Divorced, Desperate and Delicious

Chase fought back the desire to follow Lacy and force her to admit the truth. She’d thought he’d left and she’d been crying, which meant that whether she liked it or not, she cared. He didn’t go after her.

  Closing his eyes, he tried to calm the panic still buzzing inside his chest. Five minutes ago, he’d been prepared to come in, grab his things and leave. But then it hit him; leaving wouldn’t stop Zeke from coming back. And if Zeke returned and Lacy, with her inability to lie, wasn’t able to convince him she hadn’t seen Chase, then Zeke might hurt her. Leaving or staying, Chase had already put Lacy in danger. If he stayed, at least he’d be around to protect her.

  So he would stay. But he had to keep his head. He couldn’t make her promises. Hell, no. This wasn’t casual, but where would it lead? What could he offer her? If something didn’t turn around, Chase Kelly was either going to have to decide to make a run for it or turn himself in. If he did that, there was a very good chance that he’d be doing time. Either way, he didn’t want to take Lacy down with him.

  So now, no matter how much he wanted to tell her what he felt, he couldn’t—not until he knew what the future held.

  • • •

  Lacy was still awake when, almost an hour later, Chase slipped into bed beside her. She didn’t speak, and neither did he. Seconds ticked by like those of a clock low on batteries. She drew in a deep breath and caught his scent—an outdoors-type of aroma of wind and trees. His own inhalation followed hers and filled the dark room with a strange type of anticipation of what would happen next. Not just in the next few minutes, but regarding the next step of the relationship.

  She felt him roll onto his side. The gentle sway of the mattress had her chest aching. He’d be gone soon. There would be no one making her mattress dip. Sure, the cats and Fabio, but they didn’t count.

  “Can’t sleep?” he asked.

  “No,” she mumbled, but swore she wouldn’t cry or beg him to never leave. She’d gone into this knowing it wasn’t permanent, a lesson in sex without commitment. And Chase Kelly had sure as heck given her a crash course in sex. It was the sex without commitment clause that had caused the hiccup.

  “Me, either.” He brushed his nose against her cheek. “Can you think of—“ his tongue dipped inside her ear “—anything that might help us sleep?”

  “We could play chess,” she said. “That always puts me to sleep.”

  “Did you say, ‘play with your chest’?” His hand whispered up under her shirt. His words, naughty and seductive, filled her ear. “I can do that.”

  Her nipples reacted instantly, pebbling against the soft pass of his warm palm. Oh, God, she loved his hands. She closed her eyes and tried not to moan aloud. “We’re behaving like a couple of rabbits, you know?”

  He laughed. “Are you suggesting a new position?”

  “I don’t know.” She pressed her cheek onto the down pillow to look at him. Even in the dark, she could see his green eyes and melt-me grin. “How do rabbits do it?”

  “Rabbit-style,” he whispered, and kissed the corner of her lips. “Don’t tell me you’ve never done it rabbit-style?” Then he pulled back. “Wait a minute.” His hand moved out of her shirt and he bounced off the bed.

  She raised her shoulders and watched him leave the bedroom. “Wait for what?” she asked the empty room.

  He must have switched on a light, because a warm glow chased the darkness from the hall. Then she heard the spray of the shower in her hall bath turn on. Had he decided to take a cold shower in lieu of finishing what he’d started?

  Suddenly, he appeared in the doorway. Naked and . . . hard. “Come with me.”

  “Where?” Not that it mattered. She’d follow him to Timbuktu, barefoot and through shards of glass. She rose up on her elbow.

  He crooked his finger at her. “Didn’t you mention something about wanting shower sex?”

  “I might have,” she said, her voice tight with want, her gaze homed in on his erection, which pointed to the ceiling. An empty, achy feeling filled her loins. Okay, she really was a rabbit.

  He stepped closer to the bed, caught her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Are you game?”

  “I might be persuaded.” Jumping up and down with eagerness wasn’t sexy, so better to play a little hard to get—a rabbit with a tad of a conscience. She followed him to the bathroom.

  “Then let me see what I can do to persuade you.” He twisted the round knob on the bathroom wall and the light lowered to a romantic level. Taking a step closer, he reached down to her waist, caught the hem of her shirt and whisked off the flimsy top.

  He focused on her breasts. Reaching up, he stuck his finger into his mouth. The digit came out shiny and moist, and went straight to her nipples, where he drew lazy circles. Lacy’s knees weakened, and she leaned against the bathroom sink.

