then she picked up again. “Okay. Yeah, but I was thinking you should come in for a drink first. Or we could just stay here and order takeout.”
Breathless never killed and moved the body, and she probably never invited a suspect to her home. “Sounds good.” The phone made a soft thud, as if she’d dropped it.
“Sorry,” she said and confirmed his suspicion. “I dropped the phone.”
He tapped the pen on his desk and asked, “What are you doing?”
“Right now?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m standing here in my underwear getting ready to put on my pajamas.”
The pen stopped. “I’ll let you go,” he said as a vision of her wearing licorice candy pants flashed into his head.
“It’s okay. I’m going to kick my feet up and watch a little television before bed. What are you doing?”
“Nothing. Just sitting around.” In his mind, he had her dressed up in an edible bra too. He wondered if she got kinky. Not the kind of kinky that killed a man, but the kind that let him eat off her undies. Quinn hadn’t worked undercover in over four years now, but he still knew how it was done. When to push and how far. He set down his pen and told himself he was just doing his job. “Are they edible?” But he knew his curiosity was more than just work.
There was a pause, during which he half-expected her to tell him to go to hell. “My feet?”
“Your panties.”
Another pause and then, “No. They’re white satin.”
He swallowed, the chair swiveled, and the arm bumped Millie’s face. She looked at him like he’d done it on purpose and left the room. He didn’t want to talk dirty in front of his dog and watched her go before asking, “Any lace?”
“No.”
Damn, he liked lace on a woman.
She added just above a whisper. “But there’s pink ribbon.”
Damn. “Tell me more about the ribbon.”
“It’s woven around the tops of my thighs, and there’s little bows.”
He closed his eyes and imagined it. Imagined that pink ribbon warmed by the heat between her legs. Those panties suddenly sounded edible to him. “Are you wearing a bra?”
Her breath whispered across the line, and he could picture her pink lips. “Yes.”
“Does it match your panties?”
“Yes.”
He sucked a breath deep into his lungs and pressed his palm against his erection. “Where’s the ribbon?”
“Woven down the front.”
He could imagine that, too. “Are your nipples hard?”
Instead of answering, she asked, “Are you hard, Quinn?”
“Yes.”
“Are you in the habit of talking dirty on the phone?” Her voice was seductive as hell.
“No.” He pictured her standing right in front of him, her hair spilling across her shoulders like the sun, her feet slightly apart as he ran his hands up the backs of her thighs while he put his mouth on her flat belly. “But I’m willing to give it a try if you are, Sunshine.”
Her quiet laughter reached him across the phone line. “See you tomorrow night, Quinn,” she said and disconnected.
He opened his eyes and half expected to see her standing in front of him. Instead his gaze focused on the work laid out on his desk. On the mounds of folders, notes, laptop, and the photographs of Mary and Donny’s kids.
The silence in the room pressed in on him. The weight of it sat on his chest and forced him to feel the loneliness deep in the black pit of his soul. For several seconds, it was stronger than him and threatened to close his throat. Then he beat it back and shoved it down once again.
He reached for a stereo remote sitting on his desk and pushed Play. The Black Crowes filled the silence with bluesy Southern rock. Chris Robinson sang about good lovin’ and being hard to handle.
He was fine with his life just the way it was.
The next evening Lucy took a fortifying drink of her red wine, then set the glass on the coffee table. She didn’t want to risk catching a buzz before she told Quinn the reason she’d wanted him to come over to her house instead of going
Breathless never killed and moved the body, and she probably never invited a suspect to her home. “Sounds good.” The phone made a soft thud, as if she’d dropped it.
“Sorry,” she said and confirmed his suspicion. “I dropped the phone.”
He tapped the pen on his desk and asked, “What are you doing?”
“Right now?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m standing here in my underwear getting ready to put on my pajamas.”
The pen stopped. “I’ll let you go,” he said as a vision of her wearing licorice candy pants flashed into his head.
“It’s okay. I’m going to kick my feet up and watch a little television before bed. What are you doing?”
“Nothing. Just sitting around.” In his mind, he had her dressed up in an edible bra too. He wondered if she got kinky. Not the kind of kinky that killed a man, but the kind that let him eat off her undies. Quinn hadn’t worked undercover in over four years now, but he still knew how it was done. When to push and how far. He set down his pen and told himself he was just doing his job. “Are they edible?” But he knew his curiosity was more than just work.
There was a pause, during which he half-expected her to tell him to go to hell. “My feet?”
“Your panties.”
Another pause and then, “No. They’re white satin.”
He swallowed, the chair swiveled, and the arm bumped Millie’s face. She looked at him like he’d done it on purpose and left the room. He didn’t want to talk dirty in front of his dog and watched her go before asking, “Any lace?”
“No.”
Damn, he liked lace on a woman.
She added just above a whisper. “But there’s pink ribbon.”
Damn. “Tell me more about the ribbon.”
“It’s woven around the tops of my thighs, and there’s little bows.”
He closed his eyes and imagined it. Imagined that pink ribbon warmed by the heat between her legs. Those panties suddenly sounded edible to him. “Are you wearing a bra?”
Her breath whispered across the line, and he could picture her pink lips. “Yes.”
“Does it match your panties?”
“Yes.”
He sucked a breath deep into his lungs and pressed his palm against his erection. “Where’s the ribbon?”
“Woven down the front.”
He could imagine that, too. “Are your nipples hard?”
Instead of answering, she asked, “Are you hard, Quinn?”
“Yes.”
“Are you in the habit of talking dirty on the phone?” Her voice was seductive as hell.
“No.” He pictured her standing right in front of him, her hair spilling across her shoulders like the sun, her feet slightly apart as he ran his hands up the backs of her thighs while he put his mouth on her flat belly. “But I’m willing to give it a try if you are, Sunshine.”
Her quiet laughter reached him across the phone line. “See you tomorrow night, Quinn,” she said and disconnected.
He opened his eyes and half expected to see her standing in front of him. Instead his gaze focused on the work laid out on his desk. On the mounds of folders, notes, laptop, and the photographs of Mary and Donny’s kids.
The silence in the room pressed in on him. The weight of it sat on his chest and forced him to feel the loneliness deep in the black pit of his soul. For several seconds, it was stronger than him and threatened to close his throat. Then he beat it back and shoved it down once again.
He reached for a stereo remote sitting on his desk and pushed Play. The Black Crowes filled the silence with bluesy Southern rock. Chris Robinson sang about good lovin’ and being hard to handle.
He was fine with his life just the way it was.
The next evening Lucy took a fortifying drink of her red wine, then set the glass on the coffee table. She didn’t want to risk catching a buzz before she told Quinn the reason she’d wanted him to come over to her house instead of going
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