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Was he asking because he was interested, or because he wanted to change the subject? Not that it mattered. She loved to talk about her family.
“My parents are in a retirement community in Arizona. You might remember that my dad spent his entire career in the military so we moved a lot. Now they have a motor home so they’re still on the go.”
“But that doesn’t appeal to you?”
“Not in the least,” she said, laughing. “Every time we moved, they did their best to make the new place feel like home for me and my sister. Carmen always fit in right away. It took me longer, and by the time I made friends and started to feel settled, my dad was transferred.”
“How did you end up in Seattle?”
“I fell in love with the Pacific Northwest when we were stationed at Whidbey Island, and I decided then that when I grew up, this is where I wanted to live. Now here I am.”
“And all grown-up.” His voice, deep and quiet all of a sudden, like the thrum of a bass, reverberated through her.
“All grown-up,” she agreed, almost breathless. And she was having some very grown-up thoughts about the man sitting across the table.
Don’t be an idiot. Luke Devlin was a man who lived in the moment, always had been and always would be. She was all about the long-term, the white picket fence, the happy ever after.
And how’s that working for you? It wasn’t. After months of being alone, she was lonely. Would it be so wrong to not be lonely for a change? Even just for one night? To wake up in the morning with a hot guy in her bed and a smug smile of satisfaction on her lips? Heat crept up her neck and she tried to cool her cheeks with her palms.
No, it wouldn’t be wrong and she would be tempted, but she still couldn’t do it. She couldn’t be that woman. Could she?
Chapter Three
Luke waited for her to climb off the bike, then joined her on the sidewalk.
“I’ll walk you up.”
He’d had to park nearly a block away, it was dark and there was no way he could let her walk on her own. Another man might be tempted to, but not a cop. Never. Besides, he was hoping to be invited in. For the obvious reasons, of course, but also because he welcomed the chance to check out the place from the inside.
“Thank you.” She sounded relieved.
On her own she would most likely come and go via the secure underground parking garage, especially at night. Not that anything was ever completely secure, especially given what he knew about the activities of some of the lowlifes who lived here. Tonight he would see her to the front door, maybe farther if he was lucky.
They’d covered about half the distance when prickles of unease shivered up his neck. He knew better than to be obvious, but a couple of casual over-the-shoulder glances revealed nothing. Someone was watching them, most likely just him, and he saw no advantage to tipping off whomever that might be. Had the operation been compromised? His gut told him no. This was about something else.
He sought out the pistol tucked in an inside jacket pocket, curled his fingers reassuringly around the grip as his other arm went out instinctively to draw Claire closer. She glanced up, the obvious question in her eyes.
“Thought you might be cold.” It sounded lame, even to him, but she didn’t pull away.
“Would you like to come up for coffee?” she asked as she unlocked the front door of her building.
“Sure.” Hell, yes. He was glad she’d asked. It saved him the trouble of trying to invite himself in.
Earlier she’d been on edge, possibly due to her ex showing up and giving her a hard time, and he’d thought the evening was headed for disaster. Eventually she had relaxed, and after they got their current relationship status out of the way, they had talked about work, recent movies they’d seen, what some of their old college friends were doing now and even pets. He’d adopted a German shepherd named Rex after the dog failed to meet the K-9 unit’s requirements. Claire had a Siamese cat named Cleo. Cleo didn’t like dogs, and Rex was afraid of cats. As they left the restaurant and walked to where he’d parked the bike, he’d been hoping that wasn’t a metaphor for him and Claire. And then he’d realized that he hadn’t used a word like metaphor since she’d been his study partner.
Not until they were stepping into the elevator did the hair on the back of his neck fall back into place. Who the hell was out there?
Claire pushed the button for the top floor. Huh. That would put her in one of the penthouses. If hers looked across to the other tower, to the penthouse his team had under surveillance, this evening might hold even more possibilities than he’d hoped it would.
They didn’t speak as the numbers ticked by, and then the elevator glided to a stop and the door opened with hardly a whisper. He followed Claire into a spacious and elegantly appointed foyer with a door at either end. His luck held. Keys in hand, she walked foward and opened the door he was hoping was hers.
Inside, his gaze went immediately to the wide, wraparound sweep of windows, taking in the view of Puget Sound to the west and the complex’s twin tower to the north.
Claire set her handbag and keys on the glossy black surface of a long, sleek console table, shrugged out of her jacket and hung it in the closet.
“Can I take your jacket?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Make yourself at home.”
