with along, sure movement that drove the breath from both of them.
Pausing above her, he strove to garner his flagging control. Her eyes opened dazedly, and the sight of him over her, eyes tightly shut, teeth clenched, made her breath sob in her throat. The skin was drawn tautly over his cheekbones, and a light sheen of perspiration shone on his brow. She wasn’t able to give him the time he needed to regroup. She flexed, drawing him deeper inside her, and still it wasn’t enough. He was so hot, so hard, and he filled her completely… She gasped a little as he rolled his hips.
“That’s right,” he growled gutturally as her body struggled to accept all of him, “let yourself relax. Take more. More! Yes, like that. Just like that.” She accepted all of him, his hot, turgid length stretching her. His hands went to her bottom, lifting her for his thrusts. He began slowly at first, but quickly lost control and drove into her wildly. Breathless whimpers broke from her lips as she met each of his frantic movements, and demanded more.
“Maddy,” he gritted, surging into her. “Mine. Maddy…” He rode her hard until she screamed softly, her cry muffled by his hard shoulder. Her inner spasms clenched him, milking his own response. With a wild roll of his hips the pleasure slammed into him. It went on and on, and he jerked convulsively as he spun out of control.
Chapter 12
It was well before daybreak when Madeline woke, dazed by the unfamiliar surroundings. A furnacelike heat radiated against her back, and heavy weights kept her pinned to the bed. She blinked a few times, identifying the warmth caused by Cruz’s body pressed against hers. One thigh was wedged between her own, and his arm draped over her waist. She sighed a little, settling back against him once more. She’d fallen asleep after they’d made love, but he’d woken her often during the night, his body inviting hers to taste satisfaction again.
She lay in his embrace quietly for a time, listening to the even breathing of the man next to her. One part of her wished that she could return to similar unconsciousness. But she knew that luxury would be denied her. Her mind was wide-awakenow, her thoughts uncomfortably demanding. She stretched, easing out from under Cruz cautiously. She searched for her sweater and pulled it on before padding down the staircase to the kitchen. The curtainless windows allowed all the light from the star-studded sky to spill into the apartment, and she had no difficulty finding her way. Pulling open a cupboard, she took out a glass, went to the refrigerator and poured herself some milk.
Sitting at the counter, she sipped slowly, staring pensively into space. Last night had been completely outside her experience. She’d never let herself respond like that, had never been forced to respond like that before. Cruz had drawn out every emotion, every reaction, and had savored it, reciprocating in full. He’d reached for her over and over, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. Amazingly, her response had been just as uninhibited each time.
But now, desire satisfied, self-doubts returned full force to nag at her with insistent clamoring. She’d just complicated her investigation. Separating emotion from cool professional reason could only be more difficult after the hours she’d just spent with him. She should never have allowed last night to happen. She couldn’t afford to trust him, not while she was still looking for signs of his possible involvement with the gun supply. Having slept with him, now she wouldn’t be able to trust herself.
Would she be able to look at every aspect of the case as objectively as she needed to? Or would she constantly doubt herself, searching through every decision she made for flaws in judgment? Her lips flattened. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. And she would force it to work to her benefit. In order to prove his innocence or guilt, she was going to have to maintain strict control over each conclusion she drew, every shred of evidence she found. And she was going to have to do it with a much greater detachment than she had displayed here tonight.
She’d worked too hard to get where she was today, professionally as well as personally. Perhaps there had been a pattern to her life, but it was a pattern of her choosing. Cruz Martinez wasn’t going to change that-she wouldn’t allow him to. Tonight hadn’t altered anything, she assured herself. She was still investigating him; she would still have to seek out every pertinent piece of information on him, analyze it, and report on it. If the time came that she was responsible for Cruz’s arrest, well, she’d handle that, too.
But there was no denying that the hours she’d just spent with him would make that moment more painful for her.
The phone rang on the counter near her, and she started in shock. It was cut off after one ring, and she looked cautiously in the direction of the stairs. She couldn’t remember if there was another phone in Cruz’s room, and hoped this wouldn’t wake him. The answering machine switched on, and his voice invited callers to leave a message. She listened to the caller’s breathing. When he spoke, she recognized Tommy’s voice instantly.
“Martinez? Hey, Martinez, I really need to talk to you. I’m in big trouble, man. This place you told me about, I’m not safe here. Valdez is on my trail. You got to get me out of here. Call Valdez off, you know you can.” Here his voice broke, and real fear laced it when he spoke again. “You put me in danger, man. Now you get me out of it.”
The connection was broken but the message replayed over and over in Madeline’s numb mind.
She felt frozen, the breath trapped in her chest. She finally released it in a great shuddering gasp. She couldn’t stop Tommy’s words from hammering inside her head. They joined all the other questions and doubts there, punctuated them with insidious clarity.
Had Cruz deliberately put the man’s life in danger? Tommy had been frightened, certain that Valdez was after him. Abruptly she remembered the snitch Brewer had told her about, the one who’d wound up with bullet holes in him after relating that a cop was involved in the gun supply. Her stomach lurched alarmingly. The possibilities were too gruesome to contemplate.
She shook herself mentally, forcing her thoughts into order. Tommy might truly believe Cruz was responsible for his danger, or his danger might be the result of an alcohol-induced delusion. But she had no way of knowing which was true. All she had was her own determination to answer these questions once and for all. And to deal with whatever answers she found.
Madeline stood so suddenly that her stool teetered wildly behind her. Without thinking, she reached in back of her to steady it with one hand. Like an automaton she took her glass to the sink and rinsed it out. The first thing to do was to get out of here without having to face Cruz. She desperately needed the next few hours to prepare herself for that particular ordeal. Creeping upstairs, she swept up the rest of her clothes, not allowing her eyes to move to the bed. Back downstairs she dressed hurriedly and called for a cab.
Waiting for the car to arrive, she was treated with a sample of what was in store for her for the duration of the investigation. Mental images of their bodies entwined, the seductive contrast of their skin, the heat that had flared instantly to life between them flitted across her memory. She pushed them determinedly, inexorably away. Perhaps those memories would be her most dangerous enemy now. They could work on her resolve, infiltrate her detached resistance if she was weak enough to let them.
But no. Weakness had never been allowed in Madeline Casey’s life. This time her eyes were wide open, and whichever way the evidence eventually pointed, she would be the one pushing forward with the investigation, seeing it to its conclusion. Neither memories nor emotion would be allowed to interfere with that.
She stared bleakly into space. She didn’t doubt that it would be the most difficult task she’d ever undertaken.
An hour later Madeline came out of her apartment bedroom in time to hear her cell ring. Snatching it up, she looked at the call screen with trepidation. When she saw it was her father, she allowed it to go to voice mail. Obviously Francis Vincent had gotten word to him about seeing her with Cruz at the restaurant. Geoffrey Casey had lost no time calling his daughter to express his disapproval.
As her hand was on the doorknob the cell rang again. She closed her eyes briefly. Despite the surface calm she’d managed, each time she heard it she almost jumped out of her skin. But this time when she looked at the screen she saw a number she didn’t recognize. Because it wasn’t Cruz’s, she answered it.
“Detective Casey?” Her eyes widened as she recognized the voice and pulled the door shut behind her. “Is that you? I need to talk to you, Detective Casey. Real bad.”