  Kneeling, he caught his thumbs in the elastic band of her short boxer-type bottoms and, with a slow hand, he lowered them. The soft cotton gliding down her thighs sent warm tingles spiraling through her. Cupping and raising her ankles one at a time, he slipped the shorts from beneath her and tossed them aside with her T-shirt. He didn’t rise up. Instead, his gaze met hers again, and he held it. Her heart started to pound harder.

  She stood completely naked, while he knelt in front of her. Five percent of her felt the situation embarrassing, but the other ninety-five percent was totally turned on. Maybe she was only ninety-five percent rabbit. She held on to the bathroom counter, listened to the cascading sound of the shower, and waited to see what he’d do next.

  Shifting forward, he pressed his face to her abdomen. Lacy’s breath caught. As if he were in no hurry, he touched the inner side of her right ankle, then trailed his finger up, up, over the inside of her calf, past the knee, higher to the inside of her thigh. Liquid heat pooled between her legs with anticipation. Okay, she was definitely a hundred percent rabbit.

  His hand inched higher still. He was almost where it ached most when he stopped his slow ascent. She widened her legs, hoping he’d understand the invitation. His hand didn’t move.

  Instead, he kissed the top of her mound, Kissed her like he’d kissed her lips, full mouth and . . . He dropped down an inch. His tongue dipped inside the folds of her sex, found the tiny sensitive nub and flicked across it. Lacy gasped, closed her eyes, and leaned back against the counter even more.

  “Lacy.” His voice broke through the sexual haze befuddling her mind. “Eyes open, remember?”

  She obeyed his request. He glanced up at her.

  “Watch me.” He trailed his tongue over her two more times, and she obeyed and kept her gaze locked on him as he masterfully brought her more pleasure than she’d ever known. When he pulled back, his gaze found hers again.

  “Persuaded yet?”

  All she could manage was a nod.

  He smiled—a smile so sexy it should come with a warning label that read: I’m a bad boy, but you’re going to love it.

  “Ready for a shower?” But even as he asked, he slipped a finger inside her, and her weight shifted against the counter. She didn’t need shower sex; bathroom sex was good enough.

  His finger dipped inside two more times before he withdrew it completely. Then he stood up, took her hand and drew her into the tub, behind the shower curtain where steamy warmth seemed to be waiting.

  The spray of warm water fell against her neck, and she watched as he slipped on a condom. With that done, he found the soap and slid it up and down her chest and then his own. Then he took her by the shoulders and pressed her back against the shower wall. The white tiles hadn’t heated to the temperature of the water, and the cold sent a chill through her, which somehow made everything even more erotic.

  “Shower sex is very . . . memorable,” he said. “Two positions work best.” He reached down, caught her legs and raised her feet off the large ceramic tub. He used his weight to keep her pressed against the wall.

  The slippery feel of his chest brushing over her breasts had her nipples puckering even tig
hter.

  It took one shift before he had her positioned. He bent his knees slightly, then jutted his hips up. His hard shaft stretched its way inside her. Deep. Then deeper. The sweet, hot feel of him had her wrapping her legs around his waist and writhing.

  She let out a soft moan, which was accompanied by his low growl. He flatted his forearms under her arms to help sustain her. Then he began to rock faster. Out. In.

  Higher. She went higher.

  She heard his breathing hasten, grow raspy, felt the power of his release. She followed.

  So lost in the rhythm, lost in the mind-blowing orgasm, Lacy didn’t even try to catch herself when Chase lost his footing. He pulled her against him, no doubt in an effort to protect her as they slid down. His butt hit the ceramic tub with a wet thud. She landed splayed out on top of him.

  She raised her face off his soapy chest.

  “You okay?” They both spoke at the same time.

  Lacy caught her breath, the heavenly tremors of a climax still making her quiver. But he was no longer inside her.

  She tightened her thighs once as the sensations faded, then rearranged her legs so she wasn’t kneeing him in the groin. “I’m fine.” The spray of warm water hit her back. “We probably shouldn’t have . . . Are you sure you’re okay?” She eyed his injured shoulder. She really should have stopped this; he wasn’t physically fit to be—

  “Yeah.” He gave her a half-grin. “Other than the fact that I’m going to have a major purple bruise on my ass.”

  Right then, the worse case of giggles hit her. “Well, you said shower sex was memorable.”

  Suddenly he was laughing, too. Lacy wasn’t sure how long they stayed there—naked, stretched out in the tub, the shower spraying them with warm water, and laughing. It was long enough for her to realize that no amount of time with Chase Kelly would ever be sufficient. She wanted him forever.

