Hot Property Page 10

  “Do you have time to track any down?”

  Joe sighed. “I got some hot cases, man. Anyway, what are you doing? I thought you were putting in some overtime today.”

  That had been the plan, until he’d realized how badly Wendy needed a hand. “Something came up. Fax the list to my house, okay? I’ll start making calls tonight.”

  Wendy stepped back to admire her handiwork. Had she gone too far? She didn’t think so, but she chewed on her lip, hoping Michael would agree.

  She’d found some gorgeous fabric remnants on sale for seventy-five cents a yard—unheard of, even at Fabric-a-rama’s semiannual sale. She could put together no-sew window treatments with rubber bands and safety pins in the blink of an eye. The plastic shades came down, replaced by white sheers. Okay, so each window had a different fabric. She’d coordinated as best she could, and the effect looked deliberately eclectic.

  But she hadn’t stopped there. A cute little hardware store on Jefferson had some paint on sale. The walls in the living room were now a pale celery green.

  Out of curiosity she’d pulled up a corner of the ghastly carpet to discover pristine hardwoods underneath. They didn’t even need sanding. The carpet was so old that a good yank was all it took to get rid of it. It was now heaped in the garage.

  A couple of throw rugs from the Salvation Army Thrift Store—seven bucks each—kept the floors from looking too stark. Also from the thrift store, some Victorian-style prints of birds and flowers she’d found stuck in a bookcase. Framing them would have been more than she wanted to spend without Michael’s okay, so she’d thumbtacked them onto the bare walls.

  The furniture needed reupholstering. Better still, it needed to be heaved onto the nearest trash heap. So she’d camouflaged the ugly brown color and boxy lines with some soft, pastel throws and pillows.

  She’d finished the redecorating with herself. She’d sorely needed a change of clothes, so she’d bought a work shirt and a pair of jeans from a Western store.

  She smiled delightedly. Michael would be shocked, but he couldn’t fail to be pleased with how little money she’d spent on his renovations.

  Now that she was done with her frenetic activity, though, she couldn’t avoid her real problems any longer. She’d talked to Jillian, several times. A number of her clients, mostly newer ones who hadn’t known her long, called Born to Shop to announce that they wouldn’t be needing the company’s services any longer.

  On the other hand, they’d had a little flurry of new customers. Of course, Jillian hadn’t mentioned the newspaper article to anyone who hadn’t brought it up first, but Wendy had to wonder if the new business was a result of the bad publicity. Some people were fascinated with notoriety of any kind and would do anything to get close to it.

  A sound at the front door made her jump. Though she’d managed to forget it for a while, the reality hit her anew: Someone wanted to kill her.

  “Who’s there?” she called out, already reaching for the cell phone, which she’d kept in her pocket all day.

  “It’s me, Michael,” her visitor called through the door. “The damn key is sticking.”

  Relief poured through her. She opened the dead bolt and flung the door open, feeling suddenly nervous over Michael’s return—like a new wife who’d done something to the house and hoped for her husband’s approval.

  She pushed the silly thought aside and stood behind the door to allow Michael inside.

  “Wendy? I—uh, oh, sorry, wrong house. No wonder the key didn’t work.” He backed across the threshold and onto the porch. She watched him through the narrow window to the side of the door, smiling as he checked the house number, then looked up and down the street. His handsome face was a mask of confusion.

  He opened the door again. “Wendy?”

  “Right here.”

  He came inside and closed the door, trying to look everywhere at once. “Did I just enter the Twilight Zone?”

  She laughed. “I was bored, so I did a little redecorating. Now, you might not agree with my taste—”

  He turned on her like a ticked-off Doberman pinscher. “Wendy, what were you thinking?” He grabbed her by the shoulders, and she could tell he was trying to resist a mighty urge to shake her.

  Her heart hammered inside her chest. “You don’t like it, you don’t have to pay for it,” she said in a small voice. “I’ll take it all down.”

