Christmas Male. Cara Summers
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plane and angle of his body was molded to hers.
She felt very small against him, very fragile and gloriously feminine. She relished the unusual sensations. His mouth was so demanding, his taste so dark and compelling. So male. Greedy for more, her tongue moved aggressively against his, seeking, searching. As she heard his moan, felt his heart pump against hers, arousal and excitement shot through her. Never had she felt this alive. Urgency built with such speed, such intensity that she couldn’t control it. Didn’t want to. There was nothing but him—his arms, his lips, those sleek, hard muscles. Nothing but him.
Test the waters. That’s what he’d promised himself when he’d lowered his lips to hers. But he’d expected resistance, anticipated it. Perhaps he’d even wanted it. If she’d just struggled a little, he’d have known how to handle it. But when she’d melted against him, he’d discovered he’d never been in more dangerous territory in his life.
He could drown in her. Willingly. But not quietly. He felt as if he were being sucked into unknown depths by a riptide. This woman could take him places he’d never been. He found the idea intriguing. Irresistible.
The sudden urge to touch her was overwhelming. He wanted to slip his hands beneath her coat and run them up her sides, molding, teasing, tormenting. He imagined slipping his fingers beneath the hem of her dress and moving them up those strong thighs until he found and probed her center. Just the thought had needs exploding violently, painfully.
In some small, rational corner of his mind, D.C. knew that if he started to touch her, he wouldn’t be able to stop. But the street was quiet, and fewer than ten paces away, shadows blackened the space between two old Georgetown homes. All he had to do was to draw her into the darkness, and he could have her. He could take her up against the wall of the house before either of them regained their senses. It would be crazy and wild. And wonderful.
Only one thing held him back. The undeniable certainty that she could drain his control away as easily as she could pull the plug on a bathtub full of water. Fear sliced its way through all the other sensations. With it came the same gut feeling of danger that he’d sensed when he’d been taking notes in the sculpture garden. Tearing his mouth free of hers, D.C. drew air into his lungs, hoping it would cool the heat radiating through him. This woman had the power to change his life.
Very carefully, he set her away from him. For a moment, he felt winded, as if he’d raced to the top of a very high cliff.
And he’d very nearly jumped off.
It gave him some satisfaction that she looked as if she, too, had been blindsided by the kiss. Her eyes were dark and clouded, her mouth moist and swollen. And he wanted nothing more than to kiss her again. But if he did…
Clamping down even more tightly on his control, he said, “Fiona, are you all right?”
Admiration filled him as he watched her eyes clear and her focus return. “You…shouldn’t have done that.”
“Maybe not. But I’m not going to apologize.”
Her eyes flashed. “Did I ask for an apology?” She whirled, but he snagged her hand before she could move away.
“Look on the bright side. At least now we know what we’re dealing with. We just have to decide what we’re going to do about it.”
The look she shot him was very cool. “Don’t get your hopes up, D.C.”
He laughed then and felt a little of his tension ease. “A man can dream, Lieutenant.” And he was pretty sure that the dream was going to come true—whether they wanted it to or not.
Chapter Four
CHRISTMAS LIGHTS TWINKLED everywhere in the Blue Pepper, and there was a gigantic tree close to the table in the bar where Fiona and her boss were seated. The place was filled with the clatter of glasses, the hum of conversation, and threaded through it came the sounds of a live band.
In the main dining room, the Christmas party Natalie was hosting for the department was in full swing. On the way to their table, Fiona had waved at her captain’s two sisters, Rory and Sierra, and a few of her colleagues.
A short distance away, D.C. stood with Natalie’s husband, Chance Mitchell, at the end of the bar. When Fiona and D.C. had arrived about twenty minutes earlier, she’d learned that Chance and D.C. had worked together four years earlier. She imagined the two men were catching up on old times.
Before they’d retired to the bar, Natalie and Chance had led them into a private office where Chance’s gemologist had identified the diamond they’d recovered in the sculpture garden as the Rubinov. Since Chance’s company had written the insurance policy, he’d taken custody of the necklace.
She glanced at D.C. and saw him laugh at something Chance had said. The office where the man had examined the diamond had been small, and with five people in it, they’d all been forced to stand shoulder to shoulder. She didn’t believe in legends. But there’d been a moment as she’d removed the necklace from the front of her dress when she’d been very aware of D.C. standing next to her and of each and every point where they were in contact. And she’d felt that same intense pull she’d felt when he’d first placed the Rubinov in her hands. Only this time it was even stronger.
“So what role did Amanda Hemmings play in all of this?”
Fiona forced her attention back to Natalie.
“Is she a key figure or has she been duped? My sense from my brief chat with General Eddinger is that she’s favoring the duped scenario.” Natalie had angled her chair so that she could prop up her feet on a neighboring banquette. One hand rested on her belly, the other tapped a pencil on a slim notebook. Elegant was the word that always came to Fiona’s mind when she thought of her boss. Tonight, Natalie wore her reddish-gold hair up, and in the black silk pant suit, she might have stepped right off the pages of a stylish fashion layout that targeted pregnant moms. “What does your instinct tell you, Fiona?”
“I don’t know enough about her yet. When I first saw her lying there on the ground, I didn’t recognize her as the young woman who’d walked into my office that day. She’d been so enthusiastic about doing something for the men at Walter Reed, it’s hard to believe she’d get involved in something like this. She came up with idea of having all the volunteers wear black with Santa hats and red scarves, as a kind of uniform that would set them apart from all the other volunteers that are asking for donations at this time of year. And yet, she had the necklace in her pocket.”
Natalie waited, saying nothing.
“I can theorize and analyze my gut feelings about how the stone got there and why someone hit her over the head in the sculpture garden,” Fiona continued. “But the only thing I’m pretty certain of is that she couldn’t have done it alone.”
“Chance agrees,” Natalie said. “He personally oversaw the security setup for the Rubinov exhibit. He believes there had to be someone on the inside. Even a top-notch hacker would have needed information.”
“I need to talk to Amanda. The latest news I have is she’s still unconscious and they’ve scheduled her for a CAT scan. They’re going to call me as soon as they know more about the extent of her injuries. I’ll need a search warrant for her apartment.” Fiona opened her purse and flipped open her notebook. “I got the address off the ID in her wallet.”
Natalie copied it on the pad in front of her. “I’ll put the warrant in the works first thing in the morning. In the meantime, I’ll send a patrol car over to keep an eye on the building.”
“And the two uniforms you sent to the hospital—can they stay? I think we ought to keep someone on duty outside her room once she’s assigned to one.”
“You’re worried about her.”
Fiona lifted, then dropped her shoulders. “There’s someone out there who brought a gun down on her head. And he’s got two buddies.”
“I’ll take care