He took a good look around and thought, Holy shit. So this is how the other half lives. He didn’t think he’d ever been in a home that was less homey. The space was huge and sprawling, with magazine-worthy living and dining areas, and an open kitchen that would hold half the basement suite he’d rented after he and Sherri split. Aside from the bare essentials, he had yet to furnish the place.
Claire had said the ex’s investments had done well. Either the guy had been filthy rich to start with, or she was the queen of understatement. Or the reality lay someplace in between.
“Impressive,” he said, crossing the polished wood floor, ostensibly to take in the view but instead zeroing in on his target in the neighboring tower. Bingo.
“That’s what everyone says. The view is what I’ll miss most after I...we sell the place.”
“I can see why,” he said, keeping the conversation moving while he scanned the neighboring penthouse his team had under surveillance.
Blinds obscured the bedroom windows where clients were “entertained,” but the main area was wide open. With proper surveillance equipment, he’d be able to see everyone who came and went from the place, including those who “worked” there. Tomorrow, first thing, he would talk to his sergeant. They didn’t like to involve civilians if it could be avoided, but this was too fine an opportunity to pass up.
“What kind of coffee would you like?”
He backed away from the window, turned and found himself caught in the green slitty-eyed gaze of a regal-looking Siamese cat. This would be Chloe. She sat on one end of the long, sleek black leather sofa, all four paws tucked out of sight beneath her, tail wrapped snugly around half her body. Suspecting the haughty feline would produce one of those hidden paws and shred his hand if he tried to pet her, he gave her a wide berth as he circled around the island to join Claire in the kitchen.
“What are my choices?”
“You can have anything you like.”
“Can I?”
Even the tip of her nose turned pink. “Cappuccino? Latte?”
He studied the elaborate-looking stainless-steel espresso machine on the counter. “Looks complicated. Does it make just plain coffee?”
“Of course.” She opened cupboards, reached for cups, took the lid off a canister and scooped out some coffee grounds.
He leaned against the island, while she turned her attention to the machine, and watched her work, admiring the way her blue sweater curved to the contours of her waist and hips. To his surprise, he liked that her invitation to come up for coffee really meant coffee. That hardly ever happened. There was a time he would have nailed a woman the second they stumbled into the apartment, and a time before that when he’d have jumped her in the elevator. Now he was making do with coffee with the one woman he’d always wanted to make out with, because Claire DeAngelo was way too good for a dry hump in a corner of an elevator.
“Here you go.” She held out a tall, steaming mug of coffee, smiled up at him and trailed her fingertips across the back of his hand when he took the cup from her.
Was she flirting? Huh. Maybe coffee wasn’t just coffee, after all. Before he could figure that out, she picked up her latte cup and saucer, took a sip and smiled as she swiped the foam off her upper lip with the tip of her tongue. Okay, that was no accident. He set his coffee on the counter, took hers and placed it next to his and locked gazes with her.
Aw, hell. He’d recognize that smolder anywhere. And yeah, he wanted this, really wanted it, but this had to be her call. Completely. She might not want to make the first move, but she needed to give him another sign if she wanted him to make it.
Her tongue played an encore across her bottom lip.
Did she have any idea how this affected him?
Her smile suggested she did.
He groaned and pulled her into his arms. “You’re sure about this?”
She leaned into him, smile gone, eyes even darker.
Please let her say yes.
“I’m sure.”
Close enough.
Kissing her to piss off the ex had been little more than a boost to his ego. Kissing her for real jump-started his libido in a way no other kiss had in a very long time. Come to think of it, he hadn’t kissed a woman in a very long time. Not since Sherri. Not since he got sober.
Stop thinking, he told himself, or you’ll talk yourself out of this one.
Claire slipped her hands inside the front of his jacket. He held his breath for a few seconds, hoping she didn’t encounter the Glock. He started breathing again when she slid her fingers up his chest, apparently none the wiser. Although she knew he was a cop, she wouldn’t like knowing he was armed.
Still doing too damn much thinking.
Claire leaned even closer, her body soft against his. Ordinarily that would have been enough to make him stop using his head, but knowing someone on the street had been watching him still had his senses on heightened alert, and now he was acutely aware of the wide expanse of windows behind them. Anyone who cared to watch would be able to see them.
“Which way to the bedroom?”
He hated to break the mood, hoped she wouldn’t change her mind, but she only tipped her head back and smiled.
“This way.” She took him by the hand and led him down a hallway and into a huge master suite.
“Wow.” There was a king-size bed, two bureaus, a pair of armchairs separated by a large ottoman and still enough space for a small dance floor. And the drapes were closed.
