Broken Page 8

  Laughing against her core, he grasped her hips and tossed her on the bed, his mouth working her the entire time, his tongue lashing her clit as if he couldn’t get enough. It was too much. She gasped, trying for control, while sparks uncoiled inside her faster than she could track.

  An orgasm took her, spiraling from nowhere, shaking through her. She closed her eyes and rode the waves, shocked at the height of them. When she was finished, he stood up. There was whipped cream in his hair from her hands.

  “That was so fast,” she gasped.

  His eyebrows rose. “Want another one?” He moved to bend down.

  “No.” She held up a hand. “I want you. All of you.”

  His eyes darkened, and he shoved his jeans off, freeing himself.

  She grinned, her body on fire for him. “Glad to see you’re in proportion.” Truth be told, the guy was huge.

  “Smart-ass.” He leaned over and drew a condom out of the bedside table.

  She sat up, reaching for him.

  “Later. Want to be inside you now.” He quickly rolled it on and moved her up the bed, covering her.

  This was too good to be true. She explored his chest, the whipped cream starting to dry and get sticky. “Your bed will be a mess.”

  “Then let’s make it good.” Somehow, he found the can and sprayed more whipped cream across her chest.

  She laughed, widening her legs; she hadn’t expected Wolfe to be fun, just mind-blowing.

  He pressed against her, sliding the head of his cock through her wetness, and she stopped laughing. Even after her orgasm, she was tight, and her body tried to resist his size. Pleasure and pain caught her, and she panted, then held her breath.

  His gaze kept hers, dark and intense, as he pushed inside her inch by inch, filling her until she wasn’t sure where she began and he ended.

  Finally, he stopped, deep inside her. Fully taking her. This was more than fun and more than friendship, but she couldn’t land on the right feeling.

  As if sensing her sudden vulnerability, he caressed her jawline. “Deep breaths, baby.”

  She took a deep breath, and the craving inside her intensified, pleasure overtaking the pain.

  “There we go.” Shadows deepened the strong hollows of his face, and his eyes blazed as darkness finished falling outside. He moved within her, and she bit her lip against a moan at the delicious friction.

  He eased out and pushed back in, watching her closely. She dug her nails into the rigid muscles of his arms, his movements increasing in strength and speed and rocketing need through her body. The room smelled like whipped cream and male, and she held tighter, each thrust of his powerful body pressing him against her still engorged clit.

  Pressure built, live wires uncoiled, and he hammered harder, his concentration almost intimidating. She had to shut her eyes and just let the colors take her away. Spasms of raw pleasure burst from her core, spreading throughout her body, making her toes curl. She whispered his name, overtaken, shocked by the intensity.

  He kept powering into her, faster and even harder, and then came with a husky groan. His head dropped to her nape, and his chest panted.

  Whoa. She tried to breathe normally, overwhelmed. This wasn’t just sex.

  He lifted his head and slowly licked whipped cream from her collarbone to her ear. His voice was a pleased rumble. “You’re all sticky. Let’s take this to the shower.”

  She blinked. “We’re not done?”

  “Not even close.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Well after midnight, Dana snuggled into Wolfe’s side, his heartbeat steady and sure beneath her palm. They’d gone three times, and her body was done. She’d barely helped with changing the sheets. “You’re not sleeping,” she murmured, her eyelids closing.

  “I know.”

  “Do you sleep often?” She tried to hide a yawn, her body shutting down.

  He didn’t answer and instead played with her hand on his chest.

  She sighed. “Tell me you’re not regretting tonight.” Did she have the energy to get upset? Probably not.

  “I’m not regretting tonight.” His voice remained steady and thoughtful, not giving away his thoughts. “Those marks on your thighs won’t scar. I’m glad.”

  What was going on in his head? She tried to track his reasoning when all she wanted was to sink into his warmth and relax. “Your wounds won’t?”

  “No. There’s a place inside you, one you never even knew existed, that can be broken. There’s an actual sound when it happens, and then your whole body is like a puzzle that doesn’t go together any longer.” He rolled them over and spooned his body around hers, offering comfort whether or not he realized it.

