"Bathroom and bedroom."
"You stay here. By the door. Don't move."
James raked his weapon from the shelf. He heard Shay draw in a breath of surprise. He held up a finger for quiet.
"Hund. Hier!"
The thirsty lapping stopped. Bogart hurried out of the kitchen. He paused a few feet from James and tilted his head in a questioning manner.
James pointed to the hallway. "Geh rein!"
Bogart swung around and headed down the hallway. James followed.
Shay began counting slowly backward in her mind from three hundred to keep herself from jumping out of her skin. She'd felt something the moment she walked in her door. She'd wanted to ignore it. Be with James. But the books could not be ignored.
Two hundred and ninety-two. Two hundred and ninety-one.
Hypervigilance required a lot of coping techniques. Too bad her mind could multitask.
She remembered the books lying prone on the shelf. She was certain.
Almost one hundred percent certain.
Or maybe that was wrong. Her mind was making her squirrely just when she most wanted to be sane and in the moment.
James and Bogart were back in less than two minutes.
He wasn't smiling. "I checked everywhere, the closet, under the bed, the shower. There's no one here. And no windows have been jimmied. But I need you to look the apartment over to see if you can tell if anything else has been disturbed or taken."
Shay shook her head. "I believe you."
"Look anyway."
She did. And when she came back into the living room she felt worse than before.
James read her expression. "Not a thing? Are you sure?"
"You don't believe me?" He saw the stricken look wash over her face.
"It's just a routine question, Shay. Only the books. Down. Up." He emphasized his words with a hand motion. "It's pretty slim evidence of a break-in."
"Break-in?" She glanced at her door to see that all the locks were in place. Had they all been locked when she arrived? She couldn't remember how many keys she'd used to get in. She'd been too busy absorbing the awareness of James at her back, of the desire to just turn around and move into his arms, to touch him, kiss …
She could see the question in his gaze. Why would someone break in on you?
"It would take someone with real skill to get in here." He pointed out the obvious. "You've got two dead bolts. Does Eric have keys?"
"No." Her voice spiked with irritation. "Anyway, I changed the locks last month."
Right. After the breakup. James definitely needed to know the details that led up to that. In a minute.
"Look, you can never be too sure about these things, especially with an ex who has been stalking you. I should phone this in."
"No, please don't."
"Why not, Shay?"
She didn't have an easy answer. She heaved her shoulders in an exaggerated sigh. "I'm just jumpy. Sorry."
She saw his expression alter, so subtly she doubted she would have noticed if she weren't experiencing the same emotion. It was disappointment. She was wrecking their evening. This time he would walk away, and stay there.
"You want something to drink? I have diet-" She started for the kitchen but James stepped in front of her. His hands came up and landed on her shoulders, his touch warm and firm.
"Shay?" She glanced up at James and this time her expression caught him right between the eyes. "Tell me. What's going on?"
"You." The word sounded almost choked out of her.
Lust engulfed her light irises, her pupils almost fully blown out. The look said she wanted him to jump her. His own body's reaction was no less subtle. It produced a hard-on for her that could drill a hole in a brick wall.
Still, he didn't make a move because behind her full-on lustful glance was the familiar wariness. He could feel it in the tense tremors running through her shoulders where his hands lay and the way she had tucked her lips together. She seemed to be braced for what came next. And then he understood.
She wasn't worried about his but her own control. That was a complicated response to the moment that they shared. Many things needed to be said, questions asked, and depending on the answers, decisions reached. This wasn't the time, probably not the place, but- Fuck it.
His eagerness must have shown in his gaze because her eyes flared and she stepped up against him, slid her arms around his neck and pulled his head down until his lips met hers.
The power of his need blew away any possibility that he was going to back down now. He reached out to skim the back of his hands down her bare upper arms before cupping her shoulders and drawing her in hard against his chest.
She surged into him, pushing her hips against his groin, directing him backward toward the sofa. And then she was following him down, climbing into his lap before his butt hit the cushions. She pushed back his jacket and began tearing his shirt from his waistband. Her hands were everywhere, giving him no time to enjoy what she was offering. Her mouth engulfed his, wide open and too rough for genuine pleasure.
She made love like a teenage boy, zero to eighty with no shifting. It was as if she were trying to outrun something.
Isn't this what happened last time?
Crap. His brain kicked in. He'd been a cop too long not to weigh the evidence presented to him.
This seduction felt like a distraction. At the moment, sex was a distraction for both of them. They needed to slow down, start over.
He reached up and took her face in his hands and, after a quick hard kiss, held her off. "Hold up, Shay."
She jerked upright in his lap, staring at him with golden-brown eyes blinking in instant wariness. "What's wrong?"
Damned if I know. James sucked in a breath to slow the jackhammering of his heart. It had been a dumb-shit idea to stop. But he had, and she was waiting for an explanation.
He leaned forward to push his forehead to hers. "I like you, Shay. I'd like to screw you, too. But I don't have a plane to catch. We have time."
She leaned away. Caution shone in her eyes. "For what?"
He knew better than to toss Eric's name into the mix at this particular moment. To gain her trust he needed to build back up to that, as any good interrogator would. That thought made him feel like an asshole. Okay, so maybe that's what it took to get some answers. He still needed them.
He kissed her to gain a few precious seconds in which to switch gears. Maybe not the best tactic. Her lips seemed to connect directly to his dick.
Reluctantly, he leaned away from her. "Ah, hm, how about we ease into the thing? Slow down. Take time. Try some, some … "
"Foreplay?" Her voice was sharp with surprise.
"There you go. Foreplay."
He dropped his hands from her face and reached down to lift her off his lap. Instead he encountered the smooth skin of her thighs. His hands slid up the firm warm flesh until they encountered the edge of her panties. This was not going the way he needed it to go.
Reluctantly he dragged his hands back down the soft plush skin of her thighs. "I must be out of my mind."
"Are you playing hard to get, Mr. Cannon?" She smiled a lot faster than he'd thought she would.
"Hard, yes." He didn't break eye contact until she blinked. Then he looked away, desperate for ideas that would reboot the moment. "TV?"
"Fine."
She slid off him, pulling her skirt down over her very nicely toned thighs and reaching for the remote. The TV sprang to life. An I Love Lucy rerun appeared. Okay, that would work.
Under the cover of adjusting his clothing James tried to make an appropriate mental adjustment to calm himself down. It wasn't working. Had he really just backed her off his ready-to-go johnson? He needed his head checked. Yes. Definitely. Maybe if he just …
As she sat back down, Bogart jumped up on the sofa and wedged his hairy body between them, rump toward James and his big head in Shay's lap. The result was a pretty damn effective barrier.
James glared at his partner. Bogart seemed to have an uncanny way of reading his handler's mind and emotions. Spooky, actually.
Shay stroked the big doggy head, the rhythm helping to ease the frustration of wondering how to move on from a moment she had desperately wanted to finish. She noticed James was petting his partner, too.
She didn't have a whole lot of experience with men, besides Eric. He thought she should always be ready for him. Once he was in the mood, nothing stopped him from jumping her and pumping away until he, at least, was satisfied. Foreplay had disappeared long ago. She often felt like a whore. Nothing in that relationship seemed useful when dealing with James Cannon.