The sounds of the party were distant as he slowly backed them against the wall. He glanced at her for a moment, waiting for her to call a halt, giving her a chance to stop him.
“Please don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts.”
He shook his head. “Hell no.” Hunter ran his finger over Molly’s damp lips, then slid it into his mouth, tasting her again. “You’re delicious,” he said in a husky voice he barely recognized.
Her eyes glazed over, her stare fully focused on his lips. Taking him off guard, she leaned forward and swiped her tongue over his mouth.
“So are you.” A teasing, seductive glint lit her eyes and her lips turned up in a sexy smile.
Obviously, stopping was nowhere on her agenda. Thank God.
Given the green light, he slipped his thumbs beneath the edge of her barely there underwear, finding the soft material warm and damp beneath his fingers.
She moaned, a long-drawn-out sound that shook him to his core, then leaned back, letting the wall support her.
He began to tease her, rubbing his slick fingers over and over her sensitive flesh, ignoring his body’s urges in favor of hers. She was dewy and aroused and from the way her hips were moving, her thighs attempting to clench his fingers in a tight vise, it wouldn’t take long to bring her up and over the edge. He wanted to bring her to climax and he wanted to watch.
At the thought, a throbbing beat began pulsing inside him, but he continued to focus his attention on Molly until she began to tremble and shake, coming apart in his hands.
She went weak in his arms. Hunter waited until she had pulled herself together, meeting his gaze. “Wow.”
“Yeah.” He grinned, pleased with himself. Even if it was a cocky response, he liked that he’d satisfied her.
She straightened and began shifting her clothing, fixing herself. “I owe you one, you know,” she said, her breathing still ragged.
His taut body agreed. “I’m going to hold you to that.” He tilted her chin up and planted a warm, lingering kiss on her lips. “There’s a party going on in the other room,” he regretfully reminded her.
“Yes, there is.” She folded her arms across her chest, studying him with a clear, direct gaze. “A party you never wanted to come to. Just don’t think I don’t know that this-” she gestured between the two of them “-was in direct response to you wanting to escape before you had to deal with Lucinda’s family.”
Her voice sounded certain but her gaze was full of warmth, not pity. She saw deep inside him where no one ever had before. And that made him more nervous than the idea of birthday parties and family gatherings combined.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MOLLY WAS MORTIFIED. She couldn’t believe what she’d let Hunter do to her with so many people just two doors away. And she wanted him to do it to her again. She placed her hands against her cheeks, which hours later, she was sure were still flushed.
After Lucinda’s party, which included Irwin jumping out of a large papier-mache birthday cake wearing a Speedo, Molly and Hunter spent the afternoon at the small-town library. He poured over paperwork sent over by his firm and Molly read through things as well, jotting down questions she had; the first of which was, what happened to the murder weapon?
Now Molly and Hunter huddled together in a booth at the local pizzeria, waiting for their dinner to be ready. Molly sipped her cola and though she was focused on her father’s case, other things occasionally distracted her. Things like Hunter’s large hands wrapped around a chilled Budweiser and thoughts of what those fingers could do. She crossed her legs, but instead of providing relief, the intense pressure started to build inside her again.
“So let’s talk,” Hunter said, leaning forward in his seat.
She swallowed hard. Talk. She could handle that. “God, I’m horny.”
He blinked.
Molly buried her face in her hands. “I can’t believe I just said that,” she mumbled.
She slowly raised her gaze, expecting to find him laughing at her inappropriate admission. Instead, his eyes were dark, his expression taut and serious.
“If you think you’re horny, try being me,” he said tightly. “At least you already-”
“Shh!” She reached out and placed her hand over his mouth. “I know I started this, but-” She shook her head, embarrassment filling her. “We’re in public.” Slowly, she removed her hand.
He relaxed, a slight smile pulling at his lips. “I’m sure there’s a closet somewhere in the back.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sheesh, you’re bad! You said let’s talk, so let’s talk.”
“I thought that’s what we were doing.”
“Business. Let’s talk business. You know what really bothers me about the case?” she asked in a hushed tone.
“What would that be?” He raised an eyebrow, suddenly serious again.
“The missing murder weapon.” The police had never found the gun, which both played in her father’s favor, since they couldn’t directly link him to the crime, but also made him look guilty, since the autopsy indicated the bullet that killed Paul came from a 9mm Beretta, the same make and model weapon the general owned.
Hunter nodded in agreement. “It’s frustrating that we live in such a technological age, but technology can’t help us now. According to your father, the weapon was stolen over fifteen years ago from a hotel room when he and Melanie went on vacation. But the written report is missing and because it was in a small town that hadn’t yet entered the computer age, we have no documented proof of a stolen gun.”
Hunter swung one arm over the back of his booth. “Plus, with Melanie gone, there’s nobody to back up Frank’s claim that he reported the gun stolen. That’s another strike against us. The prosecution will claim that Frank remained in possession of the gun all these years, used it to kill Paul and disposed of it like the meticulous career army man he is.”
Anger swept over Molly at the thought. “Anyone who knows him would realize that’s an absurd scenario.”
“Unfortunately we won’t be dealing with twelve people who know and love the general. Twelve strangers could very well conclude the theory makes sense.” He lifted the bottle by its neck and took a long sip.
“Swell,” she muttered. “What else do we know?” She thought about the papers she’d read through today. “We know that Paul had the same type of weapon as my father,” she said, answering her own question. “Which means we don’t know whose gun actually killed Paul because his gun is missing, too.”
“Go on,” Hunter said, his gaze never leaving hers.
He appeared interested in her thoughts and she appreciated the fact that he didn’t brush off her ideas as unimportant.
She drew a deep breath. “So whoever had access to Paul and Sonya’s house in the days before the murder also had the opportunity to take Paul’s gun. That’s another scenario for your jury of strangers.” Molly folded her arms over her chest, proud of her deduction.
“Damn, I’m starving,” Hunter muttered, off topic. He glanced over his shoulder at the counter, but the big pizza ovens were still closed and Joe, the owner, stood talking to a waitress.
“Doesn’t look like it’s ready yet,” Molly said.
He turned back toward her. “At this point I’d eat it cold.”
She laughed. “Don’t tell Joe. He only serves his pizza steaming.”
Hunter frowned at that. “Look, there are more than a few problems with the fact that Paul had the same kind of weapon,” he said, suddenly back to business.
Her stomach cramped at his words and it wasn’t hunger causing the discomfort.
“First, one of the main people to have access to the house and Paul’s weapon is your father. He said himself he went over there to talk to Sonya some time before the murder occurred. Score another point for the prosecution.”
She knew he wasn’t placing blame on the general, merely working with the facts, so she played along. “Well, yes, but he wasn’t the only one who could have taken it. I mean, as stupid as it is, even Sonya had access and we know she didn’t kill him.” Molly blinked. “Don’t we?”
