Under the Surface (10 page)

“Easy…” he muttered, holding his hands out to the sides until she settled herself.

Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she watched his pupils dilate, the iris almost disappearing. She opened her thighs wide and settled against him.

They were both breathing heavily when he growled, “This is a really bad idea.”

“It's this, go upstairs, or we're done,” she said. “You choose. Now.”

Unease flashed in his eyes so quickly she thought she imagined it, but with a low curse he reached past her to switch off the engine and the headlights, plunging them into total darkness, a state that made the drift of his hands over her body that much more potent. His surrender was as abrupt and wholehearted as his resistance, nothing tentative in his kiss, or his touch. When his right hand slid up under the soft fabric of her T-shirt to cup her breast, she tore her mouth from his with a gasp that eased slowly from her mouth when his thumb rubbed slowly back and forth over the nipple.

His left hand still cupped her nape as he took her earlobe gently in his teeth and tugged. He pinched her nipple, rolling it between his fingers while she gasped into the hard muscle between his neck and his shoulder.

He pushed her shirt up to her collarbones. She caught the fabric between her arms and her torso when she reached for his belt to pull herself closer to that bulge she knew meant sweet release. The movement brought her swollen breasts closer to his mouth and he took advantage, flicking his tongue over each nipple in turn. In some dimly functioning corner of her mind Eve realized they were making out like high school kids, his hands everywhere, clothes disarranged, unwilling to stop despite the promise of nothing but frustration at the end.

Or perhaps not. The rhythmic motions of her hips pressed her clit against the seam of her jeans, and she found a hot, tight groove. He gripped her hips as if to halt the impromptu lap dance, then his rough, reluctant groan told her the dark, swirling tide of desire had pulled him under. Fingers flexing and releasing against the curves of her bottom, he let his head drop back against the headrest as he watched her move, his eyes heavy-lidded and moss dark.

Her mouth hovered over his, teasing him in gentle payback, her tongue dancing against his parted lips until he took control, one hand sliding up to cup her head and press her mouth to his. His tongue slid inside, mimicking the thrusts and retreats of their bodies. The other hand left her hip and unerringly found her nipple again. She rewarded his accuracy with a nip to his lower lip before luxuriating openmouthed in the stubble along his jawline.

He slid the hand on her hip around to the base of her spine. The pressure intensified, edging out all thoughts of modesty, all worries about getting caught on the edge of an orgasm in the front seat of an open vehicle. The delicious, blinding pleasure came at her in honey-thick waves now, pouring from her mouth, open against the sweat-damp skin of his neck to her nipples, as hard as diamonds between his fingers, down to her core.

“Oh God,” she said as the sensations coalesced into one pounding crest that crashed through her. The rippling eddies left her slack-limbed and panting against his hard, warm body. She buried her face in his neck. His erection still strained against his jeans, a steel rod pressed to the swollen liquid heat of her body. “It's hot as hell out here. Want to come up and share a shower?” she whispered.

“Nope.”

Feeling exceptionally relaxed and more than a little amused, she cupped his stubbled jaw, settled against him and said, “You're a liar and a tease, Chad Henderson.”

“A consistent one,” he replied. He leaned back in the seat and tucked one hand behind his head. “You're not satisfied?”

She cocked her head. Her hair fell in her eyes, and he lifted the other hand to tuck it behind her ear, then brushed his thumb over her mouth. She nipped at his thumb, then said, “Not as satisfied as I'll be when we're naked in bed and coming apart together.”

Both hands dropped to her hips, tightening there as he rested his forehead on her collarbone and groaned, “Eve. Go upstairs. Please.”

She ran her fingers into his hair and massaged the tight muscles at the base of his neck. He was strung tight, hard from his neck to his shoulders to his thighs to his cock, insistent between her legs. “Come on, Chad. Give in to the impulse. It'll be so good, I promise. Rat's-nest-hair-and-sore-muscles and maybe rug-burn-on-your-knees good. Your-friends-all-know-you-got-some good.”

His even breaths halted for a moment, then he said, “I know, boss. I know how good it could be. But not tonight.” Gently but inexorably he shifted her and her purse until they were both outside the Jeep. He looked up at her landing. “Go on. I'm not leaving until you're inside.”

