Sizzle and Burn (11 page)

She pressed herself closer, kissing Zack with all the pent-up energy of a woman who has never before been able to abandon herself completely to her own sensual nature. She was vaguely aware of his hands on the sash of her robe. The garment vanished.

With a husky groan, Zack rolled onto his side, taking her with him. He reached up with one hand and dragged the spare blanket off the chest at the foot of the bed. He spread it out on the carpet with a quick snapping motion, as though he were throwing out a fishing net.

The next thing she knew she was on her back on the blanket, looking up at Zack. He levered himself into a sitting position. She watched, utterly enthralled, as he pulled the black T-shirt over his head and tossed it aside.

Firelight gleamed on his sleek shoulders. Filled with a profound sense of wonder and discovery, she reached out and touched the sinewy curve of his upper arm. He caught her hand in his and dropped a warm, damp kiss into her palm, making her fingers curl in reaction. Something curled deep inside her, too, something that ratcheted up the delicious tension several more degrees.

She circled his wrist with her fingers and tugged him down on top of her, needing to feel the weight and strength of him.

His low, soft laugh was intoxicating, empowering.

“I do like a woman who knows what she wants,” he said against her throat.

He slid one leg between her thighs and kissed her deeply. All her senses were ignited now, normal and paranormal. Impulsively she clung to him, savoring the erotic feel of his muscled back beneath her hands. Deliberately she dug her nails into his warm skin.

“Sweet hell.” He bit her ear very gently. “Got any idea what that’s doing to me?”

In a heartbeat she discovered a new, sexy, sultry side to her nature, a side she had never even dreamed existed.

“Tell me,” she whispered. “Tell me exactly what it does to you.”

“Makes me hot.” His voice had thickened noticeably in the past few minutes.

“Hot is good.” She drew her thumb down his strong spine. “What else?”

“Hard.” He nipped lightly at one nipple and let her feel his fierce erection pressing against the inside of her thigh. “Very, very hard.”

“Hard works, too.” She lifted her hips against his. “Go on.”

He raised his head and framed her face between his bent arms.

“You know, I’m not feeling real verbal at the moment,” he said. “I’m more into show than tell.”

She smiled slowly and gripped his shoulders. “Then, by all means, show me.”

“With pleasure.”

He reached down. She heard the scrape of belt leather and then the rasp of his zipper. He sat up again, just long enough to get rid of his pants and briefs. He took another few seconds to remove a small packet from the pocket of his pants, extract the condom inside and sheath himself in it.

He settled down beside her, pulling her close. When he moved his hand between her legs she lost her own ability to communicate verbally. Within minutes she was clutching at him, trying to wrap herself around him, trying to get him inside her before the exciting tension dissipated.

“Hurry.” She sounded desperate, even to her own ears. “Please. Hurry.”

“Not so fast.” He leaned over her, kissing her throat again, his hand still doing magical, tormenting things between her legs. “We’ve got all night.”

This was a fine time for him to be regaining his verbal skills. She seized him by the shoulders and tried to shake him to get his full attention. It was like trying to shake a massive boulder.

“You don’t understand,” she got out through clenched teeth. “I think I’m going to come.”

“Oh, yeah.” His eyes gleamed in the firelight. “I know you are.”

“You don’t get it,” she gasped. “I’ve never been able to do that with anyone before. Don’t mess this up, Jones, or I’ll never forgive you.”

“You’re in charge, babe.” He moved on top of her. “This time.”

The implied threat only heightened her anticipation.

“So close,” she gasped. “So
close
.”

At last he was easing himself into her, stretching her, and somehow still using his hand.

“All you have to do is hang on tight,” he whispered. “Real, real tight.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and tightened herself around his rigid length.

“That’s it,” he said. “Squeeze me like you’re never going to let me go.”

He began to move slowly in and out of her. She was vibrantly aware of the psychic energy flaring between them. It was like being caught up in the eerie, shifting aura of the northern lights. They were creating their very own aurora borealis right here in room number six of the Shelbyville B and B.

