If one of them was important, he wouldn’t want to tip them off.
Whoever “they” might be. Because even though he was pretty positive Lincoln had help, David still had to ask why? Why would anyone not crazy want to find me? All I did was catch the damn ball.
A noise caught his ear, faint, but it got louder and his heart began to pound. A car. Either Olivia had just forgotten to call again or someone else had come to search the place. He grabbed his fishing gear and jogged back up to the house, stowing his things on the back porch. He strode through the small living area. He’d set the table again and restored order to Glenn’s desk. The house was ready for Olivia.
But was she ready? Am I?
Hands unsteady, he wrenched open the door, only to find her on his doorstep, her fist poised to knock. Slowly she lowered her fist to her side, her eyes locked to his, and he had to force himself to breathe.
She wore a beige trench coat, cinched tightly around her waist. But peeking out from beneath it he could see the dress from last night. The one she’d worn the first night he’d met her. She wore ridiculously high heeled shoes that made her legs look incredible. He lifted his eyes back to her face, hoping he was reading the right words between the lines, because on her head she wore a fedora, the brim pulled low.
“Can I come in?” she asked. He stepped aside and she entered, her eyes drawn to the table. She looked up, her mouth slightly curved. “Just like last night.”
“I was hoping…” The words trailed away, his thought unfinished. She stood before him, looking good enough to eat and every muscle in his body clenched. He shoved his hands in his pockets lest he reach out and touch. “I’d take your coat,” he said roughly, “but once I touch you, I won’t be able to stop.”
Her eyes heated and he could see her pulse fluttering at the hollow of her throat. She tugged at her belt, then pulled the buttons free, shrugging out of the coat on her own. She laid her coat across the arm of the sofa, carefully placed her hat on top of it, and looked back up at him. Deliberately she extended her hand. “Hi. I’m Olivia Sutherland. It’s nice to meet you.”
His eyes dropped to her hand and he swallowed. Hard. She was offering him the chance to start over. To get it right this time. Slowly he watched his hand take hers, his large and dark, hers small and pale. Nearly fragile. But he knew she was anything but. She was strong and kind and beautiful and he was shaking like a teenager.
“I’m David Hunter.” He leaned closer until he could see every eyelash framing her blue eyes. Until his mouth was a whisper from hers. “And I want you more than I want to breathe.”
“Oh.” It was more an exhale than a word. Her eyes slid closed, her chest barely moving with the shallow breaths she drew, as if all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. He didn’t know who moved first, and then he didn’t care. Her arms were locked around his neck and his mouth was on hers, savage and bruising, but she met him full force, openmouthed and so damn hot.
His hands were everywhere, her back, her breasts, her round butt that filled his palms like she was made for him. “What do you want?” he managed.
“You.” She punctuated her words with hard kisses. “Now. Please.”
He should stop this. She’d wanted to talk. Needed her answers. But he didn’t think he could stop this if his life depended on it. He lifted her dress, running his hands up her legs and then he groaned when his fingers went from silk to bare skin. She wore real stockings. “Where’s the zipper on this thing?” he rasped, searching her back.
“No zipper.” Her hands were busy on the buttons of his shirt. “Just… take it off.”
He yanked the dress over her head and let it land where it would. And then he stared. Silk and lace covered very little. His eyes dropped to a miniscule thong. Very, very little. He thought his heart might explode. He was sure other parts of him would. He cast his eyes at the sofa, tempted, but she tapped her finger against his mouth.
“You said,” she said in a husky murmur that sent every drop of blood rushing out of his head, “you needed more space for what you wanted to do to me.” She pushed the shirt from his shoulders and brushed his mouth with hers while his hands cruised the skin she’d bared. “For me. In me. No sofa, David.”
He was going to die. “Fine,” he ground out, and lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist. He took two steps toward the bedroom when his mouth found her breast through the lace and she arched against him, her body lithe and beautiful. He stopped where he stood, sucking hard and making her whimper, loving the sound. He shifted her, claiming the other breast so he could hear it again.
“Hurry,” she urged. “Please. Please.”
It was a desperate chant as he obeyed, laying her on the bed, then ripping the tiny panties down her legs, pushing her shoes off her feet in one motion. Before she could draw another breath his mouth was on her and she moaned, just like he remembered.
She tasted… just like he remembered. And her hands dug into his hair, pulling him closer, just like he remembered. “Please, please.” She was chanting it again, begging for more, begging him to take her there, as if she wasn’t certain he would.
So he sucked and nipped and licked, finally stabbing his tongue deep and her body went taut, her head flung back and a strangled cry ripped from her arched throat as she came with a force that stunned him.
But he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop, and she shuddered again, his name on her lips.
He pushed to his knees, staring at her, his body throbbing. “Olivia, look at me.”
She blinked, finally lifting her eyelids. She was beautifully dazed.
He placed his hands on either side of her face, leaning close. “I am thinking of you. Just you. Only you. Olivia.”
She stared at him for a long moment. Then her lips curved. “You’re still dressed.”
