Tempted by Fate (8 page)

The kiss started out as candy sweet and empty, just enough lip to distract him. But he just stood there and let her kiss him, no reaction on his part. That annoyed her, so she gave a little more.

It backfired.

Yes, Ramirez responded, but his reaction drew a startling one from her. Suddenly she was pressed against the door, his body flush against hers. He was perfect—in her heels, they were the same height. His hands gripped her sides, firm and masterful.

It made her uncomfortable. It made her hot. It made her want him.

No—
she
didn’t want him. She had to keep that clear in her head. Her body wanted him, but her body wasn’t in charge here.

As if to prove her wrong, her leg slipped between his. The ridge of his growing erection pressed into her thigh. She resisted—barely—the urge to let her hand trail over it. But she couldn’t resist rubbing it with her leg.

He growled into her mouth, and his hands tightened on her.

And then he let go and stepped back.

Not far enough. She could still feel his energy surging at her. It made her woozy, like she was going to sway back into his arms. Only she wasn’t the type of woman to sway. So she slipped back into the role of femme fatale.

Leaning against the door, she crossed her arms and smirked at him. She glanced right—the bartender had moved past them. Time to get out. “Not bad. But not good enough for a next time.”

She reached for the door, but he caught her arm. “It didn’t escape my notice that you never gave me your name.”

Of course it hadn’t—he was entirely too observant. She frowned, dropping the sexpot act and going for bitchy hauteur. “Am I being detained?”

“Not yet, but if you don’t cooperate, I’ll take you in on obstruction of justice.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I believe I’ve been cooperative.”

“Is that what you’d call this?”

She tugged her arm, testing his grip. “I didn’t hear you complaining.”

His face went stony. “Your name.”

“Sophie Mitchell,” she lied smoothly, using one of her aliases. She peeled his hand off her and stepped around him. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

He blocked her exit, pulling out a small black notepad
and pen from his inner coat pocket. “I’ll need your contact information, too.”

She gave him a chilly smile. “I’m in the book.”

His attention wavered for a moment as he flipped open his notebook. Willow took the opportunity to dart out the door, pulling her energy inward to become invisible.

She heard his vehement oath as he followed her outside. He stopped and searched for her. She forced herself to breathe and keep moving, even though his gaze seemed to track her.

But that was impossible. He couldn’t sense her if she didn’t allow it. If he were another Guardian, maybe. Only he wasn’t. Her mother told her she would have sensed another Guardian. Not that she expected to ever run into one. Four others in the whole world? Unlikely.

He raked his hair, clearly frustrated.

Despite herself, she remembered his hand grazing her. It’d been strong and capable. Forceful but gentle. Exciting. She remembered how hard he’d been, just from one kiss, and shivered.

“Walk away before you do something stupid,” she mumbled to herself. She turned and strode into the night, back to her threadbare motel room.

W
here the hell was she? She’d been right there a moment ago.

Ramirez focused on the space ahead of him. He could almost see the outline of her, a ghostlike silhouette walking away. It must have been his grandmother’s woo-woo talk getting to him. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and went south, down the alley. There was more transportation in that direction, and parking was available if she’d driven. Not to mention the club’s entrance, which he didn’t put past her to go back into.

Any doubts he had about her involvement in the crime were wiped away after her little scene inside. He knew she was hiding something.

He focused on locating her, but her words kept playing in his mind. “
I’d rather have you.
” Completely insincere, but damn it if it didn’t grab him low and hard, nevertheless.

Hard was right, and everything about her had contributed to that state. Her lips, her hands, her body—all
alarmingly right. But because he hadn’t had sex in a while, or because they’d just felt right? He wanted to rationalize it with his celibacy, but he couldn’t lie to himself.

Only she didn’t read true. Not the way she was dressed, or the way she acted. Even her name sounded false. Sophie Mitchell? Yeah, right.

Not seeing her, Ramirez looked left, toward the long line waiting to get into the regular club. Nothing. Looking over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of her bright head turning a corner.

“Shit,” he said as he took off after her. He didn’t care what she claimed, his gut said she was involved in the murders, one way or another. And his gut feelings were never wrong. He’d had these same feelings with Gabrielle Sansouci Chin. He still believed she was complicit in a couple of murders, but he’d never been able to prove it. He wasn’t letting this one get away.

He saw her walking down the street with complete confidence, her stride long-legged and sure, even in the idiotic heels she wore. A woman as tall as she was, with legs so long, didn’t need to wear heels like that. She would have been perfect barefoot.

He frowned. Thinking about any part of her being bare wasn’t a good idea. He needed to keep this professional. Personal feelings had no place in a case.