  She relaxed against him, even as her heart hurt for him. “I don’t have the right words, but I think the puzzle you’ve put back into place is a good one. I trust you. It can’t be easy, but anything broken can be fixed.”

  He hugged her closer. The gesture was all the more special for its brevity. Then he gentled his hold. “The final configuration can be unstable, though, and I can’t risk that with you—with anybody—and that’s final.”

  “We’ve already gone over this.” If he hadn’t sounded so serious, she’d mess with him a bit and tease him about getting married or something. Instead, she tried to follow his mood, which seemed a little off, though she couldn’t pin down what was bothering him. Was it about earlier that afternoon? “It wasn’t your fault Malcolm was hurt.”

  “Yeah, it was.”

  Ah. So that’s what was happening.

  His phone buzzed.

  She jerked against him. “Who in the world would be calling this late?”

  “Dunno.” Keeping her in place, he stretched an arm to his bedtable and pulled the phone to his ear. “Who the hell is calling so late?” he answered.

  He listened, his body warm beneath her touch. “Oh, yeah. I forgot I told you to call any time. What do you want?” Then he paused “Yeah? What’s the consensus?” He listened for a while, and then shook his head. “Absolutely not. We signed an NDA, remember?”

  Whoever was on the other end of the line replied with something Wolfe didn’t like, if the stiffening of his torso was any indication. “Right. Who do the cops think killed him?”

  Dana lifted her head from his chest to watch his reactions during the call.

  A muscle twitched in Wolfe’s jaw. “Is that right? Absolutely nothing, huh? What about the party on Tuesday?” He listened, remaining still in that odd way he had. “Is it private with no cops?” A male voice echoed slightly over the phone. “Good. I’ll be there, and I’m bringing a sub. And Trentington? I want full details on who the dead guy was and why the hell he was murdered at one of our parties—as well as any leads.” He clicked off.

  Dana played with his chest. “Did Trentington have any information?”

  “No. He said the police had no idea who killed Albert Nelson, which was his real name, by the way. Besides the Clarke Wellson identity, he had several aliases. I’ll have to get to the club records to see what he put down on his application.” Wolfe kissed the top of her head in what felt like a good-bye. “The cops want to talk to anybody who was at the party.”

  Well, that wasn’t good. “I used a fake name. Didn’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  Her body felt a little tight. “So they’re having another party on Tuesday night? Despite the murder?”

  “Probably because of the murder,” Wolfe said, seeming to be miles away all of a sudden. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Trentington is working with the cops to find out who killed the man with too many names. This party will be at Trentington’s house, which is where all of the member records should be. Hopefully.”

  She bit her lip. “What if there are cameras? For the police?”

  “It’d be a contract breach and betrayal of the members’ privacy, so I doubt it. But, since Tuesday’s event is a costume party, we’ll find a way to hide who we are.”

  Wolfe was too b
ig to hide, but Dana didn’t say anything as she waited for him to say whatever he had to say.

  “I don’t want you to be there.” Yeah, he’d said it.

  “Too bad.” She wasn’t going to let Candy down. She was going to find her friend’s killer no matter how nervous she felt about going undercover, and no matter how unsettled she was after sleeping with Wolfe.

  He was silent long enough that she almost fell asleep. “I’m going out for a while. I’ll make sure Malcolm is watching the house while I’m gone,” he finally said.

  No cuddling into the wee hours, then. She understood his need to get away and think. “Okay.”

  He stood and dressed, pausing at his doorway. The bed felt cold without him in it. “I won’t let anybody hurt you, Dana. No matter what. You have to believe me.”

  She did. No outside threat would get to her with Wolfe around. But every second in his presence drew her closer to him, and if he wouldn’t let her in, she wasn’t sure her heart would recover. Ever.

  And she had nobody else to blame but herself.

  * * *

  Wolfe was putting his life at risk every time he descended in the rickety elevator at his sorry office building. After leaving Dana, he’d decided to work instead of run, tonight. His brain didn’t need free rein after the night they’d just shared. How could he keep his distance from her? The woman was a siren to him, and he wanted nothing more than to go right back to bed with her.

