thing,” Jamie said, not taking his eyes from the detective’s.
“I had a report of breaking glass and the sound of voices in the apartment of a person of interest.”
“Really.”
“I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that.”
“’Fraid not.” Jamie’s eyes glittered.
Jackson looked away for a moment, down at the pavement, then back up at Jamie. “Then I won’t need to worry about finding your fingerprints up there.”
“That’s right.”
I ran my memory of the break-and-enter back through my head. The only thing I could think of that we’d touched had been the window lock and sill, and Jamie had his hand wrapped for that. Had we touched anything else? Had he cut himself on the window glass and left DNA?
Jamie had his easy smile back, and his shoulders had lowered back to the regular position. He looked completely relaxed. “I guess we’ll be on our way, then, Detective.”
“I’m not going to tell you not to leave town, and not because I know you’d ignore me. If this turns out to have anything—anything—to do with you I’ll extradite your ass out of that mansion you live in these days and throw you back in the lock-up where you belong.”
Totally different detective from the one I’d spoken with. He didn’t exactly mince his words, either.
“Nice seeing you, Detective.” Jamie started to turn and I went with him. Jackson stepped in my path.
“Miz Wilson, if you’re as smart a girl as I think you are, you’ll take my advice.”
I had no snappy comeback, so I nodded, watching the detective watch Jamie while he spoke to me.
“Don’t trust him even for a second. Murphy’s only in it for himself, and you’d do well to remember that.”
That was the second person who’d warned me off Jamie in less than twenty-four hours. “Thanks for the advice,” I muttered. “Can we go now?”
The cop stepped out of the way and we walked away, Jamie striding, me scurrying along beside him, into the night.
The hotel door swung shut behind me. A rush had powered me all the way home—from the near miss, or the kiss, who knew? I realized I’d been babbling about nothing the whole time. Or at least I couldn’t remember a word I’d said.
Bedside lamps lit the room. The bed had been turned down and gold foil squares lay on the pillows. Chocolates, I guessed. It was still a big bed.
Jamie looked at me in the silence. “Run out of things to say?”
I nodded. He took one step toward me.
“Are you sure there’s nothing you want to ask me?” He started to lift one hand in an echo of entreaty.
“About the police?”
“That, or…”
“Have you been in jail?” I found myself asking, instead of the question I wanted to ask.
“No.” His face was neutral, eyes unreadable above those high cheekbones. “Well, not really. I’ve been arrested plenty of times, spent the night in jail more than once. They never had enough evidence to hold me.”
“That’s good,” I said. On some level. An awkward silence fell.
We both started to speak at the same time, and then stopped. I giggled. It wasn’t funny.
“Jamie, I…”
In a couple of quick strides, he crossed the room and seized me by the shoulders, lifting me up and pressing his mouth to mine. I pushed back against him, trying to kiss him and gasp for breath at the same time.
Every contact point between our bodies was electric—his hands sliding down my arms, his mouth hard and hot, and the warmth of his chest against mine through our shirts.
I fought to get my hands between us, and Jamie broke off the kiss, breathing heavily.
“You want me to stop?” he said.
“No, I just—” I pulled at the front of his shirt, fumbling with buttons, yanking at the hem.
“Okay,” he breathed and took my face between his hands and kissed me again. His mouth tasted fresh, masculine, amazing. He tasted as good as he smelled. At last, his shirt opened and I ran my hands over his chest, something I’d wanted to do since
“I had a report of breaking glass and the sound of voices in the apartment of a person of interest.”
“Really.”
“I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that.”
“’Fraid not.” Jamie’s eyes glittered.
Jackson looked away for a moment, down at the pavement, then back up at Jamie. “Then I won’t need to worry about finding your fingerprints up there.”
“That’s right.”
I ran my memory of the break-and-enter back through my head. The only thing I could think of that we’d touched had been the window lock and sill, and Jamie had his hand wrapped for that. Had we touched anything else? Had he cut himself on the window glass and left DNA?
Jamie had his easy smile back, and his shoulders had lowered back to the regular position. He looked completely relaxed. “I guess we’ll be on our way, then, Detective.”
“I’m not going to tell you not to leave town, and not because I know you’d ignore me. If this turns out to have anything—anything—to do with you I’ll extradite your ass out of that mansion you live in these days and throw you back in the lock-up where you belong.”
Totally different detective from the one I’d spoken with. He didn’t exactly mince his words, either.
“Nice seeing you, Detective.” Jamie started to turn and I went with him. Jackson stepped in my path.
“Miz Wilson, if you’re as smart a girl as I think you are, you’ll take my advice.”
I had no snappy comeback, so I nodded, watching the detective watch Jamie while he spoke to me.
“Don’t trust him even for a second. Murphy’s only in it for himself, and you’d do well to remember that.”
That was the second person who’d warned me off Jamie in less than twenty-four hours. “Thanks for the advice,” I muttered. “Can we go now?”
The cop stepped out of the way and we walked away, Jamie striding, me scurrying along beside him, into the night.
The hotel door swung shut behind me. A rush had powered me all the way home—from the near miss, or the kiss, who knew? I realized I’d been babbling about nothing the whole time. Or at least I couldn’t remember a word I’d said.
Bedside lamps lit the room. The bed had been turned down and gold foil squares lay on the pillows. Chocolates, I guessed. It was still a big bed.
Jamie looked at me in the silence. “Run out of things to say?”
I nodded. He took one step toward me.
“Are you sure there’s nothing you want to ask me?” He started to lift one hand in an echo of entreaty.
“About the police?”
“That, or…”
“Have you been in jail?” I found myself asking, instead of the question I wanted to ask.
“No.” His face was neutral, eyes unreadable above those high cheekbones. “Well, not really. I’ve been arrested plenty of times, spent the night in jail more than once. They never had enough evidence to hold me.”
“That’s good,” I said. On some level. An awkward silence fell.
We both started to speak at the same time, and then stopped. I giggled. It wasn’t funny.
“Jamie, I…”
In a couple of quick strides, he crossed the room and seized me by the shoulders, lifting me up and pressing his mouth to mine. I pushed back against him, trying to kiss him and gasp for breath at the same time.
Every contact point between our bodies was electric—his hands sliding down my arms, his mouth hard and hot, and the warmth of his chest against mine through our shirts.
I fought to get my hands between us, and Jamie broke off the kiss, breathing heavily.
“You want me to stop?” he said.
“No, I just—” I pulled at the front of his shirt, fumbling with buttons, yanking at the hem.
“Okay,” he breathed and took my face between his hands and kissed me again. His mouth tasted fresh, masculine, amazing. He tasted as good as he smelled. At last, his shirt opened and I ran my hands over his chest, something I’d wanted to do since
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