She looked up at him with a grin. “I was being politically agreeable.”
“You were lying.” He put the cup on the counter and gathered her up whole against him. “What a sweetheart you are,” he ground out as his mouth suddenly ground down into hers.
The force of the kiss shocked her. He didn’t lead up to it. It was instant, feverish passion, so intense that the insistence of his mouth shocked her lips apart, giving him access to the heated sweetness within. She wasn’t a woman who incited passion. In fact, what she’d experienced of it had turned her cold. She didn’t like the arrogance, the pushiness, of most men she’d dated. But Kilraven was as honest in passion as he was otherwise. He enjoyed kissing her, and he didn’t pretend that he didn’t. His arms forced her into the hard curve of his body and he chuckled when he felt her melt against him, helpless and submissive, as he ground his mouth into hers.
Her arms went under his and around him. The utility belt was uncomfortable. She felt the butt of his automatic at her ribs. His arms were bruising. But she didn’t care. She held on for all she was worth and shivered with what must have been desire. She’d never felt it. Not until now, with the last man on earth she should allow herself to feel it for.
He felt her shy response with wonder. He’d expected that a socialite like Winnie would have had men since her early teens. The way of the world these days was experience. Virtue counted for nothing with most of the social set. But this little violet was innocent. He could feel it when she strained away from the sudden hardness of his body, when she shivered as he tried to probe her mouth.
Curious, he lifted his head and looked down into her flushed, wide-eyed face. Innocence. She couldn’t even pretend sophistication.
Gently, he eased her out of his arms. He smiled to lessen the sting of it. “You taste of green apples,” he said enigmatically.
“Apples?” She blinked, and swallowed. She could still taste him on her mouth. It had felt wonderful, being held so close to that warm strength. “I haven’t had an apple in, well, in ages,” she stammered.
“It was a figure of speech. Here. Put on your coat.” He helped her ease her arms into it. Then he handed her the cup.
“Am I leaving and taking it with me?” she asked blankly.
“No. We’re just drinking it outside.” He picked up his own cup and shepherded her out of the door, onto the long porch, down the steps and out to a picnic table that had been placed there, with its rude wooden benches, by the owner.
“We’re going to drink coffee out here?” she asked, astonished. “It’s freezing!”
“I know. Sit down.”
She did, using the cup for a hand warmer.
“It is a bit nippy,” he commented.
A sheriff’s car drove past. It beeped. Kilraven waved. “I’m leaving next week,” he said.
“Yes. You told us.”
A Jacobsville police car whizzed by, just behind the sheriff’s car. It beeped, too. Kilraven threw up his hand. Dust rose and fell in their wake, then settled.
“I had some sick leave and some vacation time left over. I can only use a little of it, of course, for this year, because it’s almost over. But I’m going to have a few weeks to do some investigating without pay.” He smiled. “With the state of the economy what it is, I don’t think they’ll mind that.”
“Probably not.” She sipped coffee. “Exactly what do you do when you aren’t impersonating a police officer?” she asked politely.
He pursed his lips and his silver eyes twinkled. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to—”
A loud horn drowned out the rest. This time, it was a fire truck. They waved. Kilraven waved back. So did Winnie.
“Have to what?” she asked him.
“Well, it wouldn’t be pretty.”
“That’s just stonewalling, Kilraven,” she pointed out. She frowned. “Don’t you have a first name?”
“Sure. It’s—”
Another loud horn drowned that out, too.
They both turned. Cash Grier pulled up beside the picnic table and let down his window on the driver’s side. “Isn’t it a little cold to be drinking coffee outside?” he asked.
Kilraven gave him a wry look. “Everybody at the EOC saw me drive off with Winnie,” he said complacently. “So far, there have been two cop cars and a fire truck. And, oh, look, there comes the Willow Creek Police Department. A little out of your jurisdiction, aren’t you?” he called loudly to the driver, who was from northern Jacobs County. He just grinned and waved and drove on.
Winnie hadn’t realized how much traffic had gone by until then. She burst out laughing. No wonder Kilraven had wanted to sit out here. He wasn’t going to have her gossiped about. It touched her.
“If I were you, I’d take her to Barbara’s Café to have this discussion,” Cash told him. “It’s much more private.”
“Private?” Kilraven exclaimed.
Cash pointed to the road. There were, in a row, two sheriffs’ cars, a state police vehicle, a fire and rescue truck, an ambulance and, of all things, a fire department ladder truck. They all tooted and waved as they went by, creating a wave of dust.
Cash Grier shook his head. “Now, that’s a shame you’ll get all dusty. Maybe you should take her back inside,” he said with an angelic expression.
“You know what you can do,” Kilraven told him. He got up and held out his hand for Winnie’s cup. “I’m putting these in the sink, and then we’re leaving.”
“Spoilsport.” Cash sighed. “Now we’ll all have to go back to work!”
“I can suggest a place to do it,” Kilraven muttered.
Cash winked at Winnie, who couldn’t stop laughing. He drove off.
Winnie got up, sighed and dug in her coat pocket for her car keys. It had been, in some ways, the most eventful hour of her life. She knew things about Kilraven that nobody else did, and she felt close to him. It was the first time in their turbulent relationship that she felt any hope for the future. Not that getting closer to him was going to be easy, she told herself. Especially not with him in San Antonio and her in Jacobsville.
He came back out, locking the door behind him. He looked around as he danced gracefully down the steps and joined her. “What, no traffic jam?” he exclaimed, nodding toward the deserted road. “Maybe they ran out of rubberneckers.”
Just as he said that, a funeral procession came by, headed by none other than the long-suffering Macreedy. He was famous for getting lost while leading processions. He didn’t blow his horn. In fact, he really did look lost. The procession went on down the road with Winnie and Kilraven staring after it.
“Don’t tell me he’s losing another funeral procession,” she wailed. “Sheriff Carson Hayes will fry him up and serve him on toast if he does it again.”
“No kidding,” Kilraven agreed. “There’s already been the threat of a lawsuit by one family.” He shook his head. “Hayes really needs to put that boy behind a desk.”
“Or take away his car keys,” she agreed.
He looked down at her with an oddly affectionate expression. “Come on. You’re getting chilled.”
He walked her back to her car, towering over her. “You’ve come a long way since that day you went wailing home because you forgot to tell me a perp was armed.”
She smiled. “I was lucky. I could have gotten you killed.”
He