He took a deep breath and released it slowly. 'Neva, I'm sorry if I caused--'
She rounded on him, green eyes blazing. 'If you ever try to make me do something against my will again, I'll fry your brains so badly you won't be able to shit without help.'
While he had no doubt she meant what she said, he couldn't help the slight smile tugging his lips. She was so damned beautiful, even when angry. He let his gaze drift downwards, watching the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed. Watching her nipples peak with renewed awareness. 'I was only trying--'
'To control me. The same way my damn parents have been trying to control me. I won't stand it from them anymore, and I certainly won't take it from you.' He pushed away from the wall and walked towards her. 'I was only trying to protect you.' She licked her lips and backed away from him. With the door behind her, she couldn't go far. 'Well, how about trusting me instead? The damn gun wasn't loaded. It never has been.'
Her back hit the door, and she stopped. Desire widened her pupils, darkened her green eyes, and he was so damned hard for her it was painful.
'You can't know that for certain,' he said, reaching again for the silk tie around her waist. She swallowed heavily. 'The firing mechanism is stuffed. Dad bought the weapon ages ago when there was a rash of break-ins. He figured he could use it to scare intruders away.'
And had obviously figured it would scare him away, too. Which would have been a fair assumption in his younger years, when all he'd wanted was a good time with no strings and no problems. But that wasn't the case with Neva. The tie came loose and the silk fell away, once more revealing her golden curves and luscious triangle of soft hair. A triangle he couldn't wait to lose himself in again. He took the gun from her and dropped it into the pocket of one the coats on the coat rack near the door. 'Why didn't you just tell me that?'
'Because I didn't want you taking it off him. He deserved a little more dignity than that.'
'Even after what he said?' He slid a finger under the silk and skimmed it up to her shoulder, gently dislodging the gown.
She quivered under his touch, her breathing quick, uneven. 'Even after. He's still my dad.' He slid his finger across her warm flesh to her other shoulder, sliding the rest of the gown off. It shimmied to the floor, puddling around her feet. Her desire spun around him, a warm rich scent that stirred his senses and thrummed through his blood.
The moon was rising. And so was his need to bury himself deep inside her.
'You can't,' she denied, voice soft, husky. 'We have to get to Betise's.'
'We have at least half an hour to fill in, if not more.' He stripped off his clothes, tossing them on the floor next to her gown. 'And I intend to spend that time dancing with you.'
The pulse at her neck was little more than a wild flutter, her nipples so hard they were pebbles pressing into his chest. Her gaze searched his for a moment, then a teasing, sensuous smile touched her lips.
'How?'
He kissed her sweet mouth--softly, seductively. 'What I intend,' he whispered, his lips so close to hers he could taste every quick breath, 'is to turn you around and spread you against the door, caressing your entire body as I take you from behind until the heat overcomes us and we howl our pleasure to the moon.'
Anticipation flared in her eyes, and the scent of her arousal got stronger. She opened her mouth, panting softly, as if she couldn't suck in enough air. 'And then?' Her voice was a husky whisper that damn near exploded his control.
'Then I intend to carry you upstairs and continue with a more leisurely seduction in the shower as we wash the smell of sex and lust from our skins.'
'The moon certainly has a strong effect on you Sinclairs, doesn't it?'
It did, but right now it wasn't the moon, it was the woman. 'I want you,' he whispered against her lips.
'Then take me.'
He did.
Neva shivered and wished she'd taken the time to put on her extra coat. Even though the wind had dropped, the night was still bitterly cold. Her breath fogged, hanging on the air, mingling with the silvery snowflakes that danced through the night.
Through the hush of darkness, music throbbed, a bass-heavy beat that stirred her blood almost as much as the man standing in front of her. The Blue Moon was only a couple of blocks away, and she half-wished she and Duncan were there now, laughing and drinking with the other patrons. Doing ordinary things, enjoying themselves in ordinary ways. Being an ordinary couple. Only they weren't a couple and were never likely to be. Especially if her father had his way. She smiled grimly. While her father's edict that she leave Duncan after the full moon or she'd no longer be considered part of his pack made her madder than hell, in many ways it was also ironic. Especially considering her time with Duncan was limited to this moon phase anyway.
She crossed her arms and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. How long does it take to open a damn window?
Though he didn't look around, his amusement spun through her. I spent time in jail for being drunk, not breaking and entering. Don't expect any speed records here.
She sighed impatiently and looked around. They were standing in the small alley that ran the length of the block behind the row of shops. Around them were Dumpsters loaded to overflowing, and the powerful smell hung on the crisp air. Behind them was a row of houses, and the warm glow peeking past blinds indicated most of the occupants were home. They had to be quiet, and they had to be careful.
She wished she was home. In bed. With Duncan. Her gaze drifted past the snow-capped rooflines to the snow-filled sky. The moon was lost to the night, but she didn't need to see it to know it was rising high.
The power of it thrummed through her veins. Made her ache to be touched, to be loved.
By one man, not many.
She bit her lip and wished she could reach out to Savannah and discuss the confusion of her feelings.
But she couldn't, not when they were about to break into Betise's salon. Sister or not, Savannah would send her deputies around to stop them.
There was a soft click, and Duncan sighed in relief. I'm glad I was never forced to be a thief. It's too damned difficult.
He opened the window, then cupped his hands. She stepped into them and grabbed the sill, pulling herself through and landing on the floor on the other side in an ungainly heap.
You okay?
Yep. She picked herself up and stepped to one side, dusting off her jeans as she did so.
Duncan quickly joined her. Looks like we're in the back storeroom.
We are. She walked out the door and headed across to the chair she'd sat in earlier. The cup is gone.
Thought it might be. He shrugged and began opening drawers.
She watched him for a minute, her hands on her hips, then said, What are you looking for?
Don't know. But I'm sure she's up to something. I'm just not sure if it's connected to the attacks.
Searching through her stuff can't hurt.
It could if any of the rangers happened past. She glanced around for a second then headed over to the reception desk and sat down. The computer was off and turning it on was too much of a risk, especially if they had to get out in a hurry. The last thing they wanted was to leave a brightly-shining calling card in the form of a glowing computer screen. She opened the drawers and shuffled through them. There wasn't much to find, beyond the usual stationary items and a couple of masks in the last drawer. She leaned back in the chair, staring at shelves lined with hair products. Faces stared back at her. Plastic faces. ' Wigs,' she said into the silence. Duncan looked up. 'What?'
'Wigs. On the shelf.' She rose and walked over. 'So?'
She plucked the black one free and rubbed the hair between her fingertips. 'Savannah said they'd found black hair on several of the victims. Why couldn't the killer have been wearing a wig?'
'Are the wigs made of real hair?' He stopped beside her and felt the wig, his fingers brushing hers and sending little shocks of electricity up her arm. 'They feel like it.'
'Perhaps you should pluck a few hairs and get your sister to compare them.'
She glanced at him. 'Betise doesn't own the only salon in town.'
'No. And if the killer is wearing a wig, he's probably got one of his own. I doubt he'd be using one of these.