  • • •

  The next morning, Lacy woke up first and watched Chase sleep. Good heavens, God had created perfection in this man. As Lacy studied him—the shape of his ears, the way his belly button was a mixture of an outy and an inny—she found herself doing the big no-no: imagining a little boy with Chase’s ears and lips and her nose. Or a little girl with his bright green eyes and her curly hair.

  Oh yeah, she had it bad all right. But it was hopeless. Her only chance of coming out of this without a ring on her finger was if he truly wasn’t the marrying kind. And even then, she wasn’t above trying to change his mind.

  She quietly slipped out of the room, passing the bathroom with a big smile filling her chest. She stopped and let the shower memory fill her with giddiness, and a touch of embarrassment, then she continued to the kitchen to make them breakfast The time had come to show him that he wasn’t the only one who could cook around here.

  She made a coffee cake with a butter glaze. Feeling almost lightheaded with sexual bliss, she cracked the last of the eggs and left them in a bowl. Then she sautéed some onions, peppers, and mushrooms that she planned to cook with the eggs when he woke up. Going through her freezer, she found berries and sprinkled them with sugar and set them out to defrost.

  When he didn’t stir, she peeked in on him. He still slept soundly, and she decided to let him rest. She went to the living room, turned the television on mute, and sat down on the couch. Flipping through a magazine, she stopped to consider the various hairstyles on the models—styles that would work for a wedding. Yup. It was hopeless. What was it about sex that led her straight to wedding fever?

  In a few minutes, Lacy looked up to see NewsFlash play across the screen. She grabbed the remote control and turned up the sound.

  A TV reporter stood in front of the river. She wore her hair up, and Lacy considered how that style would look with a veil. Realizing she wasn’t listening, she tried to focus on what the blonde said.

  The reporter continued talking, and Lacy tried to catch up.

  “ . . . here at the Canvas Lake.”

  Lacy’s sat up straighter. They were talking about Chase’s case.

  “We were just informed,” the reporter continued, “that Houston P.D. detective Chase Kelly’s body has just been found.”

  • • •

  Zeke stood in the mud, watching the boat and the men bringing the body up. He’d been on his way back to visit the crazy tea-woman’s house when he’d heard the news that they had found a body.

  Pulling his coat closer to shield himself from the February cold, he waited like a kid on Christmas. Let it be Chase Kelly. What were the odds? Fifty-fifty. Kelly wasn’t the first to take the plunge from that bridge. Of course, the first one had been dead at the time.

  Pushing an impatient hand through his hair, he squinted to see what was happening. He saw Officer Candace look over the edge of the boat as if to identify the body. The man suddenly slung himself over to the other side and lost his breakfast. Even from where he was, Zeke could hear his retching. “Is it him?” he yelled.

  One of the other officers looked over and called out, “It’s him.”

  It took biting the inside of his cheek for Zeke to keep the smile from appearing on his lips. About damn time things had turned his way. Now all he had to do was get rid of Stokes. Maybe Lady Luck would take care of that, too. Maybe the man would die on his own. Yeah, maybe.

  • • •

  Lacy dropped the magazine, her breath caught, and she stared at the television in horror. Leaping up from the sofa, she ran into the bedroom, pushing the door open so hard it sounded as if it splintered against the wall. Chase lunged out of bed, wide-eyed and looking ready to kill. “What?” he asked.

  “They said . . .” The words lodged in her throat. She grabbed the bedroom TV’s remote from the bedside table and finger-jabbed the on button. A Fruity Pebbles cereal commercial played.

  “Said what?” He ran a palm over his chest, threading his fingers through the soft mat of hair.

  “They said they . . . found your body.”

  His brow pinched tight. He raked both his hands over his face this time, one after another. “You must have misunderstood,” he said, his eyes still puffy with sleep.

  Lacy felt inclined to agree with him. They couldn’t have found Chase’s body. All six-foot-plus of it stood beside the bed, deliciously naked and slightly aroused. Maybe she’d misunderstood. But then the news returned. They showed Chase’s face on one portion of the screen and a news reporter’s face with microphone on the other. “We’re told that Chase Kelly’s body will be transported to the morgue.”

  She glanced at Chase, who stared at the television, his eyes wide with shock. She watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down.

  Slowly, a sleepy grin tilted one corner of his mouth and his gaze met hers. “You know what?” He ran another hand over his chest. “I feel pretty damn good for a dead man.”

  The phone rang. Not thinking about it being her mother, Lacy snatched it up. “Yes?” she answered.

  “Lacy. It’s Jason. Is . . . is Chase still there?” His voice was gritty with emotion, telling her a lot about the friendship the two men shared.