  “It’s not that I—how did you do all this in one day?” He wasn’t backing down at all.

  “I just walked down to that strip shopping center—”

  “I knew it! You left the house. You made yourself a perfect target. Wendy, Wendy, how could you be that careless with your life?” He crushed her against him, and all at once Wendy realized this had nothing to do with her taste in decor. Michael was angry because she’d put herself in danger.

  “But no one knew where I was,” she defended herself, though she wasn’t sure he could understand her. Her face was mashed against his chest.

  “Someone could have found out. I told you not to leave the house.”

  “You didn’t,” she countered.

  “Then I should have. I guess I assumed you had an ounce of common sense.”

  She reared back, struggling against his embrace. “Now, you listen here—”

  “No, you listen. I’m trying to keep you safe. I’ve put my career, my whole future, on the line by helping you, and you—”

  “You put my career on the line when you arrested me! Now you’re just trying to cover your butt!” Even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true. Something had changed over the past two days. His actions toward her weren’t those of a man trying to salvage a career. He cared what happened to her. And he believed, at least on some level, that she was innocent, or that she might be.

  Following her accusation, the anger seeped out of him. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  She shook her head, ashamed of herself, mortified that her eyes were filling with tears.

  “God, Wendy, when I think what could have happened …”

  They both fell silent and simply looked at each other. Wendy felt the moment was frozen in time. She wished it would go on forever, that silent communion. She thought she was looking into his soul, and it was naked and bruised and vulnerable.

  Either he was going to kiss her, or he was going to come to his senses and push her away. Wendy decided she didn’t want the latter. Taking the choice away from him, she cradled his face between her hands and stood on tiptoe, touching her lips to his.

  She was tentative at first, afraid he would reject her. Her breath caught in her throat at the feel of his firm, still mouth against hers. But it took only a moment for him to respond with blast-furnace heat. He took command of the kiss, angling his mouth against hers, his sudden desperation provoking her to match it.

  Suddenly every one of her senses expanded to hypersensitivity. She could hear the traffic outside and the sound of Michael’s breathing, like that of a racehorse after crossing the finish line. His well-washed cotton shirt was smooth against her hands when she ran them along his arms; the rasp of his beard was rough on the tender skin of her face. She smelled the new paint mixed with the unique scent of Michael, which reminded her of something from her past—high school proms and nerves. And the way he tasted—like pure sin.

  The only sense that wasn’t awakened was sight, because she had her eyes tightly closed, savoring all the rest. Surely no kiss had ever transported her the way this one did.

  Michael’s arms slid around her, holding her a willing prisoner. She felt safe from danger when he held her this way. Nothing outside could harm her. But who or what could protect her from him, and from her own crazy self?

  She wasn’t sure how or when they decided to make love, but neither one of them made even the slightest move toward stopping. There was no hesitation as one kiss turned into many, one caress flowed smoothly into another.

  She didn’t care that they stood in the entrance hall wit
hout even a carpet to lie on, thanks to her redecorating efforts. She didn’t flinch when he reached under her shirt to touch her breasts through her whisper-thin bra. She didn’t feel shy or embarrassed when he worked frantically at the buttons of her crisp work shirt until he’d freed her of the cumbersome garment. And she felt nothing but awe when he began stripping his own clothes off.

  Oh, Lord, he had a beautiful body, all planes and angles, not a square inch of anything soft on it. He seemed bigger, somehow, after shedding his shirt, filling the room, overwhelming her senses.

  She didn’t wait for him to finish undressing her. She shucked her jeans and socks in a heartbeat, watching his face as she did, watching his dark, deep eyes.

  The hunger she saw in his expression fascinated her. She was positive no man had ever looked at her that way before, as if she were the most gorgeous creature on earth.

  Michael paused as he reached for his belt buckle. “If you’re going to stop this insanity,’ do it now,” he said, his voice hardly more than a hoarse whisper.

