Hatfield and McCoy by Heather Graham Page A

you to throw me out of the house before I get a chance to wolf it all down.”
    Despite herself, Julie was smiling again.
    How was it possible to want to hang a man one minute and find herself laughing the next?
    Well, that was McCoy. He was complex and hard. Sometimes distant, and sometimes as weary as if he had already lived out a whole lifetime.
    And then there were times like this. When his chest muscles gleamed like copper and his dark blond hair was still damp and falling disobediently over his forehead and one eye. When some of the silver edge had left his eyes, and he seemed so young, so handsome …
    And so damned sexy …
    â€œYes! We need to eat. Quickly!” Julie said. She was not letting her mind wander in that direction again.
    She scooped the concoction from the wok onto two plates.
    â€œWhere shall we eat?” McCoy asked.
    â€œThe dining room?”
    â€œToo mundane.”
    â€œThe kitchen?”
    â€œToo tight. Ah,” he said softly. “The bedroom?”
    Julie shook her head warily. “Too intimate.”
    â€œWell, that was the idea.”
    â€œYou have to work tomorrow,” Julie reminded him. “Remember, you’ve got to get going. We’ll eat in the parlor.”
    It would be safe, Julie thought.
    But it wasn’t.
    McCoy just wasn’t a safe man.
    They dined slowly. They talked politely. Mostly about Brenda and her children. Julie learned that his brother-in-law was a serviceman based in D.C. but on loan to a base in California at the moment. Their conversation remained pleasant, easy, casual.
    â€œI have to go,” McCoy said softly. “Go—or stay,” he added.
    â€œOh, no,” Julie said. “Not tonight. You’re not staying tonight. We hardly know one another.”
    â€œI thought we were getting acquainted rather well.”
    â€œNo. You have to go,” she said. But his eyes were on her lips. He watched her speak with fascination. He reached out and touched her lip gently with his fingertip.
    â€œI’m going.”
    But he didn’t leave. He pulled her into his arms again. His lips came down on hers. Tasting them, brushing them. Slowly, slowly savoring them.
    Julie broke away, looking into his eyes. “You have to … to …”
    Damn, but she liked his mouth. It was full and generous. And sensual. And when it met hers … as it was doing again … she felt such a startling arousal and sweet birth of emotion.
    â€œI have to what?” he whispered softly. The warmth of his breath touched her ear. Seared her throat. Entered into her.
    They hadn’t had an argument for well over an hour, she realized.
    She met his eyes, secure in the warmth of his arms, and she smiled. Slowly. Wickedly.
    â€œYou have to stay, McCoy. That’s what you have to do.”
    He laughed softly.
    And kissed her again.

Chapter 6
    J ulie hadn’t expected to find herself at the police station the next morning, but by ten o’clock, that was exactly where she was.
    And the man with whom she had shared a warm and passionate night was staring at her as if she was a distasteful stranger. A thunderous frown knotted his forehead, and his lips were drawn tight and thin.
    It hadn’t been Julie’s idea to come. She had considered herself done with the case for now. She could help with the victim—not with the criminal.
    But Petty had wanted her called in.
    McCoy had left her house very early, just about with the crack of dawn. He’d gone home, showered, shaved and changed, and this morning, he looked just like a G-man.
    He was wearing a three-piece suit.
    And like black leather and casual knit shirts—and nothing at all—he wore it very well. The suit accentuated the tightly-muscled leanness of his physique and the breadth of his shoulders. His hair this morning was firmly brushed back from his forehead—the better to see the scowl, my dear, she thought—and he was all