Cold Midnight (35 page)

Hearing movement behind him, he glanced over his shoulder to see Kylie in navy sweat shorts and a pink and purple tie-dyed T-shirt. She ambled into the kitchen, her eyes squinted against the bright light. The tan lines on her right leg framed her braceless knee, and he couldn’t help but feel a moment of satisfaction that she no longer hid her scars from him. They’d come a long way.

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

She gave him a drowsy smile. “Hey.”

Walking up to him, she slipped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest. He held her, stroking a hand over her back, awed at the ease with which she snuggled against him.

“Sleep okay?” he asked, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Mmm. You?”

“Yep.” The truth was, he hadn’t slept much since they’d arrived here three days ago, too wired to completely let down his guard. Now that the weekend was all but over without even a false alarm, though, he figured he’d managed to thwart whoever was after her. For now.

“I can tell, you know,” she said.

He angled his head so he could meet her gaze. “Tell what?” “That you haven’t slept.”

“I’ve caught a few hours here and there.”

She brushed at the hair on his forehead. “You should crash and let me watch over you for a while.”

He liked the sound of that but resisted the temptation. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m at a hundred percent. All the sleep has been amazing.”

He brushed the knuckles of his right hand over her cheek, watched her eyes darken with awareness of him. He’d deliberately kept his distance since they’d holed up here, wanting her to rest. But now . . .

Lowering his head, he kissed her. Lazy and slow, until she closed her eyes and relaxed fully against him.

“You’re so good at that,” she murmured. “Everything falls away.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “I’d be happy to do that any time you want.”

“Then your lips are going to get chapped.”

“I’ll invest in some Blistex.”

While she was laughing, he took her mouth in another, more intimate kiss, just to take the edge off his hunger. But apparently she was as hungry as he was, because she slid her arms around his waist and deepened the embrace, her tongue tangling with his in a way that had him wanting to back her against the wall and dive in.

He had to force himself to back off, fingers threaded through her hair as he leaned his forehead against hers. “Slow down there, Ace.”

“What’s the deal?” she breathed as she trailed kisses over his throat. “Don’t you want me anymore?”

He chuckled. “Are you kidding me? I want you constantly.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I also want you rested and healthy. It’s only been a couple of days since you hit your head.”

“My head is fine. The rest of me is very, very restless, though.” Her hands roamed down over his butt, and she delivered an affectionate squeeze. “Tell you what. Is there a tennis court nearby? If I can kick your butt, we get to do what I want to do.”

“And you think what you want to do and what I want to do are different?”

“We’re not doing it, are we? You’re being all squeamish about my owie.”

“You
did
bleed all over me,” he pointed out.

“So now I’ll
walk
all over you on the court, and we’ll be even.”

“I don’t know if that tracks, but if you think you can take me, you’re on.”

“Take you, huh? Interesting choice of words.”

He grinned. “Is it?”

 

 

KYLIE LAUGHED WITH DELIGHT WHEN THEY FOUND
a pair of old tennis rackets and two cans of used balls in the detached garage. Chase bitched about the rickety rackets, but she took a few practice swings and declared them fit for play.

“But what about the balls?” he asked. “I bet they’re flat.”

She arched a brow at him. “Don’t tell me you can’t deal with flat balls.”

He cocked his head. “Is that supposed to be a joke of some kind at my expense?”

She shrugged. “Take it however you want.”

“Are you starting the smack talk already? We haven’t even gotten to the court.”

“Just warming up.”

The walk to a community court that Chase had spotted the first day they’d arrived was lazy and quiet, and Kylie breathed in the fresh air and loved how the birds sang and insects hummed and waves ebbed and flowed on the beach parallel to the sidewalkless road.

“I love Florida,” she said. “It’s so much more exotic than California.”

“But they both have palm trees. And warm winters and tons of sunshine and miles of beautiful beaches. They can’t be that different.”

“California is definitely missing something.”

“Humidity?” he asked. “I could live with less of that.”

