behavior.
• • •
Dinner was pleasant.
They sat across from one another at the table on the covered back porch, an oscillating fan keeping the temperature pleasant and the bugs at bay. They shared a bottle of wine and ate steak, green beans sautéed with onions and garlic, and smashed redskin potatoes.
It was delicious, and the conversation was comfortable, stimulating even.
“Should you be telling me all this?” Kennedy asked after Jack informed her that they now suspected this last murder had involved two victims, and one body was as of yet unaccounted for.
“Probably not,” he admitted as he sipped his wine. “But since you’re the only one I’ve told, I’ll know who to blame if the media gets wind.”
“I won’t tell, I promise.”
“I figured as much. You seem to be handling it better than the other day.”
She smiled and sipped her wine. “Sabrina assures me the mortality rate for FBI agents is actually quite low.”
“You told Sabrina about us?”
About us? What are we, precisely? She wanted to ask, but she was afraid. Instead, she shook her head and said, “No. We just talked in general terms, about Cullen’s job.”
Jack nodded. “I’m pretty sure the married guys tell their wives everything. I figure it’s okay to tell you.”
The comment hung in the air between them, turning an otherwise enjoyable and comfortable dinner suddenly awkward. She cleared her throat, finished her wine, and then stood up and began clearing the table. When Jack started to stand, she shooed him back into his seat.
“You cooked; I’ll clean.” The little bit of space and activity helped to alleviate the tension his comment had created. By the time she’d loaded the dishwasher and set it to run, Jack had wandered into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, a hungry look in his eye.
“I was sort of hoping I could sleep in your bed again tonight,” he said as he began advancing toward her, the hungry look intensifying.
“Oh,” she said and let the silence spin out. She had nothing else to offer.
He backed her up against the sink, almost leisurely rubbing his erection against her. She gasped. The man went from zero to ready in the course of seconds, it seemed.
“It’s you,” he whispered into her ear, as he brushed her hair out of the way so he could nibble there. “I think I’m obsessed.”
He dipped his head and caught her earlobe between his teeth. She placed her palms against his chest, smoothed them down to his waist, and then slipped her hands under his shirt. He murmured his appreciation.
His shirt came off. So did hers. The bra was next. He tugged her hair out of the braid it had been in for work. She worked to get the snap and zipper of his jeans undone. They never left the kitchen.
And then his phone rang.
“Shit,” he muttered as he shoved his hand into the pocket of his jeans. He glanced at the screen. “I have to take this.” As he turned away from her, he tugged his jeans over his hips, and pulled the zipper up so they’d stay there.
• • •
“Yeah?”
“We have a body.”
“Just a body, or the body? Because if we aren’t at least eighty percent certain, I’m sort of busy here.” He glanced over his shoulder. Kennedy leaned back against the counter, her beautiful, naked breasts thrust out far too invitingly. He almost groaned out loud.
“Get off what’s her name, and get your ass over here,” Cullen snapped. “Since you obviously aren’t at home, come to my place. We’ll go from here.”
He disconnected the call, and Jack turned back to Kennedy, every movement indicating the regret he felt at being forced to leave. She bent over and retrieved both shirts. “It’s okay,” she assured him as she pulled the t-shirt over her head.
“It’s really not,” he muttered as he buttoned his shirt.
“It’s your job. I get it.”
He grabbed her around the waist and hauled her close. “You really are awesome, you know that?”
“That’s nice to
• • •
Dinner was pleasant.
They sat across from one another at the table on the covered back porch, an oscillating fan keeping the temperature pleasant and the bugs at bay. They shared a bottle of wine and ate steak, green beans sautéed with onions and garlic, and smashed redskin potatoes.
It was delicious, and the conversation was comfortable, stimulating even.
“Should you be telling me all this?” Kennedy asked after Jack informed her that they now suspected this last murder had involved two victims, and one body was as of yet unaccounted for.
“Probably not,” he admitted as he sipped his wine. “But since you’re the only one I’ve told, I’ll know who to blame if the media gets wind.”
“I won’t tell, I promise.”
“I figured as much. You seem to be handling it better than the other day.”
She smiled and sipped her wine. “Sabrina assures me the mortality rate for FBI agents is actually quite low.”
“You told Sabrina about us?”
About us? What are we, precisely? She wanted to ask, but she was afraid. Instead, she shook her head and said, “No. We just talked in general terms, about Cullen’s job.”
Jack nodded. “I’m pretty sure the married guys tell their wives everything. I figure it’s okay to tell you.”
The comment hung in the air between them, turning an otherwise enjoyable and comfortable dinner suddenly awkward. She cleared her throat, finished her wine, and then stood up and began clearing the table. When Jack started to stand, she shooed him back into his seat.
“You cooked; I’ll clean.” The little bit of space and activity helped to alleviate the tension his comment had created. By the time she’d loaded the dishwasher and set it to run, Jack had wandered into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, a hungry look in his eye.
“I was sort of hoping I could sleep in your bed again tonight,” he said as he began advancing toward her, the hungry look intensifying.
“Oh,” she said and let the silence spin out. She had nothing else to offer.
He backed her up against the sink, almost leisurely rubbing his erection against her. She gasped. The man went from zero to ready in the course of seconds, it seemed.
“It’s you,” he whispered into her ear, as he brushed her hair out of the way so he could nibble there. “I think I’m obsessed.”
He dipped his head and caught her earlobe between his teeth. She placed her palms against his chest, smoothed them down to his waist, and then slipped her hands under his shirt. He murmured his appreciation.
His shirt came off. So did hers. The bra was next. He tugged her hair out of the braid it had been in for work. She worked to get the snap and zipper of his jeans undone. They never left the kitchen.
And then his phone rang.
“Shit,” he muttered as he shoved his hand into the pocket of his jeans. He glanced at the screen. “I have to take this.” As he turned away from her, he tugged his jeans over his hips, and pulled the zipper up so they’d stay there.
• • •
“Yeah?”
“We have a body.”
“Just a body, or the body? Because if we aren’t at least eighty percent certain, I’m sort of busy here.” He glanced over his shoulder. Kennedy leaned back against the counter, her beautiful, naked breasts thrust out far too invitingly. He almost groaned out loud.
“Get off what’s her name, and get your ass over here,” Cullen snapped. “Since you obviously aren’t at home, come to my place. We’ll go from here.”
He disconnected the call, and Jack turned back to Kennedy, every movement indicating the regret he felt at being forced to leave. She bent over and retrieved both shirts. “It’s okay,” she assured him as she pulled the t-shirt over her head.
“It’s really not,” he muttered as he buttoned his shirt.
“It’s your job. I get it.”
He grabbed her around the waist and hauled her close. “You really are awesome, you know that?”
“That’s nice to
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