You should clean up. Constable Jamieson will escort you back to the police station,” he says, any hint of his previous arousal gone. “The Chief will want to speak with you.”

He then walks out of the room. My heart plummets to my gut, for I think that I saw hurt before he walked away. No, that can’t be. I suddenly want to call after him, but then just as quickly I’m angry with him. Why did he have to dismiss me so quickly then? I want to growl at the infuriating man.

“I honestly didn’t mean to intrude,” says Rick, and I realize that I’m pouting.

I relax my face into a smile. “It’s alright, Rick.”

I grab my clothing and head toward the bathroom to bathe. I had forgotten about the blood, and I’m now grateful that Rick had interrupted my kiss with the detective. When I look back on it, it seems wrong that there had been so much desire while I was tainted with Constable Bradford’s blood. Perhaps it is the same reason why Keenan hadn’t been bothered by the intrusion. I hurriedly wash away any remaining blood and quickly dress. Constable Jamieson greets me in the hallway, and I’m amused when he hands me a brown bag. I already know without looking inside that I will find an éclair. I know that it’s probably inadvisable to consume so many pastries, but I take a bite anyway. I had almost been killed, so I deserve to taste the cream-filled dessert, especially now that I won’t have the detective around to satiate another kind of hunger.

“Thanks, Rick.”

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

I shrug. “My neck hurts, but otherwise I feel fine.” That’s a lie, but I’m not in the mood to elaborate.

He glances at me sideways, his eyes narrowed in contemplation. He’s curious to know how far my relationship with the detective goes and, in fact, I’m beginning to wonder the same thing. A lot of people would ask, their inquisitiveness getting the best of them, but Rick doesn’t. He doesn’t request or demand an answer, and I’m grateful. For one, I don’t think it’s his business, and, secondly, I don’t even have an answer. I suppose I could say that we sometimes flirt, hold hands, awkwardly kiss each other’s necks, argue a lot, and share our thoughts with one another. But that would only confuse rather than clarify. I would know, because I’m involved and I’m confused.

I sigh, because I’m desperate to have him near me again. I shouldn’t have responded so flippantly, and I instantly pout at the memory of those green eyes darting to me in anger, suspicion, and perhaps pain. He probably thinks I was trying to seduce him and that my moans of pleasure had been faked. What I wouldn’t give to have him back alone to tell him that all my physical responses had been real and that with him I’d gladly give over my control—something that I rarely do.

We walk to the police station in silence, and I’m greeted with suspicion from the other constables the moment I arrive. They assume I had tried to seduce Constable Bradford and that the poor man is guilty. They have no idea that the man they believed was serving the law alongside them was a rapist and a murderer. Rick leads me to the Chief’s office, where we find him and the detective waiting for us.

“Moira, please sit,” says the Chief. “I’d like to hear from you what happened.”

I tell them everything: how I had found out that Constable Bradford was the one who murdered Ginny and Rebekah, how I had failed to fully persuade the hotel clerk, how I had tried to persuade Constable Bradford, and, finally, how I had shot him before the detective had entered the room. The Chief stares at me with a stunned expression, his face reddening with suppressed fury. He’s not angry with me though; he’s furious with Constable Bradford. He’s not the only one…

“I just can’t believe it,” blurts Rick behind me. “I
worked
alongside him. I saw him pretty much every day. He was a
constable
, for Christ’s sake.” He shakes his head in disgust. “He was supposed to be protecting people, serving justice and exacting the law. Not… not…”

I sigh. “Oh, Rick, if only every constable was like you, then Braxton would definitely be a better place.”

“I feel like I should have known who he was,” he mutters in despair.

“I know,” I say awkwardly. I like Rick and hate seeing him so upset. Despite everything, he is one of the few good people out there. “I think we all feel that way.”

“None of us knew,” says the Chief. “Don’t blame yourself, kid. I had a blocker read Bradford’s mind the moment the detective told me what happened. The empath found both the memories of every woman Anthony raped, and the ones where he killed Ginny and Rebekah. What he saw confirms what you told us, Moira.”

“Anthony Bradford will be executed for his crimes,” adds the detective, his gaze carefully avoiding mine.