  She wouldn’t dream of it, and started to say so. But just then he dropped his jeans, and no words came. She shook her head emphatically. Right or wrong, the heat of the moment ruled. Hesitation was for wimps. Regrets could wait till another day. She, Wendy Thayer, felt more alive than she had at any previous moment in her life, and she was taking full advantage of it.

  When they were both naked, they stood and stared at each other once again. Now Wendy was the one who couldn’t get enough breath, gasping loud enough to scare a paramedic.

  She thought she would die before he touched her, and then he did so with such gentleness, such respect, that her heart came near to shattering. Where was her tough cop now?

  “Come to me,” he said. “Seeing you safe and sound isn’t enough. I need more proof.”

  She understood. Dealing with death and danger on a daily basis, as she imagined he did, must make it doubly important for him to reaffirm life any way he could, as strongly as he could. She wouldn’t have understood that concept a few days before, but at this moment she did. You couldn’t be scared inside, she reasoned, while you were making love. And right now she needed not to be scared.

  She took the two steps that closed the gap between them and pressed her body, naked skin to naked skin, against his. His arousal jutted against her abdomen, reminding her how virile a man he was. At any other time, his sex might have intimidated her, but not here, not now. She wiggled, deliberately rubbing herself against him, and he groaned in response.

  She imagined him scooping her in his arms then and taking her to bed, but it didn’t happen that way. A low table against one wall of the entrance hall sported a tacky plastic flower arrangement, which Wendy hadn’t gotten around to replacing. With one sweeping gesture Michael sent it flying. Then he lifted her and sat her on the edge of the table.

  Oh, yeah, this was going to work, she caught herself thinking. Since when had she become such a wanton creature? But now was not the time for self-analysis. She parted her legs and pulled him against her, then squeezed his hips between her thighs. His shaft brushed against her femininity, and she gasped at the sparks of pleasure that shot through her body.

  She was suddenly consumed with the need to have him inside her, to claim and be claimed by this magnificent male animal. She reached between their bodies and touched him, stroking gently at first as he accustomed himself to her, then more boldly.

  Not that he needed any help. He was like steel covered in velvet. She started to guide him home.

  “You can’t be ready …” he started to stay, but she nodded.

  “Oh, yes, I can.” She barely recognized the sultry, throaty voice coming out of her mouth.

  As he slid inside her, it became obvious that she was more than ready. She was literally hot for him, and he filled her in one swift stroke. It was almost too perfect, and she cried out with sheer joy.

  He didn’t move at first, letting her get used to the feel of him inside her. She closed her eyes and threw her head back, letting her hair cascade down her bare back. When he did move, she found herself making strange, involuntary noises like some untamed creature from the jungle.

  Her vocalizations seemed to excite Michael. He began moving, slowly at first, then faster, grasping her buttocks to pull himself even more deeply inside her. The most exquisite pressure built inside her, bringing tears to her eyes and a thickness to her throat. It wasn’t just the physical sensations, she realized through her sensual haze. This was Michael, who was both her adversary and her champion, her devil and her angel. And at that moment she felt something very fierce and elemental, a possessiveness that bordered on insanity.

  The moment she was waiting for came without warning, with no effort on her part. One moment she was floating along on a sea of indescribable pleasure, and the next she was drowning in it. Her cries echoed inside the little house, mixing with Michael’s guttural noises as he lost control and emptied himself inside her.

  She’d never experienced such a moment of joint exultation, as if they’d just won their own private Super Bowl.

  Wendy wasn’t sure what she expected him to say. She would have thought she’d be prepared for everything. But after they caught their breaths, while they were still clinging to each other, their bodies sheened with sweat, he shattered the mood.

  “Wendy, please tell me you’re on the Pill.”

  EIGHT

  Michael knew it was the wrong thing to say the moment the words left his mouth. Of all the insensitive, boorish moves, asking about birth control after the fact had to be right up there at the top of the list.

  Her mouth dropped open and she stared at him, her leaf green eyes blinking rapidly. Oh, Lord, he hadn’t made her cry, he hoped.

