Allison Brennan - Carnal Sin

Moira’s thoughts fell away as all she wanted was Rafe’s body on hers. His legs were on either side of hers, his penis hard against her backside. His mouth on her neck, her jaw, her ear. She turned her head to kiss him, and he responded with a groan as he adjusted his position, his body mimicking lovemaking though they were fully clothed. The dresser moved and she used her arms to brace herself. Rafe had her bra undone and was kneading her breasts, pleasure winning over pain. She gasped as his thumbs rubbed her nipples, at first gently, then harder until she squirmed, her breath coming in short bursts.

There was no reason, there were no thoughts, as Rafe unzipped her jeans, his fingers slipping under her panties. This was it, she’d been apprehensive about this moment, but she was ready to risk everything for Rafe. Even her heart. She tensed, shaking, but didn’t try to stop him.

Rafe slowly removed his fingers before they touched that one spot that needed attention. He eased up her zipper and used both hands to close the button. She opened her eyes and looked at Rafe’s reflection. Their skin glowed with perspiration; her face was flushed. Her neck was red from Rafe’s stubble, and one breast peeked out from her shirt. Rafe didn’t say a word, but stepped back and rehooked her bra, unhurried, and pulled her shirt back down.

“Rafe-” She didn’t know what to say.

He wrapped his arms around her, rested his chin on the top of her head and let out a long breath.

That sensation, of renewal and discovery, besieged her and she swayed, her knees suddenly weak. He held her steady.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “You’re wrong.”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking,” she said, pushing backward, but he didn’t let go. She wasn’t thinking at all, she only felt, and her senses were overwhelmed by their combined emotions.

He whispered in her ear as he kissed it. She shivered, wanting him to keep going, wanting him to stop. He said, “You’re trying to find any excuse to deny these feelings we have for each other. I know you, Moira. You don’t believe me, but I know you. Deny all you want, convince yourself that I would settle for only one night. But the way I feel for you isn’t fleeting. It’s not a whim. It’s certainly not supernatural. It’s my heart. It beats for you, Moira.”

He dropped his arms, and she realized she’d been holding her breath. She really didn’t like how Rafe saw her for who she was. It made her vulnerable. She turned around, was about to say something, but he kissed her lightly on the lips, his fingers barely touching her chin, and all words disappeared.

“I’m sure he’s gone by now.”

For a split second, Moira didn’t know who Rafe was talking about. Then she shook her head to clear it and stepped away from him.

Breathe. Again. Better .

She looked out the window. Grant Nelson’s unmarked sedan was indeed gone. “You’re right.”

She turned back to Rafe, and he handed over her backpack so she could recheck her supplies-though she knew everything was there.

She felt momentarily light-headed. When the sensation went away she had a new, odd feeling that she didn’t have time to analyze-and didn’t know if she wanted to.

She cleared her throat and grabbed a water bottle off the counter, drained half of it in one long gulp, then handed the rest to Rafe.

A knock on the door had her sighing in relief.

“Duty calls,” she said.

Rafe looked through the peephole. “It’s Jackson.”

“Twenty-nine minutes,” she said as Rafe opened the door. “Right on time.”

It was after eleven by the time Grant finished the report on Nadine Anson’s death and started for home. He’d written most of it while sitting outside the Palomar. He didn’t know why he thought those two from Santa Louisa would be up to something, but he didn’t feel right leaving them on their own. He hoped they’d screw like rabbits and leave his case alone.

Grant didn’t consciously make the detour toward Velocity. It wasn’t out of his way, since he lived just the other side of the 405 in West L.A. He was so exhausted he was practically asleep on his feet, but he wanted to talk to Julie about Nadine. He wished he could have told her in person, but he’d been tied up on the scene, then wanted to make sure Moira O’Donnell and her boyfriend actually checked into the hotel as they said they would. He had a dozen questions and every time he thought he had an answer, another ten questions popped up.

He squirmed at the thought of the two of them in a solitary hotel room. He didn’t particularly like Raphael Cooper. He was too quiet, for one thing, and watched everything with sharp eyes. Grant didn’t like being scrutinized by anyone, particularly Cooper. And he was always standing just behind Moira, like a bodyguard ready to pounce on any man who wandered too close.

He squeezed his eyes shut and wondered where that thought had come from. Moira was certainly his type, all that thick wavy hair and athletic body and sarcastic mouth. But he didn’t go after attached women. He shouldn’t even be thinking about getting her naked beneath him, but it had been on his mind since he’d met her, though that didn’t mean much. Grant usually assessed women as potential lovers. But when he’d seen Moira unconscious and vulnerable in the alley behind Velocity … he’d wanted her.

The line outside Velocity was long, but as a regular and a cop Grant had access whenever he wanted and he used his privilege tonight.

He looked around for Julie but didn’t see her. Sitting at the bar, as far from the dance floor as he could get, he rubbed his temples. A bitch of a migraine had solidified its position dead center after he watched Nadine Anson lose her mind, then her life. It made no sense, and he had been running through the scene over and over again trying to understand what happened to her. But all it did was make his migraine worse.

He should feel elated-she’d confessed right there with witnesses that she’d killed “them.” Not specifically who , but Nadine’s prints were all over George Erickson’s house. It was enough that his chief would close the case and tell him to pick up one of the other fifty case files sitting on his desk.

But Grant didn’t feel satisfied with closing the case with so many unanswered questions. This case-these cases -disturbed him. He was a good cop, but he cut corners like most. Knew what lines he could cross and which he couldn’t. Had he cut a corner he shouldn’t have? Had he let his friendship with the staff here at Velocity cloud his judgment?

“On the house,” Ike said, sliding over Grant’s off-duty beverage of choice, a bottle of Heineken. “You look like you need a couple shots of whiskey.” He nodded toward the bandage on Grant’s face. “I heard what happened.”

“I had paperwork up the ass, otherwise I would have come in earlier.”

Ike waved off his apology. “You want to get good and drunk, I’ll get you a cab, no problem.”

He shook his head. “Nah. Just this one for me. Early morning. I wanted to talk to Julie. Is she still here?”

“Yeah. Wendy let some of the girls off early, but Julie said she’d stay. I think she’s waiting for you.”

Grant shifted on the stool. His and Julie’s on-again/ off-again relationship wasn’t doing either of them any good, but he couldn’t say goodbye. Sure, they weren’t together anymore-they screwed around with others-but neither of them had claimed they wanted to keep their friendship strictly platonic. Grant didn’t want a relationship with anyone. He already had one failed marriage and more failed relationships than he could count on his fingers and toes combined. What he and Julie had was an agreement, though he wasn’t entirely comfortable with it. She deserved better. He hoped she found someone who treated her with the respect and love she deserved. Grant cared for her-but she was too good for him. Most women were. Fortunately for his libido, they didn’t seem to know it.