She linked her arm with his and leaned her head against his bicep. “It didn’t have you.”

He glanced askance at her, surprised and pleased, then saw the shrewd flash in her eyes and barked out a laugh. “You’re totally gaming me.”

“What?” She gave him an innocent look. “I wasn’t lying.”

“From now until we finish this game, I’m not buying anything you say, you sneaky, manipulative—”

“Watch it.”

He grinned. “Conniving.”

“Be careful.”

“Calculating.”

“Oh, look, we’re here.”

Chuckling, Chase followed her through the gate onto the green, clay court. Forest-green wind screens attached to the surrounding chain-link fence ensured some privacy.

At the net, they divvied up the balls, stuffing them into the pockets of their tennis shorts, before taking their respective sides of the net.

As Kylie bounced a ball, preparing to volley for serve, she called, “So do I need to take it easy on you?”

“Why would you do that?” he asked, springing from one foot to the other to loosen up.

“Well, you’re a cop, and cops have a thing about doughnuts.”

He stopped bouncing and slapped his palm against his flat abdomen. “Does this look like a Krispy Kreme gut to you?”

She laughed and shook her head.
Hell
, no, she thought, realizing as she pictured his naked washboard stomach that she’d distracted herself with her own trash talk. Get your head in the game, Ace. Eye on the . . . very hot, handsome, sexy guy across the net.

“Any day now,” Chase called, bouncing again.

God, he looked good in those tennis shorts, his legs tan and sculpted and . . . just plain yummy. A distracting ache of lust throbbed to life inside her, and she shook her head to shake it out. That’s not focusing. But, hell, he’d refused to touch her beyond chaste kisses and brief caresses for three days, insisting that she needed time to heal and rest and blah, blah, blah. She wanted him so much she could scream.

And, she vowed, she’d have him as soon as she put him away.

She volleyed the ball and fell into position, surprised when he whacked the ball back hard and fast. Holy crap. He wasn’t a bit stale.

They smacked the ball back and forth several times, forcing each other to run and reach and strain. By the time Kylie lobbed one over his head, she was breathing hard and totally unprepared when he managed to catch it on the bounce and tap it right into the service court where she couldn’t possibly get to it in time.

He grinned and celebrated. “My serve!”

They played hard for an hour, sweating and running and grunting, while dark clouds rolled in. As they went into the third set, tied, thunder began to growl in the distance.

“Maybe we should call it a game,” Chase called, looking as winded as she was.

“No way.” She swallowed and shook her head, trying to catch her breath. “We play to the end.”

“You’re not supposed to play this hard on that knee,” he said.

“My knee is fine.” She jogged around in a small circle to show him. “Do you see me limping?”

He rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t let me see you limp if your feet were on fire.”

“Do you want to quit?” she taunted. “You want to throw in the towel but blame me for it?”

“Nope. I’m good for another two hours or more.”

Another two hours or
more
? She needed to put this guy away before they were both too wrung out to take the physical activity to the bedroom. “Listen, I break your serve, and we’re done.”

“You think you can break my serve?” he asked incredulously.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Right. Bring it.” He tossed a ball into the air and fired it at her like a tiny yellow missile.

She returned gently, right to him, as a coach would with a new student. His eyebrows shot up, and when he glanced at her in surprise, she whipped up her shirt with its built-in bra and flashed him with a hoochie-coochie shimmy.

He froze in midstep, eyes flying wide, and let the ball bounce past him unchallenged.

Suppressing a triumphant grin, she repositioned her shirt and tidied her ponytail, cool as you please. “Love-fifteen,” she called.

Chase burst out laughing. “That was dirty.”

“All is fair in love and tennis,” she said, as prim and Janelike as she could manage.

He stood there and considered her for a long moment, his eyes narrowed.

“What?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. She knew exactly what he was thinking. She was thinking the same thing but wanted him to make the first move. That way, she won.