He ran after her, concentrating on keeping his footsteps stealthy. He knew the moment she sensed him—her back stiffened and she looked over her shoulder at him.

Suddenly the outline of her body wavered, as if his vision was going blurry. What the hell? He blinked, confused, but it still didn’t clear.

Acting on instinct, he lunged and grabbed her arms. The moment their skin touched, the wavering stopped. He whirled her around and pressed her against the building next to them. “I don’t think we’ve finished our talk, Ms.
Mitchell.
”

She glared at him, and he had the impression it was the first real emotion she’d shown all night.

“You know I could call you on police brutality,” she said angrily. “You can’t detain me unless you’re willing to take me into the station.”

He arched an eyebrow. “How do you know police procedure so well?”

“Reruns of
NYPD Blue,
” she said with the haughtiness of a queen.

A lithe Elvin queen. He looked into her mysterious light gray eyes, noticing her sharp cheekbones and determined chin, and pictured her with that pale blond hair streaming around her as she lay naked on a forest floor, the surrounding trees raining leaves on her body.

Ridiculous. He steeled himself against the fantasy and glared back at her. “We both know you aren’t who you say you are.”

“Who do you think I am, then?”

The White Witch.
He forced the thought from his mind.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” he replied, conscious of the proximity of her. A strand of her hair had come loose and teased his neck.

She smirked. “You do that.”

He had this insane urge to smell her skin and hold her close to keep her safe. He leaned in, conscious of the fact that he was crossing the professional line but unable to help himself.

Hell—he’d crossed the line already, with that kiss, and that infuriated him even more. He had always prided himself on his professionalism and the ability to keep his cool. Losing it was unacceptable and difficult. His body wanted her badly. He didn’t have an active imagination, but apparently he didn’t need one to picture her legs hitched around his hips.

He reined himself back. The investigation was his top priority. Maybe if he told himself that, another several dozen times, his dick would believe it, too. “I find it hard to believe you have no ties to either of the two homicide victims.”

She leaned back against the building, casually and at ease, humor flirting with her lips. “And why is that, Starsky?”

At least she hadn’t called him Ponch. That always pissed him off. “What other reason would you have to be at Bohemia if you had nothing to do with either victim?” he asked.

“Maybe I like to get my groove on.”

He knew that wasn’t the reason, but he could picture the scene all too well—her body undulating, loose, limber, and graceful. Only not to the music, but to a lover’s hands, and he felt himself harden again.

Focus,
he ordered himself, putting a wall around his unruly reaction to her. “Or maybe you know Joel Rocco.”

She shrugged, that mocking hint of a smile fixed in place.

He wanted to kiss it off her face.
No,
he didn’t, damn it. Scowling, hoping to intimidate her, he asked, “Was Rocco your lover?”

Amusement lit her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Starsky.”

Hell, if that wasn’t what he was. His jaw tightened. “Answer the question.”

“Or what? You’ll cuff me?” She pushed off the wall and stepped into him. “Maybe I’d like that.”

She didn’t touch him, but his body lit on fire like she’d reached into his pants and taken hold, as if she’d wrapped him in a sexual web.

He exhaled, trying to focus, trying to regain his professional demeanor, but all he could see was her cuffed to his bed, open and inviting and wet for him. He cleared his throat. “Maybe I should take you to the station.”

“Or you could just take me here,” she retorted, her breath soft on his neck.

He wanted to—desperately. He glanced at her lips, curled in mockery of his obvious dilemma, and it pushed him over the edge. Before he could talk himself out of it, he hauled her flush to his body and took what she was offering.

The moment his mouth touched hers, all thoughts of the investigation left his mind. He slipped his hands under her nonexistent top. He’d never felt skin so soft. If her back was this silky, what would the inside of her thighs feel like? Something shifted. She breathed a low moan into his mouth and melted into him.

Something elemental howled in triumph inside him at her surrender. He drew her in closer—as close as they could get fully clothed. He inhaled her faint evergreen scent, clean and pure, and knew
this
was who she really was.

Her hands ran up his shoulders. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she drew herself up into him, and he groaned as her hip brushed his erection.

Just as quickly as she gave in to him, she pulled back, her eyes wide with passion and surprise. Good. He hated to think he was the only one affected. He raked his hair back, his scalp tingling from where her nails had scraped, and tried to regain his composure.

She stepped back, her hand touching her mouth as she stared at his. And then she ran. Again.

T
he kiss was the most powerful thing she’d ever felt—in some ways more profound than
mù ch’i.
Not knowing what to do, Willow listened to her intuition and got out of there as quickly as she could. She tried to come up with different reasons for her flight, but she knew there was only one excuse: she was too blown away by his kiss to attempt to draw on
mù ch’i.