  The silence of the office building on Sunday night usually soothed him, but he still couldn’t calm down. He often spent weekends and even nights at the office, which was pathetic. It wasn’t that he was so dedicated to the job but rather that he didn’t have another place to go. Bars didn’t do it for him, and neither did places with, well, other people.

  So here he was. Again—with a couple of lattes covered in whipped cream and sprinkles that he’d drink through the night. Now every time he saw whipped cream, he saw it covering Dana’s generous breasts. His mouth salivated.

  The elevator doors opened, and the buzz of the ancient fluorescent lights provided a strange sense of comfort for him.

  Then the German shepherd pranced out of the shrink’s office. Wolfe caught his breath. Not again. “Roscoe.”

  The dog smiled around the shredded red high heel dangling from his mouth, his snout covered in what looked like mauve-colored paste. He snorted, dropped the shoe, and danced around in a circle, somehow shaking his butt and tail in the opposing directions.

  Oh, so not good. Wolfe set the coffee cups down on his desk, stalked into Nari’s office, looked around, and slapped his head. A desk drawer had been busted open, revealing the remains of a gold-plated lipstick with bite marks on it. The colorful hue was smeared over several papers on the desk and across the white leather chair. No doubt the makeup had been expensive. “She’ll kill you.” Then he caught sight of the other damaged shoe in the far corner, which Roscoe had bitten right through. Wolfe looked up to the top of a bookcase to see everything scattered across it as if the dog had somehow jumped from the desk, hit the books and potted plant, and knocked much of it down. The shoes had probably been up there. “Why didn’t you just wear them?” The dog seemed to have a shoe fetish, both wearing and eating them.

  Roscoe snorted and reclaimed the second shoe, flopping down and munching happily. He burped.

  Wolfe straightened and turned, studying the pooch. “Tell me you’re sober,” he ordered.

  Roscoe hiccupped.

  Damn it. Wolfe dropped to his knees and lifted the dog’s head to stare into murky brown eyes. The dog had a drinking problem and had been to the vet several times, but he apparently had the liver of a ninety-year-old miner. “Booze is bad for dogs,” Wolfe murmured, patting Roscoe’s head. “I wonder if you’d be better off around people who weren’t so screwed up.”

  Roscoe sneezed and sent the shoe flying.

  Wolfe sighed. This wasn’t good. He stood and angled his neck toward the enclosed office in the back of the depressing space, which was situated between the two case rooms. Only silence came from the office.

  Roscoe followed his gaze and whined.

  Wolfe rubbed the ache between his eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded. “I’ve got it, buddy. Just stay here and sober up.”

  Roscoe set his face on his paws, sneezed again, and then shut his eyes. Snoring commenced almost immediately, interspersed with a whimper or two. Then the dog let out a stream of farts that punctured the silence with loud pops.

  Wolfe stood to grab the lattes before striding around the pod of desks to the rear office. “Force?” He poked his head in to see Angus sprawled, face first, across a worn leather sofa against the wall, his arm hanging off near an empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the floor.

  Wonderful. Wolfe set the lattes on the paper-strewn desk and grasped his boss by the shoulders, flipping him around to a sitting position. “Do you need to throw up?”

  Force wobbled and then blinked, his eyes so bloodshot it hurt to look at them. “Wolfe. It’s Sunday,” he slurred. “What are you doing here?”

  “Thought I’d wait here until my church services started,” Wolfe drawled, releasing his hold on Force’s shoulders once the man seemed semi-stable.

  Force snorted and kicked out his legs. The bottle rolled across the floor to hit the desk. “Where’s Roscoe?”

  “Sleeping it off out in the main room. You gave him booze?” Wolfe tried to keep from sounding judgmental but failed.

  “No.” Force looked around, blinking. “I thought I’d finished this bottle, but maybe not.” He dropped his head into his hands, a massive man with guilt pouring from him. “Lassiter is out there. He’s killing and we’re not finding him, so he’s killing more. I just know it.” His voice was gritty, tortured.

