Kissing her to piss off the ex had been little more than a boost to his ego. Kissing her for real jump-started his libido in a way no other kiss had in a very long time. Come to think of it, he hadn’t kissed a woman in a very long time. Not since Sherri. Not since he got sober.
Stop thinking, he told himself, or you’ll talk yourself out of this one.
Claire slipped her hands inside the front of his jacket. He held his breath for a few seconds, hoping she didn’t encounter the Glock. He started breathing again when she slid her fingers up his chest, apparently none the wiser. Although she knew he was a cop, she wouldn’t like knowing he was armed.
Still doing too damn much thinking.
Claire leaned even closer, her body soft against his. Ordinarily that would have been enough to make him stop using his head, but knowing someone on the street had been watching him still had his senses on heightened alert, and now he was acutely aware of the wide expanse of windows behind them. Anyone who cared to watch would be able to see them.
“Which way to the bedroom?”
He hated to break the mood, hoped she wouldn’t change her mind, but she only tipped her head back and smiled.
“This way.” She took him by the hand and led him down a hallway and into a huge master suite.
“Wow.” There was a king-size bed, two bureaus, a pair of armchairs separated by a large ottoman and still enough space for a small dance floor. And the drapes were closed.
“I’ve never done this before,” she said.
This being...? he wondered, but didn’t dare ask.
“I mean, I’ve never brought another man here.”
Is that right? Now it was up to him to make sure she didn’t regret it. He shrugged off his leather jacket, slung it over the back of a chair and slowly closed the short distance between him and Claire. He watched her eyes, looking for any hint of reluctance, any suggestion that she might have changed her mind.
He stopped in front of her but didn’t touch her. Without missing a beat, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.
He would let her set the pace, he decided. Even if it killed him.
He rested his hands on her hips, lightly, relishing the gentle sway as she pressed her mouth to his. Her tongue slid slowly across his lips and his resolve started to wane. For a woman unaccustomed to inviting men to her bedroom, she was damn good at it.
She shoved his T-shirt up his chest, and he made it easy for her by stripping it off and resuming the kiss. Her hands were warm against his bare flesh, and getting hotter by the minute. Time to return the favor. He tugged on her sweater and she let him pull it over her head, exposing a lacy white bra and full shapely breasts that were just...
“Beautiful,” he whispered.
He backed her up to the bed, let her go long enough for her to lie down and crawled on next to her, thinking that being horizontal with Claire might be the closest he would ever get to heaven.
“The light,” she said, adding a little gasp as his hand explored the lace undergarment.
“What about it?”
“We should turn it out.”
“No way.” He found the hooks at the back and released them with one hand, first try. Not exactly the sort of thing a guy could put on a resumé, but a damn handy skill to have. “I don’t want to miss a thing.”
The feel of her and the scent of her skin already had his senses on overload, but he wanted it all. He wanted to hear more of those breathy sighs, taste her and explore every square inch of her. The lights were staying on.
He took one breast into his mouth, marveling at the texture, and how the more he teased, the more it changed. With one hand he explored her belly, hip and thigh, still clad in dark jeans. Finally unable to resist, he slipped his fingers between her legs.
Even through the fabric she was hot and damp, and he was practically delirious with desire. He hardly dared let himself believe that Lucky Devil was about to get lucky with Claire DeAngelo. A momentary flash of uncertainty ripped through him, and he reminded himself that he needed to take this slow. She deserved to be worshipped, not ravished.
Apparently she had other ideas. She tugged at his belt buckle and when that didn’t give way, she ran her hand over the front of his jeans, covering him with her palm. What little willpower he had evaporated.
Next time they would take it slow. Or the time after that, for sure.
He closed his eyes and momentarily gave himself up to her intimate touch, then he undid her jeans, dipped a hand inside her panties and primed her with a couple of quick strokes.
She unzipped his fly and returned the favor.
He stroked her some more, smug in the knowledge that he was here with her, and she was hot for him. Him. He unbuckled his belt and unsnapped his jeans. She had found a way in, but he was desperate to give her full access. And she took full advantage.
This felt so right in so many ways. Sweet, shy Claire, who had always come across as being a little unsure of her womanhood, was moving to the rhythm of his touch, not afraid to show him what she wanted or give him what he needed.
His sense of personal triumph was interrupted by a sound from outside the bedroom. A key in the door? The hair went up on the back of his neck.
The door opened quietly and closed again.
What the hell?
In the space of a heartbeat his instincts shifted from the beautiful woman sprawled beside him to the disturbing awareness they were no longer alone. He put a finger to his lips, indicating she needed to be quiet, ignoring the fleeting second thought brought on by the scent of her.
His gut told him the intruder was the same person who’d been watching him earlier. In one swift silent move he stood, zipped his jeans and retrieved his gun from inside his jacket.
Claire’s eyes went wide. Shh, he silently cautioned her again.
He moved to the bedroom door, confident that his ability to silently cross the carpet like a cat gave him the advantage. Bad enough someone had picked the lock and broken into the place, but to interrupt him when he was about to have sex for the first time in a really long time? Whoever this was deserved to get shot.
He was halfway down the short hallway when a shadow slanted across the floor ahead of him. He flattened himself against the wall and waited. By the time the shadow-maker appeared, he was ready for him. He slammed the man face-first against the opposite wall and jerked one of his arms behind his back. Air gushed out of the guy’s chest with a pleasing oomph and the stale scent of whiskey. Luke jabbed the business end of his weapon between a couple of ribs.
“Seattle P.D. Don’t move, unless maybe you’ve got a death wish.”
“Police? What the...?”
Luke immediately recognized the voice. Claire’s ex. What was this son of a bitch doing here?
“This is break-and-enter.” Maybe a pat down would teach Mr. High-and-Mighty to think twice before stalking his ex-wife and breaking into her apartment. Still, some of his tension eased, knowing the intruder wasn’t one of the subjects they had under surveillance.
“Luke. Let him go.” Claire appeared in the bedroom doorway, and then light flooded the hallway. She had pulled on a dressing gown and folded her arms across the front to keep it closed.
Luke lowered his weapon and reluctantly backed off.
Donald swung away from him, flexing his arm. “How can I break and enter a place if I own it?”
“By not living in it,” Luke said. Did this jerk really believe he could come and go from here, from Claire’s home, anytime he pleased?