Her hands reached for him, but he grabbed her wrists, twining his fingers through hers. “If you touch me, I’ll come.”
“I want you to. I need you to.”
“I need to, too, but I want it to last more than thirty seconds. So give me a minute.” He dropped his brow to hers. “I dreamed of your taste. You’re better than I dreamed.”
She twisted up into him. “David, please.”
He let her go, backing up before she could touch him. He peeled the stockings from her legs slowly, one then the other, then stood next to the bed and shrugged out of his shirt. “Take off the bra.”
She sat up and unhooked the frothy lace that hardly covered enough to earn the term. She let the straps slide down her arms and quite suddenly, took his breath away.
“You’re beautiful.”
She dropped her eyes to her hands as she worked his belt free. “So are you.”
David’s hands stilled. She knelt on the edge of the bed, her gaze dropping as she reached for the button on his trousers. He covered her hands with his, stopping her. “No. Look at me, Olivia.”
She looked up until she met his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything.” He cupped her face tenderly. “Why do you think I’m here?”
“Because you want me more than you want to breathe.”
“And that’s because you’re beautiful. I couldn’t get you out of my mind, Olivia. I tried. For months and years I tried and nothing worked. Nobody worked. I kept seeing your eyes when we talked and your face when you smiled.”
Something shifted behind her eyes and he knew he’d never convince her with words alone. He let his trousers drop to the floor and pushed his boxers down with them and felt a wave of satisfaction when her eyes widened, heating again.
She ran a fingertip down his length, then ran her hands down his sides, grasping his hips. He knew what was coming, but still nothing prepared him for how utterly incredible it felt when her mouth slid over him, wet and warm. His head fell back, his eyes closed and a guttural groan escaped his chest.
It was heaven. But he didn’t want to come like this. Not tonight.
“Stop.” S
ummoning every ounce of strength, he dug his fingers through her hair and pulled her away so that he could see her face. “To you, for you.” He dragged her up, ground his mouth on hers, fiercely satisfied when her arms came around his neck and she pressed her breasts into his chest, kissing him back. “In you.” Blindly he reached into the bedside drawer for a condom. “I want to be inside you.”
“Then hurry,” she whispered, yanking him down to the bed with her. Fragile she certainly was not. She snatched the packet from his hand and he had to clench his teeth to hold back when she slid it over him, her hands like little licks of fire.
He rolled her to her back, determined to do all the things he should have done before, praying he had the strength to hold back, to give her what she deserved. But when he pushed into her she was hot and wet and so damn tight. He stopped midway and shuddered, holding to his control by a thread. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
She met his eyes and he could already see the pleasure he’d hoped to put there. “More.” She rocked up into him, pulling him deeper. “God, please. David. More.”
His control snapped on the first more and he drove deep, making her gasp. But there was no pain on her face, only a growing sensual need as he moved, harder, deeper. Faster. She met each thrust as he watched her climax build. He could feel the orgasm tingling at the base of his spine and fought it back. Not yet. Dammit, not yet.
Then her short nails dug into his back and once again she went taut. He plunged harder, recklessly driving them higher until she screamed and the blistering wave hit and everything went black, her name on his lips as he fell.
Tuesday, September 21, 11:30 p.m.
All systems were go. He sat in his van a block away, watching the house Barney Tomlinson had purchased for his whore. Its destruction would mean more insurance money for Mrs. Tomlinson and it was one last way to stick it to Barney, in memoriam.
Dorian was currently sprawled facedown on Barney’s desk inside the house. Minus his face, of course. That would give the cops a fun puzzle to solve. How did Dorian and Barney connect? They didn’t of course, except through me.
The beauty was that the money he took from both men had been held in offshore accounts that nobody would know to look for. No connection.
There were Albert and Mary. Right on time. They’d argued earlier about this job. Their voices had come through loud and clear via the mike he’d hidden in their phone.
Albert had been furious with Mary over the glass balls. Mary had been furious for his having lied to her about Tomlinson being an environmental villain. Neither one seemed terribly upset over Eric’s demise. Mary hadn’t wanted to do this job. Albert had threatened to break her neck and throw her in the Mississippi River. It had been most entertaining. But after all that, here they were. And from the looks of them, still arguing.
He tuned the receiver clipped to his belt to their frequency and listened. Albert had the disposable in his shirt pocket, so his voice was loud. Mary held her own, though.
“Goddammit, woman, shut up,” Albert growled. He was speaking with his French accent. Maybe he hadn’t faked it after all. Maybe he’d been trying to get back at Eric.
Given Eric’s present state of death, I’d say he did that pretty well.
“This is stupid,” Mary hissed. “We’re just digging ourselves in deeper.”
“And if we refuse?”
“So he publishes the video. We’ll say we were Photoshopped in. Besides, he’s the one who has the girl on tape. It proves he was there, not us.”
Mary had a point, but Albert wasn’t buying it. “Just do what I say or the fishes will love you. Big nasty ones in that dirty river of yours.”
“I hate you.”
“Good thing you don’t need to like me. You just need to do as you’re told.”