“Though I’m glad that we finally caught the person responsible for Ginny and Rebekah’s deaths, I wish it hadn’t been at your expense.” The Chief furrows his brows, and his guilt slowly drifts in my direction. “I must say that I feel sort of responsible for what happened, Moira.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I was the one who suggested that Constable Bradford escort you back to the hotel,” he answers. “So you see, I feel like I owe you an apology for what he did to you.”

I squirm in my chair because no one has ever apologised to me, other than Keenan. I find myself at a loss for words, debating whether I should respond to him with sarcasm. I decide against it.

“It’s not your fault.”

He nods as if he understands. “So, in light of recent events, I have decided that it is no longer safe for you to stay at the hotel.” He glances at the detective as if daring him to interject his opinion on the matter.

Instead, it is me who interrupts. “Where am I staying?”

I don’t exactly want to return to the room where I had almost been raped and killed, but neither do I wish to be locked up in a prison—or, worse, stuck staying at the Chief’s residence with his overbearing wife. I’d rather take my chances back at the hotel.

His gaze shifts back to Keenan. “I’ve decided that you are to stay with the detective in his townhouse in the west district.”

I laugh as the reason behind the detective’s irritation is made clear. Both men stare at me as if my laughter surprises them, and I suppose it isn’t funny. I can see it in my mind: us arguing all the time. Then I remember the detective’s lips on mine and I blush a deep crimson. Being that close to him, with the possibility of another passionate exchange, will only complicate matters, and I doubt I’d have the strength to resist. Will he have enough strength for both of us or am I just as irresistible to him as he is to me? The way he had responded to my touch suggests that his attraction is not as fleeting as I had first thought.

“And how does the detective feel about this arrangement?”

“The detective has no choice but to agree,” replies the Chief. “Isn’t that right, Keenan?”

“I don’t see how she’d be safer with me,” he says, his expression carefully neutral. “But if that is your decision then I suppose you are correct in saying that I have no choice.”

“So, is he then going to be my master or something?” I interject.

“No,” says the Chief, shaking his head. “But you will be living underneath his roof, so you’ll have to abide by his rules.”

I grin. “
Naturally
.”

The detective’s gaze flickers to my smile and those green eyes immediately regard me with suspicion. Does he still feel my lips?

Once the Chief dismisses us, we leave the police station and climb into his motor vehicle. I find myself curious to see what his place looks like. There are many answers I can glean from the contents that litter the rooms and I’m excited at the prospect of gaining more insight into this man—even if it puts my own secrets at risk of his discovery.

“Does the idea of me staying at your house really bother you that much?” I’m slightly offended by his initial reaction.

He turns the full intensity of his gaze on me. “I’ve been alone for a very long time, Moira, and I like my privacy. Your presence in my house threatens that.”

“It’s not like I’m going to go snooping around while you’re sleeping,” I say teasingly, but in reality I had considered the idea. The landscape of his house is as intriguing as his mind and his body.

His eyes narrow as if he suspects my intent. “I will hold you to your word. My bedroom and office are strictly off limits.” His lips curve slightly in amusement as he adds, “Unless, of course, I have invited you into one or the other.”

“Which won’t be long,” I supply sweetly, remembering the kiss we had shared. I catch a glimpse of his dimple once more, which pleases me way too much. “For
both
rooms.” The idea has my body vibrating with nervous anticipation.

“You’re rather arrogant,” he states, but his tone is affectionate.

“Likewise, detective. Is there anything else you’d like to say to me?”

He glances sideways at me and then raises a brow. “Yes, in fact there is. You’re infuriating, cynical, outspoken, and sometimes even vulgar.”

“You forgot selfish,” I add, and his amusement vanishes. “What? Do you disagree?”

“No, but you haven’t been given the chance to be selfless because you’ve never experienced love. You’ve had no other option but to think about yourself so that you could survive.”

I laugh scathingly, which only makes his frown deepen. “That’s very insightful of you, detective.”

“You’re also unlike any woman I’ve ever met.” My heart thunders in my chest at the sound of his voice and with the way those green eyes are regarding me.

“Do you mean insane?” I ask cheerily.

“No, Moira. I mean unique.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I can’t help but ask, hoping that his answer is the former.

