“If it’s what you really want. For yourself, I mean.”
“Sure. Everyone wants to find someone special and settle down. You do, too, right?” His gaze dug in with surprising urgency.
“Eventually, sure.”
“When you finish making waves?”
“Exactly.”
“Who says you can’t do that with one particular person? You splash around, but you have company.” He shrugged, as if it were a lighthearted idea, but she felt the weight of deep interest in his words.
She answered slowly. “I don’t work that way, Rick. When I was with Barry, I gave up what I wanted, forgot who I was, just went along with him and how he saw me.”
“Barry was a prick. The right guy wouldn’t do that to you.” His words were low and slow and there were a million emotions in his eyes.
Did Rick want to be that guy? Was that what he was hinting at? She was startled by how wonderful that felt, warm and right, like a sturdy pilot light flaring to life deep inside.
Too soon. And all wrong.
She had to stick with what she was sure of—the heat between them and all the fun they could have.
“For now, I’m exploring,” she said and smiled over at him. They sat together on this sun-drenched rock, as naked as Adam and Eve in the first garden, and she didn’t want to waste one beautiful minute of it. “And that’s where you come in.”
She pushed on his shoulders so he would lie back and she lay over him, pleased when she felt him go hard under her.
He resisted for a second, as if he wanted to say something more serious to her, but she kissed his mouth, blocking his words and felt lust wash through him. “Did you say come?” he murmured, his eyes gleaming with renewed heat.
“Oh, yeah.” This was what she wanted. To keep making love with Rick, to explore her fantasies with this wonderful man. Any more than that would be foolish to imagine—greedy, really. This was more than enough.
What if there’s more here? The idea shivered through her like a premonition or a dream, but she pushed it away and kissed the lips of her Adam, her highwayman, her cowboy, her artist, her Rick.
13
“WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?” Rick’s partner stared at him as if he were covered in spots or wore a sequined gown.
“Nothing. Went up to Oak Creek for some pictures.” And had sex with Samantha. Lots of it.
“That explains the sunburn, but not the…” Trudeau scratched his own neck to indicate something on Rick’s.
Rick touched the tender spot he’d tried to hide with his collar—a love bite Samantha’d marked him with during the last frenzied round before they’d headed for home.
Realization dawned in his partner’s face. “Ah, you and Samantha did the deed. I’m impressed.”
No. He was shocked, plain and simple, Rick could tell and guilt shot through him like a shotgun shell, big and destructive. He’d blown it, he knew already. The closer he and Samantha had gotten to home, the more the implications of what he’d done had trickled into his awareness and they’d kept him awake most of the night.
“Drop it,” he said, low, shooting a look across the station, not wanting to be overheard.
“Okay, but I get the details later, pal.”
“So the electronics gear checked out?” Rick spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. He studied the printout Trudeau had handed him.
“Bought and paid for. Looks like Mad Man Sylvestri’s electronics depot is a straight-ahead business, though they could launder money through it easy enough.”
“The construction crew is working up there this week. I’ll keep an eye out, but I don’t get what he’s up to. I’m still sleeping in the studio, but there’s been no late-night action.”
Bad choice of words. He’d half expected Samantha to show last night at Bedroom Eyes—he’d moved to the satin-covered bed in studio one, tucked up against the castle backdrop. She had fantasies she wanted to act out, for God’s sake. When she didn’t appear, he was both relieved and disappointed.
Also a bad sign.
Even though the mattress was far better than that damn futon in Mona’s shop, he’d slept little, working out whether he should tell Samantha what was going on, maybe ask for her help with the investigation, or head straight for the lieutenant’s office and resign over his breach of conduct.
He felt ripped apart, and his brain wasn’t working worth a damn. He had to figure this out, do the right thing somehow.
“The bookkeeper’s twitchy,” he continued, needing to fill Mark in, “but if there are double books, Samantha knows nothing about them.”
“You sound pretty sure of that.” Mark raised a brow.