  She looked at Chase. “Yes, and he’s still breathing, too.”

  His deep sigh filled the line. “So you’ve seen the news, huh?”

  “Yup,” she said.

  “Can I speak to him?”

  She handed the phone to Chase. “It’s Jason.”

  Lacy hung around to listen, but half the conversation gave her zip, zero. Chase hung up, and she looked at him. “Well?”

  “He was as shocked as we were. He’s going to head out to the morgue and see if he can get any answers.” Chase moved around from the edge of the bed and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Ever have sex with a dead man?” He smiled.

  She grinned back. “No, but after learning what good sex is, my only two other lovers should be shot for their lack of skills.”

  He laughed. Then he had her cradled against his naked and still-living body, kissing her. When he came up for air, he lifted
his head and inhaled. “Something smells good. You cook?”

  She grinned and nodded.

  “But cooking is my job.” He brushed a hand over her cheek.

  “You get a day off for being dead.” She tossed him his jeans, took him by the hand and pulled him to the kitchen.

  • • •

  They spent the day waiting for the phone to ring, with the television on mute. Chase had gotten out his time line papers and made a bunch of notes about the Lakes case. If he put the two things together, maybe he’d find a connection. He also kept his gun by his side. If Zeke returned, he wouldn’t be unprepared.

  Lacy gave him space, with just the right amount of interruption. She fed him, brought him antibiotics with a light snack, and kissed him whenever she saw he was becoming frustrated.

  After lunch, Chase kept going back and forth from one set of papers to the next. Lacy walked up, a basket of clothes in her hands. “Take your pants off, big boy.”

  He looked up. God, he loved her. “Sex, sex, sex. The more I give you, the more you want. Can’t you think about anything but that?”

  She chuckled. “Give me your jeans so I can wash them.”

  “I’ll take mine off if you’ll take yours off,” he bartered.

  “No. You’re busy.” She motioned to his papers.

  The way she said busy made him wonder if she felt ignored. Well, he’d fix that. “Busy? Let’s see, it’s bang my head against the same brick wall . . . or have sex with the hottest chick in Texas. Hmm, let me think.” He scratched his head. “Okay, sex wins.” He waggled his brows. “Take your pants off.”

  “No, seriously. I don’t want you to think I’m the type of girl who . . . who would be hard to live with. You need to work.”

  He frowned at her. “The thing getting hard is not you.” He stood and made a show of unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. She rolled her eyes at him.

  He took a step toward her. “Besides, I don’t like being turned down.”

  She took a teasing step away and shook a finger at him, but the sexy smile on her lips was provocative. He snatched the basket from her hands. Dirty laundry flew up in the air. Lacy giggled and made a run for it. He caught her in the hall and that was where he got her pants off, where he made love to her—in the middle of the hall floor with all four of her pets watching. Even Samantha was getting used to having him around . . . or maybe the feline just had a thing about watching. He didn’t care; right now he just wanted to enjoy being with Lacy. For a dead man, he couldn’t complain about a thing.

  Afterward, Lacy snatched up his jeans and wiggled herself back into her sweats. She looked totally content, sexually satisfied. “Crazy, what a woman is willing to do just to get her man to wear clean clothes.”

  Lying buck naked on the floor, he rubbed his knees where he was sure to have friction burns. Her words vibrated through his mind. She’d called him “her man.” Chase both wanted to dance a little jig and deny it at the same time.

  After finding the sweats he’d worn earlier, he went back to the couch and started going through his notes again. He wanted this solved, damn it, so he could be her man.

  • • •

  “What the fuck do you mean it isn’t him?” Zeke growled at the homicide detective unfortunate enough to give him the news. “Candace identified him. He fucking looked right at the body and said it was him.”

  “Yeah, well, he was wrong. The man they fished out of the river might look like Chase Kelly, but it wasn’t him. He’s Hispanic. It isn’t Kelly!”

  Zeke closed his eyes, feeling as if his world were crumbling.

  “We’re running fingerprints on the floater, and maybe they will tell us something.”

  It wouldn’t tell Zeke crap that he didn’t already know. He knew God damn well whom they’d fished out of river; he’d put the bullet between the kid’s eyes himself.

  He jerked around and started down the hall.

  “Where you going?” the detective called. “I need to ask you a few questions.”

  Zeke didn’t answer; he didn’t stop. But he did know where he was going. To Hell. But first he had to make sure he didn’t go alone. Stokes, and then Kelly. Oh, no, he wasn’t going to Hell alone.

  Chapter Twenty-five