“Well, yeah. I do take pride in doing my best.”
“I’ll bet you do. Someone with that thoughtfulness, that attention to detail, you’re sure to hit at least a seven, maybe even an eight, on the orgasm scale.”
“Orgasm scale?” It was as if she’d posted a challenge sign. His testosterone demanded he grab that gauntlet and prove his manhood. “What’s the scale? One to eight?”
Audra placed her fingers, just the tips, on the back of his hand and slid it under the edge of her skirt. Then she leaned close so he could feel her warm, sweet breath on his face. “Ten, baby. The top of the scale is a ten.”
“What’s the criteria for placement on this scale of yours?” He stifled a groan when he realized those luscious black hose covering her long legs stopped at the top of her thighs. He traced the rough, lacy band and told himself mewling pitifully would probably not rate high on her scale.
“Visual stimulation is the first step,” she explained, her husky lisp stimulating him more than most women could with a naked body and a can of whipped cream. “A look across the room, the sexual energy that sparks between two people when their eyes meet.”
He slid his index finger under the band of her stockings, imagining how it’d feel to roll the silky fabric down her thighs, leaving her flesh bare for his lips.
“Do you know how it is when you meet someone’s eyes, and your body responds sexually? For a man, you might get a little hard, might feel your muscles tighten. Me, I get damp. Damp is always a good sign in climbing the orgasm scale.”
“I’ll admit, I did get hard when our eyes met,” he said.
She smiled her approval, obviously delighted he was willing to play along.
“Why don’t you find out if I got damp?”
“We’re a little past the meeting-of-the-eyes stage,” he reminded her.
“Then why don’t you see if I’m wet?”
Jesse couldn’t resist. He slid his fingers higher on her thigh, brushing the tips over the lacy fabric of her panties. He groaned aloud. Wet. Deliciously wet.
“See, you’re well on your way to an eight.”
“I’m sure I can hit higher than an eight on that particular scale,” he assured her fervently.
“Babe, nobody’s gotten higher than an eight. That fabled ten on the orgasm scale is a myth.”
“Then why not lower the scale?”
“Please,” she insisted with a haughty look only a woman confident in her sexual worth could pull off. “Why would I lower my standards?”
Good point. Jesse grinned. It was a challenge he couldn’t resist.
He leaned over and took her mouth with his.
And lost himself in the dark delight she offered. Pure sex, with that underlying sweet humor. She was his ultimate fantasy. When she sucked his tongue into her mouth, Jesse realized his fantasies were about to upgrade.
Audra’s fingers brushed his skin like little electric shocks as she slipped the buttons of his shirt free. He nudged the elastic band of her panties aside to delight in her wet folds. When she scraped her fingernail over his nipple, an intense wave of desire washed over him and all thought fled.
With his fingers between her legs, his tongue working her mouth, Jesse gave himself over to a single goal. Bringing her that orgasm.
“Mmm,” she moaned as he nibbled his way over the curves flowing out the top of her leather bodice. “I am so glad you came into the club tonight.”
Club. Davey. The case. Dammit. Jesse lifted his head and blinked, shocked for some reason to realize they were still in the parking lot. A freaking parking lot, for God’s sake. With a suspect of his case.
“I can’t,” Jesse said with a quick breath.
With not only his virtue, but his ethics on the line, he pulled back and shifted Audra so she was curled in his arms. And more importantly, so she was angled so he couldn’t put his hand back up her skirt.
“Can’t? Babe, you’re hard enough to shoot for level nine if you tried. Believe me, I have faith you can.”
Oh, God. Damned right he could. He was so hard, just the feel of her ass pressed against him was almost more pressure than he could stand. But he was pushing boundaries already. No way was he crossing that particular line.
“No condom,” he claimed in desperation. “I don’t have protection.”
“Is that all?” Audra gave him a sultry smile that blurred those ethical lines again. She reached behind her for the tiny purse she’d tossed on the driver’s seat and did a quick finger rifle through it. Obviously not finding what she wanted, she upended the contents. Coming up empty, she frowned and gave a little shrug as she pulled open her wallet.
While she peered through the little pockets, Jesse eyed the disarray, looking for whatever Davey boy had given her. Lipstick, mints, a clear change purse holding a twenty and some coins. He spied her driver’s license. Perfect.
“Wow, you look good,” he said, slipping the small plastic card from the seat. He mentally patted himself on the back for such a sly move. “I thought crappy driver’s license pictures were some kind of law.”
“Laws aren’t really rules, they’re more like guidelines,” Audra joked. Jesse cringed at her attitude but didn’t figure he had room to take her to task, since he’d obviously broken a few ethical laws of his own. The underlying tightness in her voice distracted him from the pleasure of self-flagellation.
“And you aren’t big on guidelines?” he asked with a frown. Frustrated with the lack of physical evidence of her connection to Davey, he told himself to get back in cop mode. Jesse memorized her full name, address and license number.
“Sure I am. It’s a lot easier to break the rules if you know the guidelines first,” she said with a wicked grin.
“Knowledge is the first step of preparation, huh?”
“Sure. And a Wicked Chick is always prepared.” She leaned back toward the driver’s seat and flipped open the glove box. She quickly shuffled through the messy pile of papers and frowned. “I have to have one in here.”
She moved from shuffling papers to tossing them on the floor. “What the hell? How can I not have one? It’s the Wicked Chicks number one rule. The only way to play safe is bring your own protection.”
“I thought rules were more like guidelines.” As soon as the words were out, Audra pinned him with a laser glare. Jesse winced. Maybe his sisters were right. Maybe he did always find the perfectly wrong thing to say.
Either way, he felt as if he’d been saved from a long fall off a very jagged cliff. He’d just ignore the part of him that was screaming in frustration at being denied that fall. Eight, his ass. He’d have shown her nine, easy. Ten, if he could use props and toys.
But that wasn’t an option. At least, not right now. First he had to clear her or, if she was too involved with Dave Larson’s current crimefest, bust her.
“To be honest, I’m not usually the kind of guy who gets that friendly on the first date.”
Audra just continued to look at him, frustration and something deeper reflected in her eyes.
“I’d like to get together sometime, maybe a date?” Somewhere with a better setting for interrogation. First he’d do a little research, see if he could ferret out her connections. And practice the art of the cold shower.
“A date?”
“Yeah, you know, two people, out in public, getting