Delilah Devlin: Lost Souls

He’d warned her time and again about leaving that key where a thief or someone looking for something even more precious might find it.

The mystery of the key wouldn’t be solved by simply asking. Stubborn, with an itchy allergy toward straight talking, Cait would never admit she’d outright lied about forgetting it was there. He inserted the key, turned the lock, opened the door, and returned the key to the ledge.

Inside, the foyer was empty and dark. A step deeper into the apartment, he noted the kitchen and tiny living room were empty. He eyed the bedroom but sensed he wouldn’t find her there either. These days, she couldn’t sneak up behind him because he’d developed a sixth sense. Or maybe he was just reverting to a more primal version of himself, and he could scent her without realizing he did.

Right now, her soft, feminine musk was absent. Another familiar smell missing from the apartment was the sour odor of booze. Something he didn’t take for granted, because Cait’s sobriety was still so fragile.

Pulling his iPhone from his pocket, he tapped the screen, found her number, and tapped again.

She picked up on the first ring. “Hey.”

“You still on stakeout?” he asked.

“Finished a little while ago,” she said, an edgy energy in her voice. “Just went by your apartment, but you weren’t there.”

His eyebrows shot up. Cait never came by his place. He thought maybe she didn’t want proof he’d managed to move on after their divorce. Which suited him fine. Last thing he wanted her to see was evidence he hadn’t. “How many times do I have to tell you it’s not a good idea to leave your key on the door frame?”

“Only one ever used it was you.”

He grunted. “So you always say.”

“If you’re so worried about it, why not put it on your key ring?”

Sam paused. Not the grumpy response he’d expected. And her voice held a breathless note, like the question meant more than she wanted to let on.

He decided to ignore her suggestion, because the act would be another step toward a commitment he wasn’t ready to make again. But he didn’t tell her that. He didn’t want to hurt her. “How far away are you?”

“Pulling up now.”

He turned and lifted a slat in the blinds to watch her car slide in beside his.

“Oh look, I have an intruder,” she said, humor lightening her voice. “I might have to draw my gun.”

“You don’t carry a weapon,” he muttered, retracing his steps.

“That wasn’t the kind of gun I was talking about.”

His cock pulsed at her deep-throated drawl. A grin teased at the corners of his mouth. He opened the front door and leaned against the frame, pretending he wasn’t eager to grab her up and toss her on the first soft surface he could find.

“Glad you’re here,” she said, still holding the phone to her ear as she stepped out of the car.

Sam shoved his into his back pocket and folded both arms across his chest, waiting as Cait sauntered toward the door. Her hips swayed, her eyelids dipped as she raked his frame with a glance that said just how happy she was to see him. She halted mere inches away, tilting her chin to meet his gaze. Not that far, because even though he was taller, her boots added a couple of inches.

His heart started its happy dance, thrumming in his chest, but he held still, waiting to see what her first move would be. She always managed to surprise him, whether aiming barbs to incite his anger, which invariably turned to lust, or rarely, letting him see a hint of vulnerability. He’d always been a sucker for those infrequent moments when she let down her walls and allowed him inside her complicated mind.

Cait tucked a lock of wavy red hair behind an ear while her mossy green gaze ate him up. But rather than move in for a kiss, she leaned away.

“Why were you looking for me?” he asked, arching a brow. “Something you needed?”

Her head shook, and she gave a soft feminine snort. “Think you have anything I need?”

He aimed a smoldering glance at her green eyes. “I recall you needing something just last weekend. Something you got on your pretty little knees to beg for.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Not fair. And you’re not going to distract me until after we talk.”

“But you want some distracting?” he asked hopefully.

Cait laid a palm against his cheek. “Baby, you know I love it when you make me forget everything.”

At her touch, he gave a little growl but moved out of the door to let her pass, cupping her ass for a quick feel as she stepped inside.

Her bottom wiggled, but she strode away, setting her purse and a camera on the coffee table. Then she plopped onto the couch and tugged off her boots. “The PD has a room at the Deluxe on South Front Street taped off,” she said, not looking his way.

Which should have warned him she was about to drop a bomb. Sam sucked in a breath. Surprised, but not for the sexy reason he’d expected. But why was he shocked? Hadn’t he known their professional paths would intersect again—especially given the strange circumstances of the investigation he’d been asked to lead? “Third floor? Room 323?”

Her gaze swung, locking with his. “Exactly.” Then her eyes narrowed. “Wait. Why were you here? You knew I’d be on stakeout until late. Thought we weren’t meeting until Friday.”

Sam frowned. “Leland wants you.”

“Another case?” Her glance held steady. “The room?” At his nod, she cursed. “I knew it,” she muttered, lips tightening.

“I’ll show you what I have if you show me yours.”

Her cheeks flushed, and her lips stretched. “No more sexy talk. I can’t think when you say things like that. Another full-moon case?”

“Right up your alley, baby.”

She pushed off the sofa and walked toward her bedroom.

He trailed behind.

When her face turned toward his again, her expression was tight, her skin a little pale. “Ready for another round of crazy train?” she asked softly.

Sam wasn’t ready for another case like the last one, but if he wasn’t the one to bring it to her, Leland would rope her in anyway. His boss, her old nemesis, was a believer now. “So long as you let me have your back.”

Her eyelashes fluttered. “Sure that’s all you want?” she drawled.

Sam canted his head. “Thought you wanted to lose the sexy talk.”

She walked to him and leaned against his chest, rubbing her breasts against his body. Her eyelids dipped. “Is that really what you want?”

Knowing she was stalling, but not caring since her nipples were tight and scraping his chest, he dipped his head toward hers. “Maybe we should get this out of the way before we get down to business.”

“I like the way you think, Detective Pierce,” she said, her hands flicking open the buttons of his dress shirt.

Sam inhaled deeply, content to let her do the work while he watched. He lifted his hands to cup her hips and drag her against the part of him most eager for her attention.

“You’re not making this any easier,” she murmured, bending slightly back so she could finish with the buttons. Then she slid his shirt off his shoulders, forcing him to let go so the garment could fall to the floor.

Then all bets were off. He rucked up his T-shirt, dragging it over his head. Her busy fingers were already freeing his belt, opening his trousers, and reaching inside—

The moment she wrapped her firm grip around his shaft, his eyes squeezed shut. “Jesus, Cait.”

“Love the way you say that,” she said, her voice a throaty murmur.

Her hair brushed his belly, and he opened his eyes, eager for the sight of her dropping to her knees in front of him. With one hand holding his cock, she bobbed forward, taking him into her mouth. Engulfed in sweet heat, he rocked on his heels. Then she grabbed for the waistband of his trousers and shoved them down his tightened thighs.