  “There’s no proof the guy is alive.” Wolfe reached for a latte and nudged it against Force’s hand.

  “I know he is.” Force lifted his head and took the sugary drink, downing half of it in one gulp.

  Wolfe nodded, working his way through his own whipped cream. The stuff didn’t taste nearly as good as it did on Dana’s skin. Damn it, he needed to focus. He trusted Force’s instincts almost as implicitly as he did his own. “If Brigid hasn’t found a line to Lassiter, there isn’t one. Is he really that good?”

  “Yeah.” Force finished the drink and then winced. “He’s that good, and I’m not the man I was five years ago. Not even close.”

  Wolfe could see that. “You have a good team this time, though. Together, we’ll find the guy.” If he was alive.

  Force wiped a sprinkle off his bottom lip. “That’s a lot of sugar.”

  “Only the best for you.” Wolfe drank his latte more slowly, feeling back in control, finally. “Have you, maybe, thought of talking to Nari about everything?” The shrink was smart and often helpful.

  Force stiffened and sat up straighter. “No.”

  Okay. Well, then. Wolfe had learned at an early age not to try to run through a brick wall, so enough of that. “This isn’t good, man. You have to stop with the Jack.” And the Johnny, Bud, and Jose.

  Force nodded, looking green. “Yeah. Got it.”

  Enough of the lecture. “Thanks for bringing Dana on board.” Was Force trying to matchmake?

  Force nodded. “I figured you’d need her with Bridge and Raider gone, and frankly, she’s pretty darn good at research. Are you two fuckin’ or what?”

  “Mind your own business,” Wolfe returned.

  Force sighed. “What a disaster.”

  Wasn’t that the damn truth?

  * * *

  Dana tugged her blouse into place, sitting in the passenger side of Wolfe’s truck on the way to work. He must’ve returned sometime during the night but had slept on the sofa. Nope. She wasn’t hurt by that at all. Ugh. “I can get my own ride to work, you know?” She eyed the way-too-sweet latte already waiting for her in his cupholder.

  He banked left and drove around a hearse. “I know, but I figured you’d want su
pport for your first Monday morning.”

  There probably wouldn’t be a lot of Monday mornings, and she knew him better than that. “I appreciate your playing bodyguard, but if our friendship is temporary, then I shouldn’t start to count on that, right?” Yeah, she might be sounding a little snippy.

  “Our friendship isn’t temporary, but our close proximity is, because it needs to be.” He sounded oh so reasonable and back in control this morning. He also looked fresh and ready to rumble in dark jeans and a light green T-shirt, but there was stubble along his hard jawline.

  She sighed. “Don’t act all distant and weird because we burned up the sheets last night.”

  He didn’t glance her way, but his lips twitched. “You do have a way with words, and I’m not acting distant and weird. Well, maybe weird, but that’s normal for me.”

  “You said you didn’t regret it, and I don’t regret it, so knock it off.” She was starting to feel like a dork, and she’d had enough of this. “You’re lucky, in fact.” It wasn’t as if she went around sleeping with guys. Who had the time?

  “I know. Very lucky.” His smile flashed straight white teeth.

  She watched the traffic go by outside the truck. It seemed like the guy had the world on his mind. “Are you worried we just complicated everything?”

  “Oh, we definitely just complicated everything.” He edged around a semi carting fruit. “Drink your latte. It’s getting cold.” He jerked his head toward the melting whipped cream.

  She took the coffee and sipped gingerly, letting the syrup slam into her system. Why didn’t somebody tell Wolfe to take it easy on the sugar? He seemed to get so much enjoyment from providing the sweets that even she couldn’t say anything, although she was feeling a mite prickly with him right now—and not just because she’d gained five pounds since starting to hang out with him. “I appreciate your concern. I am capable, you know.”

  “Very much so.” He turned off the interstate and wound down the quiet road toward the ’70s-style office building. “No matter how capable you are, I would want to protect you if you were mine.”

  Whoa. “I’m mine,” she retorted. “Even if we had decided to take all of this to the next level, which we did not, I would not be yours.” The warmth spreading through her limbs was irritation, not desire. Yep. Definitely.