When they slipped beneath the edge of her panties and into her heat, she arched back and let the pleasure sear her. She felt a delicious pressure begin to build inside of her, and she let her mind fill with the image of letting him take her right here. Right now.
No, a part of her screamed.
Yes, another part of her urged. And it was that part of her, the part she didn’t understand at all that had her digging deep for the strength to say, “No.”
D.C.’S HANDS IMMEDIATELY stilled, but it took all of his concentration to withdraw his fingers. To steady himself, he focused on the task of pulling down her dress and discovered his hand was trembling.
No woman had ever made him tremble before.
Because he felt like a diver surfacing from a depth of several hundred feet down, he braced one hand against the brick wall before he eased himself away.
She’d done it again. She’d made him lose control. Even now, the details were coming back in bits and pieces. He’d simply had to touch her. The need to do so had been so compelling that he’d forgotten where they were.
Having risky, semi-public sex with a woman had never been his style. Before.
In the blinking of the tree lights, her skin was flushed, and he could see that her hair was mussed. Her eyes had darkened to the color of finely aged whiskey. He didn’t dare look at her mouth or he’d have to taste her again. And all of his brain cells would shut down for the night.
“This is crazy.”
Her voice was husky, but she’d found it.
He tried his own. “Yeah.”
“We nearly—”
“Yeah.”
“We have to do something about this.”
“Yeah.” He couldn’t have agreed more.
“Is that all you can say?” She placed two hands on his chest and shoved.
In spite of the weakness in his knees, he remained erect. But he bit back another yeah. Any second now, he was going to get it together.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t plan this.” She straightened her dress and finger-combed her hair. “We have an investigation to work on. All that talk about discussing the case on the dance floor. It was all just a…ruse.” She strode past him.
He let her make it to the line of Christmas trees before he said, “What are we going to do about this, Fiona?”
She whirled back and met his eyes. “I’ll let you know when I decide.”
He managed a smile as he moved forward to join her. “Okay. You can take the lead on this one.”
5
THE SHRILL SOUND of the alarm had Fiona sitting straight up in bed. Automatically she reached out and slammed her hand on the button to end the noise. Then she peered groggily at the time: 6:30 a.m. She blinked and peered again. It couldn’t be. But the scent of coffee told her that the automatic percolator that she’d preset the night before was right in tune with her alarm.
With a groan, she threw the covers back, slid out of bed and headed for the bathroom. The last time she’d checked, the time had been 4:50 a.m. And the blame for the fact that she’d gotten less than two hours of sleep could be laid squarely at the feet of D. C. Campbell.
He’d told her that she could take the lead on deciding the next step in their relationship, and he’d kept his word.
Twisting faucets in her shower, she shed her nightshirt and waited for the first sign of steam. D.C. had been all focused on business as they’d left the restaurant. She had to admire his ability to transition from lover to cop. He was efficient, too. By the time they’d reached their cars, there was no need to stop at her office because they’d managed to agree on a full schedule for the following day. At the top of their list was talking to Amanda Hemmings. They’d meet at the hospital at 8:00 a.m. Then they’d pay a visit to D.C.’s General Eddinger and after that, they’d drop by the National Gallery. That would give Chance time to return the necklace and try to determine how the security system had been breached. Chance was also going to call the Federal Prison at Cumberland. If Amanda had had any contact with her great-uncle, Chance was going to try to get Fiona and D.C. in to interview Arthur Franks.
D.C. had insisted on following her home, but he hadn’t seen her to the door. Nor had he touched her again, not even in the most casual of ways. It was only when she’d closed and locked her apartment door behind her that it had sunk in. He really was going to let her take the lead.
She’d spent most of the night mulling over her options. But now, at least, she’d made up her mind.
Stepping under the spray, she poured shower gel into her hand, lathered lavishly, then reached for shampoo. As water sluiced over her, she reviewed the decision she’d reached. She’d always prided herself on being a practical woman. And she’d come to a reasonable and logical solution to the overwhelming attraction she felt for D.C.