When her lips parted slightly, her tiny pink tongue sweeping along the plump bottom one, she gave in to impulse and cupped the back of his head, pulling him in and pressing her lips against his, tasting the intoxicating sweetness of his kiss. Felt his tentative response as her lips brushed against his. He deepened the kiss, and she felt a tingle of sensation at the brush of his mouth against hers. Barely noticed when her fingers threaded through his hair. As much as she wanted to take things farther, deeper, now wasn’t the time or the place.
Reluctantly, she pulled back with one last sip at his lips, breathing in his intoxicating scent, and gave a rueful smile. When she started to lower her hand from where the fingers had been tangled in his hair, he caught it, placed a gentle kiss against her palm, and folded her fingers inward, as if to capture the kiss and hold it forever.
After what seemed far too brief a time, he pulled back, his eyes searching her face before he straightened to his full height and took a step back. “I really have to go. Rafe’s got one of his deputies posted outside, if you need anything.”
With a last lingering look, he turned and walked out the door. Serena’s fingertips traced her lips, still feeling the tingle from their kiss. Drawing in a deep breath, she laid back against the pillows.
“I am in so much trouble.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Antonio knocked on the front door and glanced around, surveilling his surroundings. He’d made the long drive from Shiloh Springs to Oklahoma City, the entire way marked by construction and detours. US 75, normally a nightmare to drive on the best of days, especially going through downtown Dallas, today had been almost impassable. The whole trip ended up taking him two hours longer than anticipated, and he was tired, cranky, and he really hoped Jonathon Drury didn’t give him an excuse to lose his temper.
He’d left Serena in the hospital, bruised and scraped, with her sprained wrist bandaged, after her run in with Drury. So he was running on coffee, adrenaline, and anger, not a good combination when questioning a suspect. While he hadn’t seen Drury attack Serena with his own eyes, he had no doubt Drury had been behind running Serena off the road and chasing her through the woods with a gun. Balling his hands into fists, he fought to control his temper. He had to keep his cool, do everything by the book. Drury was smart, as evidenced by his manipulating the judicial system to get Big Jim Berkley a new trial. He couldn’t afford to underestimate his quarry, but he planned to make sure one way or another Drury didn’t get away with hurting Serena.
The front door swung inward, and a heavy-set woman stood in the opening, a perturbed scowl on her face. Oily, dark hair hung limply around her face, and glasses with thick tortoise shell rims covered a good portion of her face. Somehow, she didn’t resemble the picture he had of a successful attorney’s wife. Instead, she looked more like—well, he wasn’t going to go there. She looked as unhappy to see him at her door as he was to be there, but he had a job to do, and he wasn’t leaving without answers. If he wasn’t happy with what he learned, Drury would be in handcuffs, headed for the police station.
“Mrs. Drury?”
“Yeah. Can I help you?” Her gaze swept over him from the top of his head to his toes, and back up again, and she blinked a couple of times before plastering a smile on her lips.
Antonio pasted an answering smile on his face and turned on the charm, burying his seething anger down. He hoped a little kindness might loosen Mrs. Drury’s lips, get her talking, and if he was lucky, she’d implicate her husband in Serena’s accident.
“My name is Antonio Boudreau. FBI.” He pulled his shield, showing her his identification. Watched her eyes widen in surprise. “I’d like to speak with you and your husband. May I come in?”
“I guess so.”
Oh, boy, she doesn’t sound like a happy camper.
She led him into the living room, and he couldn’t hide his surprise. From the outside, the house didn’t appear to be more than a modest ranch style in an upper middle-class neighborhood. Inside, it looked like the Liberace Museum vomited all over the living room. Shiny brass, silver, and glittering crystals covered every surface. An explosion of pink in every shade imaginable assaulted his eyes. Zebra print sofas sat pushed back against two walls. Armchairs with scrolled arms covered with gold velvet and crystal-studded nail head trim anchored the corners. A blinding hot pink rug lay centered between all the furniture, and mirrored glass end-tables flanked the sofas. He found himself rendered speechless from the overabundance of bad taste and extravagance crowding the space.
Mrs. Drury sat primly on the edge of one of the sofas, her hands folded demurely in her lap. She presented an incongruous sight, with her mousy brown hair which looked like it could use a good shampooing, and tortoise shell, thick-lensed glasses. The huge bright orange and violet flowers on her blouse clashed with the zebra print, and her yellow capri pants practically burned his corneas.
“Mrs. Drury—”
“Please, call me Corinne.” She gave him a shy smile, her words a bit flirtatious, and battered her lashes at him. Or maybe she was having trouble with her vision, he couldn’t tell because of the thick glasses. Didn’t matter, he couldn’t afford
