Cold Case, Hot Bodies

“Is that a crime?”

“Do you want me to arrest you?”

“You can keep me locked up for a long time.”

The music seemed to surge then, and he gasped in protest as the heat of her lower body left his, at least until he realized she was only stripping off leggings. As soon as her legs were bare, his hungry hands sought flesh. Disappointment filled him when he found her panties still on. By the feel of it, it was a tiny silk thong with a string waistband. She straddled him again, her knees on the mattress. Just her scent was enough to make him beg for mercy.

Overcome, he grasped her back, hugging her, then nuzzled her face. The music seemed to be coming right through the walls as his tongue stroked the scanty fabric. When she flung back her head to take the pleasure, long hair whipped behind her, and when her back arched for the intimate kiss, his rigid tongue dove for her clitoris, soaking it. Using a hand to steady her, he pressed his mouth to her, making her writhe.

Not even air passed between them as his tongue did its magic, vibrating. Under damp panties, her cleft opened all the way, and both her hands raked into his hair, digging into his scalp. She moaned, then shuddering cries came in a steady stream. She was wet, his kiss was wetter, and in a second, her panties were drenched, but he didn’t think she’d come yet. She was holding back.

“Come.” He murmured the word against the silk. “Now.”

But she only cradled his head tighter. No wonder it had taken her so long to get here, he thought vaguely. Where had she found dance hall music on such short notice? And whatever equipment she’d brought, so she could play it? She’d done all this for him—the wig, the music, the late-night rendezvous. And now he was going to make the effort worth it for her.

Curling his fingers over the string waistband, he fisted his hand, yanking her nearer. Then he ripped the waistband. He was still tearing the panties when his mouth fell to her flesh, covering her completely. She was creaming, hot and slick, and she gasped.

Thighs braced his sides, shaking uncontrollably, her knees threatening to buckle as he tongued her, but she was still holding back. This really wasn’t at all like Sheila. What had gotten into her tonight?

“What do you want?” he whispered hoarsely. “What’s going to make you come?”

“You…inside…” Her utterance was broken. “I want…I want…”

He couldn’t wait for her to spell out the rest. He was too swollen. Painfully thick, his erection was pulsing, and just a hair-trigger touch would make him explode. Blindly reaching, he grabbed a condom and roughly kicked away the sheet. A moment later, he grunted softly, voicing the agony only she could relieve. Quickly wrapping his arms around her, he urged her to lie beside him. She was naked and quivering, burning up.

“What?” he whispered raggedly, dragging kisses across her cheeks, willing to give her anything.

“Fuck me,” she whispered softly, the words barely audible.

It was the sexiest thing he’d ever heard. At first, he wasn’t even sure he’d heard right, but now his heart hammered with increased desire. The words hadn’t sounded dirty at all, not like a curse, just needy. Even sweet. He’d never heard so much frustrated desire in a woman’s voice. Hell, the more he knew Sheila, the more he discovered vulnerability he’d never have guessed was there, and it was starting to get to him. She was like a difficult case that never seemed to add up. This really didn’t seem like the same Sheila he’d had sex with before, and it was intriguing him.

Maybe he was falling in love with her after all.

Mutterings emanated from nowhere as she molded to his body. He whispered sweet nothings in return, then peppered kisses into the wig. Urging her onto her back, he kneeled, turning her so he could gain the deepest possible access. Silken thighs parted, and his heart stuttered. Burning and throbbing, he teased her, parting the cleft with his erection. Catching drops of her natural lubrication, he stroked, wishing his own sex wasn’t sheathed.

When he could take no more, he placed his hands on her thighs, parting them farther still, wishing the light was on so he could see everything. Crooking a hand under her knee, he raised a shapely leg, then everything seemed silent. It was as if the music had stopped, although it hadn’t, or as if their panting breaths had calmed, although they were both breathing harder than ever.

She arched, silently begging.

He thrust hard, and she parted like a river, much tighter than he remembered. He’d never felt so big, thrusting harder and filling her. She sobbed as she stretched to take him, flinging her arms around his neck. When he was in all the way, he rocked his hips, then he rested and just felt the bliss, sighing.

Her heart was hammering against his heart. Her breath mingled with his breath. After a long moment, he withdrew and thrust again, staying skin to skin.

“Oh, yes,” she whispered as something primal grabbed hold of him. Her possessive nails were dragging down his back now, and her claiming lips, teeth and tongue were suckling his neck. She was pulsing all around him, and with her first orgasm, she cried out, a wrenching twist of her body coming in tandem with a sob that shook his emotions. Her second orgasm sent a shudder through him, then palpitations. By the third, he was putty in her hands. She was cooing like a dove as he went over the edge, gasping once, his mind losing itself to darkness.