“I suppose it depends on who you’re asking.”

I sigh in annoyance, but really I want to kiss him. “I’m asking
you
, detective.”

Those green eyes examine me intently, flickering between my hazel eye and my blue one until they finally rest on my lips. No, I hadn’t imagined his desire, or the pain I had seen in his eyes before he stormed out of the hotel room earlier. He still wants me despite everything that has happened, and even after everything that he’s learned about me so far. I’m slightly incredulous because this is not something I’ve ever encountered before, nor do I understand it. It’s rare that I meet someone like the detective, who desires me while equally valuing my worth as a human being. I believe that is what most people search for, yet I can’t help but panic at the possibility.

Someone like me can only hope to survive. Anything else is dangerous and threatens my existence.

“It’s a good thing, Moira.”

T
here were
several things that grated on Richard Anderson’s nerves, but none more so than disobedience. He thrived on asserting his dominance over others in all aspects of his life, from the office to the bedroom. From the moment he married his wife, he had made sure that she knew her place just as much as his servants knew the rules of the house. Even his blocker Daniel had been carefully restrained and conditioned at the end of a whip—that is, until the bastard had been imprisoned. He had a hard time believing it was his own blocker who had been involved in the recent murder of Constable Evans. Even several days after the empath’s imprisonment, Richard was still searching for a replacement. Finding one who was submissive and trustworthy was a challenge, and the whole ordeal was overall a taxing endeavour—all because of that whore.

He angrily pulled on his cigar with his lips as an image of Moira Del Mar flashed in his mind. She was an exotic beauty with her olive skin and unusual eyes, even if her short hair was unattractive, but it wasn’t her physical attributes that had sparked his interest. Instead, it was that fiery demon that possessed her soul that made his lips itch to have a taste of her. The
need
to possess her filled him with an impulsive rage, because deep down he knew she was worth any trouble he may encounter in his efforts to attain her. She wouldn’t break on the first night but, instead, would continue to fight. Just thinking about her roused his fury and desire.

A knock sounded on his office door, interrupting his thoughts, and he barked for them to enter. The door opened and in walked the disappointment he begrudgingly called his son. The young brute was probably here to beg for more money. In fact, he could smell the liquor emanating from his son’s wrinkled suit.

“I see you’ve come back to try to squeeze more money from me,” he said venomously, the cigar no longer a comfort. “If I would have known you’d be such a failure, I would have left you out on the streets the moment you were born.”

“Believe me when I say that I don’t enjoy being your son any more than you enjoy being my father,” said the ungrateful bastard.

“Then why are you here, Andrew?”

The man laughed and then gave Richard a disgusted look. “Really, father, is this some sort of joke?”

“What are–”

“Sir, my apologies for intruding,” interrupted his butler, appearing at the doorway. “But there’s a letter for–”

“I’ll read it later,” he said dismissively.

“It’s for Andrew, sir.”

With growing impatience, he watched his son reach for the letter. He didn’t have
time
to sit passively as the boy read some correspondence any more than he wished to waste his evening arguing with him. Andrew’s brows smoothed over as he read, but a peculiar expression replaced his previous arrogance. The letter slipped from his fingers, slowly fluttering to the floor, and Richard watched the young man carefully. Then, Andrew began to approach him.

“Another debt to be paid?” he asked his son, snuffing out his cigar. “Perhaps, if you–”

He broke off as Andrew walked around the desk, and, before he could react, his son lunged at him and grabbed his neck. The whites of Andrew’s eyes were shot with red veins—a result of his drunken state—but Richard couldn’t recall a time when his son had physically lashed out at him. The unusual behaviour caught him completely off guard and he simply stared up at his son passively, the air quickly escaping his lungs. After everything, Richard couldn’t believe that he was finally going to die, and at the hands of his own son. If anything, he had thought that the Phoenix would be his end. The idea jolted him, and he wrapped his fingers around his son’s neck. Andrew reached for something on the desk, knocking over the ashtray, and Richard briefly saw the flash of silver before an agonizing pain exploded in his neck.

Andrew withdrew slightly, his face an unrecognizable mask of aloofness, and whispered in a breathy voice, “The Phoenix will rise and conquer us all.”