She loved the feel of him, so she let her palms drift anywhere they wanted to go. His skin felt different than hers, thicker maybe. Rougher in some places. The smooth expanse of muscles beneath it were definitely more solid than hers. Of course. He was all man and a soldier. He’d trained to be tough.
Grunting in his sleep, he wrapped one big arm around her waist, scraping his fingers between her back and the mattress, until he had her caught. Not like she minded. His back didn’t feel chilly, but just in case, she snagged the sheet he’d tossed aside when this adventure in bed began. Tugging it up, she covered as much of him as she could. Mostly his bare back and butt. Not his long legs.
He settled into her, sighing.
Ashley was happier than she could ever remember being. There, squashed beneath a sleeping giant of a very warm man, she’d found peace. It hadn’t seemed possible at first. She’d made assumptions he’d proved were foolish and wrong. Tripp McClane had grown on her. He’d snuck under her radar, under her skin, and into her heart.
It was happening. She loved this man.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
He knew where she was now, and he knew who she was with. The big, tough guy with green eyes hadn’t left her place since he’d knocked on her door early this morning. He was still there. What were they doing? Fucking each other’s brains out? How terribly predictable. Damn him. But he’d soon get his comeuppance. By the end of the day, that big, brave, tough guy would be sniveling like a baby for leaving her alone and unprotected.
He wouldn’t have gotten this far if he hadn’t taught himself how to break into homes and hotel rooms, how to pick locks and pockets, to lighten a woman of her wallet long enough to find out where she lived or worked. It had never been about stealing money, only essentials, like the master keycard to this entire apartment complex now in his pocket. He hadn’t wanted that guy in the lobby’s money. Not at all. To prove it, he’d left the unpilfered wallet with the body. It was true. Dead men didn’t tell tales.
The next step? Get Ashley Cox. He was so very close to her. So near and so quiet. She’d never see him coming, but come he would. He shut the door across the hall from her apartment, locking himself in where he could keep an eye on her. The goal was so near, he could almost taste it. Her. For Ashley Cox, he could wait. He’d already waited two years. What was another hour or two? And then, they’d play. Oh, how they’d play.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
His phone chimed like the fuckin’ bells of Notre Dame, startling Tripp out of a dead sleep. That ringtone indicated a hunchback from work was calling. Possibly Alex. Surely, a troll just as annoying, whoever it was.
Tripp groaned and rubbed his face in the fragrant mounds of womanly flesh he’d fallen asleep on. He was in breast heaven. His nostrils flared and his cock was ready for action. Thank fuck. Until his damned phone pealed again. Louder, like the thing was pissed off. Tripp sure was. What bad timing.
“Where’s my phone?” he groaned into Ashley’s sweet, fragrant skin.
“It’s wherever your pants are.” She was smiling. He could tell by the glow in her voice.
“Yeah, well…” Tripp arched back onto his haunches, careful not to crush or pinch her. He would’ve found his pants and his phone if… he hadn’t stopped to take in the delectable feast spread in front of him. Her hair was mussed, black tendrils of silk laced around her head and spilling over her shoulders and the pillow. Her breasts were marked and wrinkled from some big moose who had, apparently, fallen asleep in her arms. She’d tucked her legs together when he’d lifted up. Which was not what he wanted. He’d love to see all of her, but they were still in the early stages of... whatever was happening between them. If she needed more time to feel comfortable with him, she’d get it.
He’d never slept better, but neither could he resist. Leaning onto his forearms, he watched her eyes widen as her gaze scrolled over his shoulders to his bare ass, now raised high behind him. Well, let her look. Her naked body was one helluva fine sight to wake up to. His hands landed on her pillowy breasts and—
The damned phone rang again.
“I have to answer that,” he said, his fingers tapping her soft breasts. He needed more time with his woman. More awake time.
“You do,” she murmured, her eyes extra-large, extra-dark this morning.
Ring, ring went the damned phone!
Lifting his ass off the bed, Tripp jumped to his feet and went in search of his pants, which were slouched on the floor at the end of the bed, his boots still in the cuffs where he’d toed out of everything. Fumbling, he snagged his cell and answered Jameson with a terse, “McClane here.”
“I hate to tell you but—”
“Another body?”
Ashley lifted to her elbows, watching and listening.
“Yes, but if this was our perp, it’s his first male victim. Same MO. One sharp cut. One red rose. Tongue missing. Sure feels like his work, but I can’t tell for sure. Where are you?”
“At Ashley’s,” he didn’t mind saying. “Why?”
“Because this body was found an hour ago, one block east of your apartment complex, in the green space between the on-ramp and northbound GW Parkway.” The George Washington Memorial Parkway.
“Jesus. That’s just a block away.”
“Yes, and this kill’s fresh. Rigor hasn’t set in. Don’t know if you want to join us, but I wish you would. He left a bloody body