He’d never know how many seconds had elapsed. But when consciousness came again, she was still there, wrapped tightly in his arms, making sweet, soft sounds. Slowly, their breathing evened. Multiples, he thought. Now that was like Sheila. After a long moment, a smile tugged at his lips. “I think my hangover’s gone,” he whispered.

But she was fast asleep.

He laid in the dark for a long time, only now realizing that the music she’d brought had switched off. He hadn’t even noticed. As a cop, he was usually very alert. On the job, he had one of the highest arrest records at his precinct, but when it came to sexy women, he always lost his head. He might be a cop, but he was a man, too.

He glanced down, unable to see her in the dark. Hair had fallen over her face, obscuring it, and since the wig wasn’t bothering her, he let it lay. Maybe it was time to fess up, he thought. After all, he had taken Sheila home to meet his folks, hadn’t he? And he didn’t do that with every woman. Oh, maybe he and Sheila hadn’t seemed to have much in common at first, but if sex was this good, surely they’d find areas of compatibility, wouldn’t they?

He couldn’t believe how content he felt right now. As if all was right with the world, and he’d arrived exactly where he was supposed to be. As if he was home. He didn’t remember Sheila fitting quite so perfectly into the crook of his shoulder. Why hadn’t he noticed before?

His smile broadened, turning whimsical. Maybe Gem O’Shea’s ghost had a hand in this. Maybe Sheila wasn’t the brightest, maybe she didn’t get most of his jokes, and she’d never be able to keep up with him in a verbal sparring match. But that didn’t really matter, did it?

Of course it didn’t, he thought now. It was amazing how only an hour of sex could change a man’s thinking about a woman. Earlier tonight, before he’d gone to bed, he hadn’t even been thinking of Sheila as a potential mate. But now…

With her, sex was hotter every time. Tonight had been the best by far. She’d gone to so much trouble to please him. She had to be crazy about him. In the morning, he’d make a huge move and tell her he felt the same way, he decided.

And then he slept.

3

DANCE HALL MUSIC was playing again. As soon as Dario registered it, he bolted upright. “What time is it?” he asked, glancing toward the beside clock. When he saw only a whiskey bottle, he realized he was at his pop’s building, not in his apartment in Battery Park. As he registered that the sunlight from a front room looked bright, the events of the previous night came rushing back in a barrage of hot images, but the bed was empty. The doorway to the outer hall, which he’d left ajar for Sheila, was wide open. “Sheila?”

As he stared toward the shut bathroom door, he heard a soft whirring sound. The camera was working, which seemed impossible at first, then he recalled that it was motion-activated. This and the other cameras he’d borrowed from the precinct were used on stakeouts, so maybe it had recorded last night’s activities, after all. He hoped so. Even shadows of what happened between him and Sheila would be worth watching this morning. His sitting up in bed must have activated the camera again. He’d never have heard the soft whir over the music.

“Sheila?”

No answer.

That strange bawdy-house music was still sounding. It was loud and coming from…

“Under the bed?” That was weird. And where was his cell, so he could check the time? Squinting, he reached a hand under the bed. His gun was beside the cell. As he lifted the phone, he smiled. So that was the source of the music. Sheila had changed his ringer.

“Cute,” he whispered. No doubt, she’d expected him to hear it during the day, and recall the bawdy-house music she’d played while they’d made love. Not just had sex, he thought. Last night, they’d definitely taken things to a new level. Surely, she’d want to meet after work.

He looked for the boom box she must have brought, but he didn’t see it. He didn’t see her jacket or leggings, and he hoped she hadn’t gotten dressed. If so, he was only going to remove her clothes again. Flipping open the cell, he saw that it was only eight, which meant they had time for a quickie.

Sobering, he swallowed hard, something resembling a lump forming in his throat. Was he really going to tell her how he was starting to feel about her? Did he really feel the same way this morning? “Yeah,” he whispered. “I do.”

If work was calling, he’d tell Pat he’d be a few minutes late, to buy some extra time with Sheila. “Donato here.”

“We need to talk.”

It was Sheila.

Inwardly, he groaned. That explained why the jacket and leggings weren’t on the floor. “You’re home.”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

Probably, she’d wanted to change for work, and while he didn’t share her impulse, he admired her for wanting to be where she was supposed to be. Under the circumstances, that showed dedication. If she hadn’t run off, they’d be having more great sex.

“Thanks for letting me sleep,” he said, meaning it. After what she’d done to him last night, he’d needed the rest. Suddenly, his heart was in his throat, and his mind was racing. He was trying to frame what he most wanted to say. “I have something to tell you—”

“No,” she said quickly. “I have something to tell you.”