Finally, he shrugged, hopped over the net and grabbed her hand. “I give. Let’s go.”

 

 

THEY RAN BACK TO THE HOUSE WITH THEIR HANDS
linked, laughing as rain began to pelt them.

In the kitchen, they dropped their rackets by the door, and he backed her against the counter, devouring her mouth with his, reveling in the scent of rain and sweat and Kylie. Jesus, she tasted good, like want and heat and everything he’d ever craved from life.

He stood straighter when she smoothed the palm of her hand over the front of his tennis shorts, molding her fingers around his stiffening cock. With a groan, he lifted her against him.

She linked her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, and he had to coach himself to go slow as he carried her down the hall toward the bedroom. But her sweet scent, her fingers in his hair, her warm, wet mouth on his . . . everything about her was driving him nuts. He had to have her, had to be inside her soon or they were both going to be disappointed.

He braced a knee on the bed and eased her down, never breaking the seal of their lips as he came down on top of her. She cradled him between her legs, moaning in the back of her throat as the ridge of his erection hit her just right. Arching her head back into the pillow, she rasped, “God, you feel good even with your clothes on.”

He chuckled, skimming kisses up the length of her throat to the damp underside of her chin while he worked a hand under her shirt. Her gasp puffed into his mouth when his fingers found and rolled an already taut nipple.

“You’re going too slow,” she murmured against his lips.

He laughed again, and then his eyes crossed as her hands slipped between them and inside his shorts. She angled her fingers, breathing out a ragged breath when they closed around his hot, aching flesh. “Uh . . .” He trailed off, squeezing his eyes closed and dropping his forehead against hers, every thought erased by the stroke and tug of her fingers. “Uh, I’m not . . . that’s too . . .”

She silenced him with a kiss, her tongue sweeping over his lips and inside his mouth. And then she was using her free hand to push his shoulder back while she sat up, still kissing him, still stroking him, shifting their positions so that he was on his back. She sat astride him and removed her hand so she could slide his shorts down and off, her eyes widening as they caressed the part of him that was so hard and ready for action it lay across his lower belly.

“Wow,” she breathed. “You are . . . that is . . . amazing.”

He would have laughed, but then her hand was on him again, her fingers light and caressing as they skimmed down to his balls. She cupped him there and leaned forward to press tender kisses to his shaft, her tongue running along his length to the tip, and then, oh God, then she slid her lips over him and clamped down with her mouth, her hand suddenly tight on the rest of him.

The wet heat, the swirl of her tongue, whirled his head, and his belly began to burn with the need to thrust and pump and soar. He had to concentrate to keep still, to keep from driving himself into her mouth. But, oh Christ, it was good, it was incredible, and he couldn’t stop the guttural groan that ripped from his throat when she began to pump her hand and her mouth on him, working him, taking him into her throat and moaning.

The pressure built, his body preparing to launch, and he put his hands on her shoulders to stop her. “Wait,” he gasped. “Wait.”

She slowed but didn’t let go, as though she had hold of something she really liked and wasn’t interested in sharing. God, he loved her.

Okay . . . hold . . . on, hold on. He didn’t want to come alone. He wanted to be together.

He tangled his hand in her ponytail and gave a gentle tug. “Come here.”

She released him and, with a devilish smile, crawled up his body to kiss him. It was his turn to angle his hand into her shorts, and he found her wet and hot. She moaned as he sank his middle finger into her and rubbed, her breath already beginning to hitch.

“I love loving you, Ky,” he whispered against her lips. “I can’t get enough of you.”

“Show me,” she breathed, arching against his hand. “Please show me.”

He rolled her under him, skimmed his lips over her cheek, down to her throat, where he slid his tongue over the pulse that pounded under her skin. He loved the taste of her, the way she tensed and sighed when he peeled away her clothes. He loved the way she focused so intently on every stroke of his fingers, every caress of his palms. He loved that when he looked into her face, her eyes were open and watching him, loving him with no hint of wariness.