“I’ve never done this before,” she said.
This being...? he wondered, but didn’t dare ask.
“I mean, I’ve never brought another man here.”
Is that right? Now it was up to him to make sure she didn’t regret it. He shrugged off his leather jacket, slung it over the back of a chair and slowly closed the short distance between him and Claire. He watched her eyes, looking for any hint of reluctance, any suggestion that she might have changed her mind.
He stopped in front of her but didn’t touch her. Without missing a beat, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.
He would let her set the pace, he decided. Even if it killed him.
He rested his hands on her hips, lightly, relishing the gentle sway as she pressed her mouth to his. Her tongue slid slowly across his lips and his resolve started to wane. For a woman unaccustomed to inviting men to her bedroom, she was damn good at it.
She shoved his T-shirt up his chest, and he made it easy for her by stripping it off and resuming the kiss. Her hands were warm against his bare flesh, and getting hotter by the minute. Time to return the favor. He tugged on her sweater and she let him pull it over her head, exposing a lacy white bra and full shapely breasts that were just...
“Beautiful,” he whispered.
He backed her up to the bed, let her go long enough for her to lie down and crawled on next to her, thinking that being horizontal with Claire might be the closest he would ever get to heaven.
“The light,” she said, adding a little gasp as his hand explored the lace undergarment.
“What about it?”
“We should turn it out.”
“No way.” He found the hooks at the back and released them with one hand, first try. Not exactly the sort of thing a guy could put on a resumé, but a damn handy skill to have. “I don’t want to miss a thing.”
The feel of her and the scent of her skin already had his senses on overload, but he wanted it all. He wanted to hear more of those breathy sighs, taste her and explore every square inch of her. The lights were staying on.
He took one breast into his mouth, marveling at the texture, and how the more he teased, the more it changed. With one hand he explored her belly, hip and thigh, still clad in dark jeans. Finally unable to resist, he slipped his fingers between her legs.
Even through the fabric she was hot and damp, and he was practically delirious with desire. He hardly dared let himself believe that Lucky Devil was about to get lucky with Claire DeAngelo. A momentary flash of uncertainty ripped through him, and he reminded himself that he needed to take this slow. She deserved to be worshipped, not ravished.
Apparently she had other ideas. She tugged at his belt buckle and when that didn’t give way, she ran her hand over the front of his jeans, covering him with her palm. What little willpower he had evaporated.
Next time they would take it slow. Or the time after that, for sure.
He closed his eyes and momentarily gave himself up to her intimate touch, then he undid her jeans, dipped a hand inside her panties and primed her with a couple of quick strokes.
She unzipped his fly and returned the favor.
He stroked her some more, smug in the knowledge that he was here with her, and she was hot for him. Him. He unbuckled his belt and unsnapped his jeans. She had found a way in, but he was desperate to give her full access. And she took full advantage.
This felt so right in so many ways. Sweet, shy Claire, who had always come across as being a little unsure of her womanhood, was moving to the rhythm of his touch, not afraid to show him what she wanted or give him what he needed.
His sense of personal triumph was interrupted by a sound from outside the bedroom. A key in the door? The hair went up on the back of his neck.
The door opened quietly and closed again.
What the hell?
In the space of a heartbeat his instincts shifted from the beautiful woman sprawled beside him to the disturbing awareness they were no longer alone. He put a finger to his lips, indicating she needed to be quiet, ignoring the fleeting second thought brought on by the scent of her.
His gut told him the intruder was the same person who’d been watching him earlier. In one swift silent move he stood, zipped his jeans and retrieved his gun from inside his jacket.
Claire’s eyes went wide. Shh, he silently cautioned her again.
He moved to the bedroom door, confident that his ability to silently cross the carpet like a cat gave him the advantage. Bad enough someone had picked the lock and broken into the place, but to interrupt him when he was about to have sex for the first time in a really long time? Whoever this was deserved to get shot.
He was halfway down the short hallway when a shadow slanted across the floor ahead of him. He flattened himself against the wall and waited. By the time the shadow-maker appeared, he was ready for him. He slammed the man face-first against the opposite wall and jerked one of his arms behind his back. Air gushed out of the guy’s chest with a pleasing oomph and the stale scent of whiskey. Luke jabbed the business end of his weapon between a couple of ribs.
“Seattle P.D. Don’t move, unless maybe you’ve got a death wish.”
“Police? What the...?”
Luke immediately recognized the voice. Claire’s ex. What was this son of a bitch doing here?
