Having witnessed a serial killer, Marisa Potts has to run for her life. Literally. The police are desperate to protect her, the killer is determined to end her life, and Detective Jonathan McCord simply wants to solve the case before the key witness ends up in his bed.
She held her breath as he paid the delivery man and closed the door behind him. If she could have five minutes with him, she'd be willing to pass on the food. That wasn't possible, however, and she had to keep reminding herself.
“You're doing it again.” He closed the door and turned toward her.
“Doing what again?” Her heart leapt as a cold sensation exploded in her chest.
“Those eyes of yours.” He pointed his finger at her. “I've told you that they feel like summer rain.”
She laughed, probably a bit too loudly, but she needed to find a way to cover the embarrassment that was suddenly devouring her. She wanted to make some cute comment about how it might have felt like rain to him but she was the one that was wet. But, the last time it had only taken a few seconds for him to inform her that her opinion really didn't matter. “Sorry about that. As you can tell by my line of work I'm a visual person. I'm inclined to stare; I don't mean a thing by it.”
Of course, it wasn't true, at least the part about not meaning a thing by it, but she had to find some way to cloak the lust as a natural impulse. She'd be damned to let him slam her again over the same thing.
“That's too bad,” he grunted as he motioned her toward the kitchen. “I love to play in the rain.”
She stopped in her tracks, giving his words deep thought, and her heart pounded like a bass drum. He placed the bag onto the table and moved to the cabinet to retrieve plates. She wasn't sure what he wanted; one minute he was hot and the next he was cold. There was one thing she did know, however, and that was exactly what she wanted, and it was him.
He looked back toward her as she stood there in silence. “What?”
She swallowed hard as he sat two plates onto the table and looked at her again. She walked quickly toward him, closing the distance with a pace that would have told any man why she was headed his way. Her right hand reached firmly up and grabbed the dog tags that hung onto his perfect chest. He submitted to the tug and she crashed her lips onto his in a demand that he kiss her back.
As quickly as she'd touched him, his arms wrapped around her and drew her into him. She rubbed her hands up the back of his neck onto his head and whined as her body throbbed in demand.
“The captain will pull me off the case if he finds out,” he murmured as she trailed wet, teasing kisses down his neck.
“He won't find out,” she insisted.
“I want you so bad,” he said, as he pulled away. “I'm just scared as hell that if I get involved with you I'll screw this case up and get you hurt or worse.”
She narrowed her eyes in thought, wondering how in the hell a man could be that strong. She could taste it in his kiss, and see it in his eyes. Most off all, it was visible right there between his legs, in a bulging package that offered the pleasure her body demanded. “I'm not letting you walk away.”
“It isn't like I want to.” He grabbed the bag and began setting the small boxes onto the table.
There were no words for how mad it made her. It was worse than losing Ben Weaver to someone she never had the opportunity to fight. It was worse than waking up one day knowing that her parents simply didn't love her. Her hand snatched her shirt over her head in a smooth swift motion. If he wanted to play hardball then he better grab the bat. When it came to tough games she'd played her fair share. She snatched the ponytail holder from her hair with no thought of the hair that came with it. She ran her fingers through her hair and allowed it to flow over her shoulders and down her back. “Then look at me, damn it.” She bit as she stomped her way out of her jeans. “Come play in the rain.”
She studied the look on his face and she wasn't sure if he was pleased or angry that he'd turned his back for a moment and she'd stripped down to her skivvies right there in his kitchen. The seconds mounted and she stood her ground. “You said, that you couldn't because you didn't want me to get hurt or worse. I'd rather be dead, than know I couldn't have you.”
Silence continued to build in the room, and the bulge that had disappeared between his legs suddenly reappeared. His eyes scanned her. She gritted her teeth but never moved her eyes from him. If he was going to turn her down then he was damn well going to have to do it face to face. He couldn't take the chicken's way out like Ben Weaver had.
“The offer isn't good forever.” Her words were strong but her voice quivered. “If you let me stand here and make a fool out of myself and you don't take it, then the game's over.” She didn't know what she'd do, or how far she'd have to run to escape Jonathan McCord. If he turned her down, however, he would never get the chance again.