She climbed the stairs, gave him a little finger wave from the landing, opened the door, then locked all three bolts behind her. Only when she turned off the landing light did she hear the Jeep's engine crank over.

A kind, gentlemanly gesture from the man who wasn't keeping chivalry alive. So serious, so intense. Eve leaned back against the door, memories of his unyielding body against hers flickering in her skin. That much restraint hardened a man, in more ways than one. He needed a release besides the physically pounding adrenaline rush of boxing, something that would leave him soft and satiated, not bruised and scraped and sore.

She was just the woman to guide Chad down the impulsive path.

*   *   *

Well done, Detective Dorchester. You once again managed not to sleep with Eve Webber.

Air huffed from Matt's nostrils as he shot out of Eye Candy's alley and onto the street. Yeah, he deserved a medal for keeping his pants zipped. Just what he needed, more pieces of metal added to the jumble at the back of his dresser drawer.

Fuck.
Telling himself he was just doing his job, that testing her to see if she betrayed the department's confidence to a near-stranger, made him feel worse, not better. He should have sat on his hands, not touched her like he had a right. She was savvy. Sharp. Playful. And she worked her ass off. Without makeup she looked like a girl he'd still do a double take at because the intelligence, humor, and kindness were easier to see. In jeans and a T-shirt, her face scrubbed bare of makeup, he wanted her more, not less.

He was lying to her. Bald-faced lying to her about who he was, why he was in her club, what he did. No one knew about Eve's plans to buy the building behind Eye Candy. She was smart to keep that close to her chest, because any interest would drive up the price. But she didn't have the money to buy the building, and almost no chance of getting a commercial mortgage.

To Hawthorn, this was going to make Eve look like a really bad risk. Hawthorn hated risks, managed them obsessively. In pursuit of his goal of shutting down the Strykers, he'd be as ruthless with Eve as Lyle was.

Impressions flashed through him as he drove. The way she ground against him was about as satisfying as a lap dance at a strip club, all teasing, simulated action, no release. The hot, sweet weight of her body against his, firm breasts against his chest, the pebbled tips of her nipples between his fingers, her hips rocking against him. Eve would take it slow for a little while, but it wouldn't be long before she'd expect more from him, details, stories, a connection. He'd give it to her. He'd done it before in undercover operations. He did what he had to do to build trust, without a thought of betraying it because what mattered was justice, the department, getting the bad guys. Hell, he'd used people on the periphery before, gotten dirt on someone he could flip for the prosecution, cozied up to women with information, walked away without a second thought. The simple fact was that he wasn't paid to be honorable. He was paid to solve cases by whatever legal means necessary.

This was different, because Eve was different. He'd known her for less than a week and already he didn't want to walk away.

That option had closed to him the moment he walked through Eye Candy's door with Chad Henderson's ID in his wallet. He needed to let it go, do the task in front of him, and move on, like he always did. That's what made him the best.

In the flat, inky stillness just before dawn he parked his Jeep on the street in front of the house to avoid blocking in his brother's modified SUV and sat in the car for a few minutes, letting that thought resonate through his consciousness. He'd forgotten what it was like to feel his heart jump when a woman walked in the door, butterflies flutter in his stomach when she smiled at him, brutal lust surge and sweep to the very edges of his skin. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to feel, period.

Across the street, his house, a ranch with dormers, three bedrooms, and a bath he'd enlarged and refitted himself to meet Luke's needs, sat dark and silent. Even from the Jeep he could hear the AC unit grinding away in the backyard. The neighbors now gave him pointed glances when he saw them. He'd inherited the house when his parents died, and the HVAC system was original, aging, and until this summer, far down on the list of renovations to make. A friend's father who worked in construction had recommended a guy who'd give Matt a fair deal for a new unit, even let him help install it to reduce the labor costs. He just didn't have time to call him.

A bitter sound huffed from his chest. He'd told some truth there. When he wasn't working he slept and fixed up the house. One truth among so many lies.

He eased out of the Jeep, crossed the street, and let himself in.

