Mallory Kane - Double-Edged Detective

“Just appear, like you did on the sidewalk. You don’t make any noise.”

“Nobody moves without making any noise. You’re not paying attention. Being unaware of your surroundings could get you killed.”

“Do you think you could lay off the scare tactics for a minute or two?”

“You have a real espresso machine. That’s impressive.”

Nicole laughed. “Okay. Nice segue. Yes. I do have a real espresso machine. I like coffee, probably a little too much.”

“I know what you mean. I’ve always wanted one. Show me how to use it.”

Together, they made two mugs of decaf cappuccino, and Nicole put sugar in hers. She leaned against the kitchen counter and sipped her coffee. Ryker leaned next to her.

Nicole felt the subtle brush of his sleeve against her bare arm, and realized that this was the first time a man had been in her apartment—other than the moving crew and the locksmith. Thinking of that, it occurred to her that she hadn’t been out on a single date in the year since the break-in.

Why was she even thinking about dating? Her gaze lit on Ryker’s hands holding her jazz festival mug. They were large and square, with long fingers. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up and his tanned forearms were dusted with golden hair, lighter than the light brown hair on his head.

He was attractive. Very attractive.

And strong, in the way that basketball players and soccer players were. Lean and wiry. She liked lean and wiry. Maybe that was why she was suddenly thinking about dating.

Okay, stop. He was in her apartment because she’d been the victim of a home invasion, and he, the investigator on the case, thought her life was in danger. That was a far cry from dating.

She shivered.

He glanced at her sidelong. “You okay?” he asked.

“Not really. Do you think that boy last night was following me? “

Ryker put his mug down and turned toward her. “No. I think he was high as a kite and lost, like he said he was. But it ought to illustrate to you what could happen. Someone could easily follow you. In the few minutes it takes you to walk from the restaurant to here, you could be grabbed.”

“There you go again with the scare tactics. You can’t manipulate me by scaring me. I will not quit this job. I already had to give up one job because of this person. I will not lose this one, too.”

“I hope you won’t. He hasn’t come after you, and it’s been almost a year. Maybe he won’t. Maybe I’m wrong, and your attack had nothing to do with the others.”

“But you don’t believe that, do you? Otherwise you wouldn’t have eaten at L’Orage every night for almost a year.”

Nicole looked up into his blue eyes, searching for a denial of what she’d just said. But as surely as he was standing there in front of her, she knew he was right.

“You believe before this week is out, he’s coming to get me, don’t you?”

Nicole’s green eyes filled with tears, then wavered and dropped to the cup she held.

Ryker took the cup and set it aside, then took her hands in his. “Listen to me, okay? Just listen to me. I’m going to make sure that nothing— nothing —happens to you.”

Her fingers squeezed his. “Okay,” she whispered, meeting his gaze. “I believe you.” Then she blinked, and a fat tear spilled over onto her lower lashes and hung there, sparkling in the light.

That tear almost undid Ryker. He was a sucker for tears. So much so that he’d had to teach himself to remain detached when he questioned victims or interrogated suspects. He couldn’t afford to get his emotions entangled in his job. He’d seen the devastating effects of emotion up close, and he wasn’t about to become a slave to his feelings like his father had.

Before he’d even finished his internal lecture, he’d defied it by reaching out and catching the teardrop with his thumb. When he did, her eyes closed. He laid his palm against her cheek.

He’d kept an eye on her for a year, ever since the break-in. She was his only living connection to his serial killer. He’d seen her leave her job and move. Watched over her as she searched for a new job in Mandeville and finally took the executive chef position at L’Orage.

He was intimately familiar with her honey-colored hair and skin, her sharp, beautiful green eyes, her graceful yet determined walk and the sweet smile she shared with everyone around her. When had he become so fascinated with her?

As soon as the question arose in his mind, he dismissed it. He wasn’t. Well, except as a victim of the killer he was trying to catch. She was his connection to his killer. That was all.

At that moment, Nicole’s eyes opened. Tears had matted her lashes until they looked like dark starbursts around her green eyes. Before he could work up the willpower to stop himself, he bent his head, urged her chin up with his fingers and kissed her.

She kissed him back. She tasted like coffee and cream. Hot, sweet, intense. A fire erupted inside him. The fire of lust—raging, consuming. He was instantly hard and burning for release.

Then the fire enveloped her, and her response was as hungry and frenzied as his own.

He backed her against the counter and kissed her deeply and thoroughly. She gave as good as she got, doubling her fists in the lapels of his jacket to pull him closer, taking his openmouthed kisses and returning them fully. He pressed the full length of his body against her, revealing how turned on he was.

She uttered a small cry and pushed at his chest. Somewhere in his brain, he felt relief. At least one of them had some self-control.

“What is that?” she panted, squirming.

He stared, incredulous. “Are you kidding me?” he muttered.

She shook her head. “Not that.” She touched the leather strap around his midsection. “This.”

Oh. His gun. She was talking about his gun. He had on his shoulder holster and she’d felt hard metal pressing against her. He stepped backward. “Sorry.”

“Just take it off.” Her green eyes were stormy, yet amazingly, still filled with passion.

He took off his jacket and then unbuckled the holster and shrugged out of it. By the time he was done, his lust had waned slightly. He breathed deeply. “Maybe I should go.”

Nicole didn’t say anything. He looked up at her, his holster dangling from one hand.

Her tongue slid out to moisten her lips and she shook her head no.

His hand tightened on the leather strap. He could stop right now. He could put the holster back on, and the jacket, and walk right out the door.

But he didn’t. Against his better judgment, he let the holster drop to the floor. Then he reached for her. Before he could take her in his arms, though, she grasped his hand and pulled him toward her bedroom. At the bedroom door, he stopped and turned her around to face him. “Are you sure?” he panted.

She pulled his head down and kissed him intimately. “If I want to, or if it’s a good idea?” she asked.

“Good idea.”

“No.”

“Yeah, me neither.” He pulled her close and kissed her again as she maneuvered them closer to the bed. When the backs of his calves hit the mattress, he tumbled, taking her with him. They ended up laughing in a tangle of clothes and sheets and throw pillows.

Nicole tugged a bright orange pillow out from under his shoulders, and a turquoise one that was tangled in her legs. Ryker chuckled as he tossed the rest of them onto the floor.

“What are those things for anyhow?” he asked, between kisses.

“Throw pillows?” she answered. “To throw, I guess.” She leaned over the side of the bed, reaching for one. “I’ll show you.”

Ryker caught her waist and pulled her back. He turned her around to face him and slid her green top up and over her head. She wore a pink bra—not sexy at all. Utilitarian. It did have a front clasp though, so he disposed of it quickly. He decided that her full, round breasts were the most beautiful he’d ever seen. They were lush, firm, creamy-smooth. His mouth watered to taste them, but he restrained himself.