And then she was
there
, catching one of the glorious, pulsating waves of night light, riding it across a starry sky. She couldn’t breathe but it didn’t matter. She wanted to laugh, wanted to cry, wanted to sing. But all she could do was allow herself to be flung away into the darkness.

She was vaguely aware that she was pulling Zack with her. The muscles of his back were marble hard beneath her hands.

She heard his long, drawn-out growl of triumphant release. For a timeless moment he pulsed deep inside her.

When it was over he collapsed along the length of her, crushing her into the blanket.

He dragged himself reluctantly out of the luxurious state of relaxation that had overtaken him following the climax to end all climaxes and opened his eyes. Raine was lying on her side, facing him, one arm tucked under her head. In the fire-lit shadows her eyes were deeper and more mysterious than ever. She was watching him as if he were some new, intriguing creature, one she had never before encountered. He figured he was probably watching her with a similar expression.

“Damn,” he said, stretching his arms high overhead, “if I hadn’t believed in the existence of the paranormal before tonight, I’d sure as hell be a believer after that experience.”

She blinked, startled, and then she laughed, a light, sparkling laugh that made him want to hug her close. He did just that.

She was still smiling a short time later when he picked her up and carried her to the bed.

Thirteen

S
he came awake to the insistent ringing of the room phone. Without opening her eyes she reached out and groped for the receiver.

Her hand collided with a solid masculine shoulder.

She did open her eyes then. Fast. She also sat bolt upright in bed, startled panic snapping through her.

“What?” she managed. The single word came out as a squeak.

“Take it easy.” Zack levered himself up on one elbow and regarded her with sleepy-eyed amusement. “It’s me. You do remember me, don’t you? The guy who was rolling around on the floor with you last night?”

Reality and memories crashed through her. Mortified, she knew she was flushing a deep red.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, snatching up her glasses. “I was a little disoriented.”

Damned if she would tell him that she wasn’t accustomed to waking up to a man in her bed. It was bad enough that she had let him know she’d never had an orgasm with one until last night.

“Don’t worry,” he said, yawning. “You’ll get used to it. You want to answer that phone?”

She had her glasses on now. It dawned on her that the phone was still warbling.

“Right,” she said briskly. “The phone.”

The instrument was on the table on his side of the bed. To get to it she would have to reach across him. She went blank again at the prospect.

Amused, he picked up the receiver and handed it to her.

“Yes?” She held the phone as though she had never before had one in her hand.

“Miss Tallentyre? This is Burton at the front desk. Sorry if I woke you but I wanted to let you know there’s a police detective on his way up to see you. I tried to make him wait until I called you but the sonofa—I mean the guy flashed a badge at me and headed for the stairs. Cops always act like they own the world, y’know?”

Burton sounded even more nervous than usual.

She forced herself to concentrate. “Is it Chief Langdon?”

“No. Guy said his name is Mitchell. Detective from Oriana. Says he knows you.”

“Bradley?” She stared at the wall on the far side of the room, trying to wrap her mind around the name. “Here?”

“I just told you, his name is Mitchell, not Bradley.”

“Right. Thank you.”

She handed the phone back to Zack. He took it, one brow raised, and gently replaced the receiver.

“Company?” he asked neutrally.

“Yes. Bradley Mitchell.”

“The Oriana detective you’ve been working with?”

“Uh-huh.” She pushed the bedding aside and swung her feet to the floor. “For some reason, I seem to be very popular all of a sudden.”

“You’ll be even more popular if you answer the door dressed like that,” Zack observed drily.

She glanced down and discovered that she was stark naked. “Oh, damn.”

She grabbed her robe and hastily pulled it on. Zack uncoiled from the bed with an easy, masculine grace. He was wearing his briefs. Crossing the room, he picked up his black T-shirt and trousers.

She scurried into the bathroom and checked herself in the mirror. The disheveled creature gazing back at her looked as if she had just climbed out of bed after a night of extremely hot sex. She ran a brush through her hair but that didn’t do much to alter the impression.

A knock sounded on the door.

“I’ll get it,” Zack said a little too casually. “Take your time.”