“I hope she was worth it.” The raspy voice came from his brother's room.

“I'm on a case,” he said. “Go back to sleep.”

In his bedroom he stripped, tossing the sweat-soaked clothes into the laundry basket in the corner, and glanced at the clock. Almost four a.m. Time for bed. That's where Eve was, in her bed, all soft and loose-limbed. He, on the other hand, was strung tight and rock hard, exhausted deep down in his soul, but too wound up to sleep.

Hands on his hips, he bent his head and closed his eyes. Luke's faint whistling snores rumbled down the hall. He had to pare unnecessary, distracting emotions from duty and responsibility, lock them away. Resolute, he stepped into a pair of gray cotton shorts and laced up his shoes. The house had three bedrooms. He'd moved into his parents' room, the one with a window onto the backyard. For safety reasons Luke's was the first on the front side of the house; in case of fire, he wanted his brother closest to the front door. They'd turned his old room in the corner into a home gym with mirrored walls, a treadmill, a weight set, a heavy bag, and a speed bag. He started with the treadmill, knocking out five miles in half an hour before putting on the gel wrap gloves. Pounding the heavy bag held some appeal, but he wanted to shut down his mind, so he opted for the rhythm and endurance of the speed bag.

It worked. By the time dawn lightened the sky outside the window he'd exhausted his body and mind along with his soul. Dispassionate again, from the recesses of his now-silent mind he felt sweat trickle down the column of his back in time to the rapid thumps of his heart against his ribs. He unwrapped the gloves. Five hours of sleep, another pot of coffee, and he'd be back on his game. Shower first.

Want to share a shower?

He kept the shower cool, partially to dissipate heat before he got into bed, partially as a preventative measure, but at the memory of Eve's softly whispered words, despite the workout, the late hours, his physical and mental weariness, despite the cool water pelting his body, heat thumped strong and hard in his cock.

Without conscious thought his hand skated down his abdomen and gripped his shaft. He kept the steady, slow pace, riding the rush as his balls tightened and the pressure grew. He imagined her naked, in his bed, under him, spread for him, body quivering as he drove into her, taking his time, right there with him as the heat built, sucking them into the vortex. He slowed his strokes, and in his fantasy, she said his name, his real name when she came.

A low groan escaped, inaudible, he hoped, under the running water and behind the closed door, as he bent forward, shuddering as an orgasm pulsed through him. Exhaustion and something more elemental that felt far too much like fear slammed a rock-fist against his ribcage. He turned off the shower, toweled off, and went to bed.

Eventually he slept.

 

CHAPTER SIX

Normal. Look and act normal. Don't bring any suspicion on your family. Keep it together, Eve.

She took a deep breath of humid air saturated with late afternoon sunshine to steel herself for another Monday dinner with her parents, and opened the squeaky metal screen door. “Hello!” she called.

“In the kitchen, Evie, dear.”

She walked into the tiny house she'd called home her entire life. A Bose SoundDock identical to the one she used to play music on during prep was hooked up to an iPod on top of the piano, Lionel Hampton, her father's favorite jazz artist, flying home at a low volume in the living room. She dropped her purse on the sofa, gave the knob on the window air conditioner a twist to cool the room for Caleb, and headed for the kitchen to find her mother.

“Hi, Mom,” she said with a quick hug, then stood back to let her mother inspect her.

“Very nice, dear.”

She wore a chocolate brown knee-length skirt, a green blouse with three-quarter sleeves, and brown sandals, one of several outfits suitable for church, family dinners, and social occasions. “How can I help?”

“Set the table. Caleb called. He's preparing for trial and can't make it, so we're just three tonight.”

“Dad didn't invite anyone?” From her earliest memories, the numbers at Monday night suppers ranged from the four Webbers to as many as eleven or twelve crowded around the dining room table. Homeless people, recovering addicts, someone newly released from jail in need of a home-cooked meal before a ride to the halfway house four blocks east, fellow pastors and childhood friends traveling through on their way to and from vacations or conferences, Eve and Caleb's friends, city council members. She'd learned the hospitality industry's Golden Rule—make everyone feel comfortable and welcome—at home, from her parents' example.