  He ran his fingers through her autumn-hued hair and caressed her cheek with one thumb. “That didn’t come out the way I meant. It’s just that normally I would think of that first, but you made me so crazy …” The Wendy Thayer Effect.

  Her muscles relaxed. He could feel them loosening where her legs were wrapped around him, where his hand supported her bare back. “I’m not protected,” she admitted.

  Michael tried not to show panic, or any of the other myriad feelings stirring around inside him. What if he had a child out of wedlock? What would that do to his plans, not to mention Wendy’s?

  But some traitorous part of his imagination took another tack. What would Wendy look like waddling around like Maggie Courtland? Would the baby have her auburn hair and green eyes?

  Abruptly she turned those frightened eyes up to him. “Would they still make me go to jail if I’m pregnant?”

  “Don’t borrow trouble, Wendy. It was one time.”

  “Yeah, famous last words! What were we thinking? I’ve never done this, done it with no birth control, not ever.”

  He eased away from her, then turned and looked at the clothing-strewn entry hall. This had been a first in many ways for him. First time he’d ever done it on a hall table. With a suspect. And, yeah, with no protection. His father had drilled it into his head from the time he was thirteen—don’t take chances, don’t play Russian roulette with your DNA.

  Looking back at Wendy, he wished he’d never brought up the subject, though she probably would have thought of it on her own before long. “Don’t panic, please. On the infinitesimal chance that there are … consequences—”

  “Don’t call our baby ‘consequences’!” she cried, hopping off the table. In one swift movement she scooped up her clothes and fled down the hall.

  Michael stared after her, shaking his head. He’d just made love to a nut. He ought to regret it, the impulsiveness, the fact that he’d compromised his ethics all over the place. But he didn’t. He found himself smiling as he put his own clothes back on.

  He found Wendy in the bedroom, sitting against the scarred wooden headboard, fully clothed once again in a pale blue shirt and jeans. She had her knees pulled up and a pillow hugged to her chest.

  “Can
I come in?” he called softly.

  She shrugged. “Sure.”

  He entered the humble room, where apparently Wendy’s decorating urges hadn’t yet penetrated. He sat on the edge of the bed, far enough away from her that he couldn’t touch her if the urge struck him, which he was sure it would. Though not five minutes before, he’d satisfied himself with her to the nth degree, he still wanted to touch her.

  She gave him a sheepish smile. “You must think I’m some kind of nutcase.”

  “The thought never crossed my mind,” he lied.

  “I need to explain something. You know how some women, when they have an orgasm, they laugh or cry, or scream or fall unconscious or whatever?”

  “Yeah …” He wondered where this was going.

  “Well, I get emotional. Whatever I happen to be feeling gets magnified a hundred times.”

  “Is this your cute little way of telling me you might have overreacted a minute ago?”

  She cracked a smile, which for some reason filled Michael with relief. “Yeah. I get all illogical. Then it passes. Everything happened so quickly, I didn’t have a chance to warn you.”

  “It’s all right. No harm done. And, believe me, I won’t ever refer to little what’s-its-name as ‘Consequences’ again. That would be a tough name to have to go through life with.”

  “Michael!” She threw the pillow at him, which he neatly dodged. It sailed past him to the floor, and he leaned over and snagged it.

  “Wanna play rough?”

  She grabbed the other pillow and held it in front of her like a shield, actually laughing. “No, no, I quit, uncle.”

  The playful mood deserted her as quickly as it had arrived. Wendy tossed the pillow aside. “You’re right, there’s no use worrying. But I think we should visit a drugstore immediately. Being caught unprepared once is one thing …” She let her voice trail off.

  Damn. He hadn’t wanted to have to make this speech. He’d thought for sure Wendy would be the first to start hollering about what a terrible mistake they’d made and they should never, ever repeat it. But apparently she didn’t view their recent indiscretion as a one-time thing.