She rushed to the bathroom doorway but he was already on his way to the door, anticipation flowing off him in palpable waves. She noticed he had put on his leather jacket. When she glanced at the bedside table she saw that the gun and holster were gone. The testosterone level in the room was suddenly off the charts.

She went into full deer-in-the-headlights mode. Was letting Zack answer the door a good idea or a really bad one?

Then her head miraculously cleared and she suddenly felt extremely cheerful.

Letting Zack answer the door was an excellent notion.

She turned and went back into the bathroom.

“Thank you,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll just be a minute.”

She closed the door, whirled around and pressed her ear to the panel.

The door opened in the outer room.

“Sorry,” Bradley said, startled. “Wrong room. Could have sworn the guy at the front desk said number six.”

“Looking for someone?” Zack asked a little too helpfully.

“A woman. Must be the door across the hall.”

“There’s a woman in this room,” Zack assured him. “Raine’s in the bathroom at the moment, about to take a shower. We just got up.”

“Raine Tallentyre?” Bradley was uncharacteristically flustered. “She’s here?”

“Right,” Zack said. “I’ll tell you what, why don’t you go back downstairs? I’ll let Raine know you’re here. If she wants to talk to you, she’ll meet you in the lobby after she gets out of the shower.”

“Listen, I don’t know who the hell you are, but I can tell something’s wrong here. I’m Bradley Mitchell with the—”

“Oriana PD. I know. Nice badge, by the way.”

“I want to speak to Raine,” Bradley said. “Now.”

Raine winced. Bradley was using his hard cop voice. That was not good.

“Is this police business or personal?” Zack asked, politely curious.

“This is official business.”

“In that case, maybe she should talk to her lawyer first.”

“That’s enough, I’m coming in.”

“I don’t think so.” Zack’s voice was suddenly ice cold.

“I don’t know who the hell you are,” Bradley growled, “but as far as I’m concerned, I’ve got probable cause to think you may have harmed Raine Tallentyre. Get out of my way.”

So much for her little moment of feminine revenge. The adrenaline and testosterone in the other room had reached toxic levels. It was time to intervene.

With a tiny sigh of regret because she had just begun to enjoy herself, she opened the bathroom door and put her head around it.

“Bradley,” she said brightly. “I thought I heard your voice. What are you doing here in Shelbyville?”

Bradley looked past Zack, staring at her. Confusion and anger tightened his photogenic features. He looked like a homicide cop off a television series: hard-eyed and square-jawed. His dark hair was just long enough to touch the back of his collar. This morning he was dressed in jeans, an open-throated shirt and a slouchy sports jacket.

“What the hell is going on, Raine?” he asked. He seemed mesmerized by the sight of her in her robe. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him. She folded her arms and lounged in the doorway, going for total nonchalance. “What are you doing here?”

“I got a call from the local chief.” Bradley frowned. “Guy named Langdon. He told me that you and some real estate agent found one of the Bonfire Killer’s victims in your aunt’s basement. That right?”

“Yes. I gave the chief your number as a reference. I thought that would be the easiest way of staying off the list of suspects. Do you mind if we talk about this later? I’m headed into the shower.”

Bradley flicked a suspicious glance at Zack. “Who’s he?”

“A friend,” she said. She couldn’t resist giving him her special smile.

“Good friend,” Zack corrected helpfully. “The name’s Jones. Zack Jones. By the way, does it piss you off when she smiles at you like that? It sure pisses me off when she does it to me.”

Bradley rounded on him, looking ready to explode.

“Please go downstairs, Bradley,” Raine said quickly. “I’ll be down in twenty minutes.”

Bradley’s face tightened further but it was obvious he was out of practical options.

“Twenty minutes,” he said.

“Or thereabouts,” she said sweetly.

Without another word, he turned and stalked off toward the staircase. Zack closed the door very gently behind him and looked at her.

“I’m guessing the two of you did more than just find a few bodies and track down some killers together,” he said without inflection.

“Not a great deal more,” she said, choosing her words with exacting care. “My fault.”

“What went wrong?”