You go, Albert. Somebody should have smacked that girl down a long time ago.
He videotaped them as they entered the house and were quickly out again. In minutes the fire was raging. The kids were getting pretty good at this. Albert pulled the cell from his pocket and snapped a photo, then the two of them ran for Eric’s car.
They drove away and he started his van, taking off in the other direction. He needed to get to the deaf school. He had a date with Kenny that the boy didn’t yet know about. He glanced behind him at the plastic dry-cleaner bag containing his costume. He’d have to do a quick change when he got there. His shirt was the wrong style, as was his hat, but he was betting Kenny wasn’t familar with the exact uniform worn by the Minneapolis PD.
Chapter Eighteen
Tuesday, September 21, 11:30 p.m.
Olivia woke slowly, sleepily contented. And totally naked. Her eyes opened abruptly, tensing when she realized where she was and whose hand possessively covered her breast. She was spooned against David, her back to his hard chest. And he wasn’t asleep, if what she felt pulsing against her bottom was any indication.
“Don’t leave,” he murmured in her ear, sending shivers over her body. “Please.”
“I won’t. But I need to get my phone, in case I get a call.”
“It’s on the nightstand. I found it in your coat pocket.”
She lifted her head, her eyes becoming accustomed to the darkness. He’d arranged her clothes on a nearby chair, her purse on top. “How long was I out?”
“Two hours. Thank you for giving me a chance to redeem myself. I did, didn’t I?”
“I’d say you more than did,” she murmured.
He hesitated. “Regrets?”
“No.” She still had questions, but no regrets.
“Good.” He kissed the top of her head. “I needed this.”
“So did I.”
“I thought you would want to talk first.”
Her sigh was silent. “So did I.”
“What changed?”
“Some of it was ‘I want you more than I want to breathe.’ Hell of a line, David.”
He shifted against her and she caught her breath. He was ready, again. So am I.
“That was no line, Olivia. I still want you more than I want to breathe. But now I can at least think. If that was some of what changed your mind, what was the rest?”
Joel Fischer’s wall, she thought. “We got a lead on one of the condo arsonists. It looks like one of them OD’d and drove his car off the road Monday morning. He’s dead.”
“Guilty conscience?”
“I think so. I stood in this kid’s room, looking at all the plaques on his wall, all for service to his community. He wanted to make a difference. I think he got in over his head and couldn’t stand the guilt. I kept thinking that this kid did so much good, then one thing bad and it all unraveled for him. Then I thought about Lincoln, his guilt.” She paused. “Which you understood.”
Tensing, he moved his hand from her breast to her stomach. Covering it with hers, she held on. “I wondered what it was you’d understood,” she said. “You said ‘And’ last night when we argued about what happened after Mia’s wedding.”
He swallowed. “And?”
“You thought you’d done something else. Something worse. I wondered if I should have been more worried about that than I was. Then, I wondered what it mattered. You’ve more than proven the kind of man you are. I still wanted the answer to my question, but when I saw you… it seemed a lot less important. Because I wanted you more than I wanted to breathe, too.”
He drew a breath, let it out. “So what is your question, Olivia?”
She rolled to her back, found his eyes guarded. “Who are you, David Hunter?” She smiled up at him, trying to soften the words. “Besides a cat-saving firefighter who volunteers more than ten people combined?”
He looked away. “I don’t know. I’ve been that man so long, I don’t know anymore.”
She sensed honesty and frustration in his answer. “Then who were you before?”
He flinched. “Not so nice. I don’t think you would have liked that me.”
“How old was ‘that you’?” br />
“Eighteen.”
Eighteen years then, she thought. He’d lived half his life with whatever it was that he’d done. “And what did the eighteen-year-old you do?”
He rolled away suddenly, but she sprang to her knees, grabbing his arm as his feet hit the floor. “Don’t,” she said urgently. “Don’t you dare walk away from me. Whatever it was you did, or think you did, it kept you from coming after me for two and a half years. Whatever it was, it affected my life, too. That time is gone, David. Wasted. I don’t want to lose any more. I’m here, right now, in your bed. I’m not afraid of you. So tell me.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her, shoulders hunched. “I can’t.”
Drawing on instinct, she took a chance. “What was her name?” There was a long, long silence and she thought she’d try once more. “Was it about Dana?”
He turned his head slightly, as if startled. “No. I didn’t meet her until I was thirty.”
“Mia told me about her, how she helped those battered women, running from their husbands. How you helped her do it.”
“No, I just fixed the roof.”
“Which meant a hell of a lot to the frightened women who had a dry place to hide with their children. Why did you do it? For Dana or for the women and their children?”
“Both. Dana was doing something concrete. She didn’t just talk about the plight of these women and their children. She did something. I admired that.”
“You loved her. Dana.”
He’d turned back around now and she couldn’t see his face. “Yes,” he said and she felt the stab of envy and dismay. “Or maybe the idea of her,” he added quietly. “I always knew she didn’t feel the same. Maybe that made her safe. Sounds stupid.”