Saving Skye

The street is quiet. No traffic coming. Yet, here I sit at the stop sign for no reason, watching the windshield wipers slap back and forth.

My brain is filled with the details of nine cases, spread across the United States. I’ve reached the point where I feel wired and tired all at once.

A day off would be good, but there’s no time. He may strike again before we catch him if I let up on the gas. “I know you’re out there, and I’m coming for you.”

It’s just a matter of time before this one is caught just like the others I’ve found.

Details of the case flip around in my mind as I turn into the parking lot for my favorite mindless-bar-food dinners. The neon glow of the open sign reflects off the cars and the wet pavement.

I wait a few minutes to see if the rain lets up. I’m in no mood to deal with an umbrella.

Probably against my better judgement, I decide to make a dash for it. But my timing is BAD. The wind catches my car door and rips it out of my hand. I grumble as rain, if that’s what you call sideways falling water, sprays all over my face. “Come on! Like today hasn’t been rough enough.”

Another gust hits and this one rips through my car. Papers flutter to life in my passenger seat. I leap across the car and slam the file folder closed. But not in time to stop everything from escaping.

A photo of a fire crime scene slips past my hand as I grab for it. The thing whips away, out the door, climbing on a draft of wind.

I leap from the car. Shove the door shut with a slam and scamper across the parking lot of McKenna’s Pub to grab it.

As Murphy’s law would have it, the damn thing goes right under a car.

The upside of this fiasco is that the photo is momentarily protected from the rain. The downside is I have to have that photo.

Cold water seeps into my khakis as I kneel down.

I make a reach for the photo. No luck. My arm is about two inches too short. “Dammit.” I mutter and try again.

My butt is in the air as I do my best contortionist pose trying to fish out the thing.

That’s when I hear something inside the car. Before I can jump back, the driver’s door swings open and smacks me right in the butt.

My hand shoots out as I try to catch myself, but fail miserably. I sprawl out in the puddles. My shoulder hits first. But it’s the second impact that shocks me the most. The sting of wet pavement against my face makes me gasp.

Reflexes have me jumping up. I shove off the ground and wipe at the road grit on my wet face as a man says, “What in the hell?”

I’d be beet red if I wasn’t trying to recover from the shock of what just happened. My legs are wobbly.

My hair sags in my face. I shove the wet strands back.

He reaches for me. His dark brows angled low, his green eyes boring into me. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

I hold up my hands and mutter, “Wet, but fine.”

The wind shifts and the rain comes at us from a different angle. He seems totally unbothered by it in his heavy weatherproof coat and work boots.

Me on the other hand, I’m wearing nothing but a blazer, a satiny blouse, and khakis. All of which are now soaked. I wrap my arms around myself as he studies me. I can’t quite get a read on him. Annoyance? Curiosity?

He says, “I guess I’m kind of waiting on you to tell me what you’re doing...”

I point to the ground below the car. “I need to get a photo from under there.”

He glances at the car. “Strange place for a photo to be.”

“It blew out of my car and went under your car.”

“Ah. Makes a little more sense why you are crawling around in a rainstorm in business casual. Let’s see if we can’t get your photo back.”

He drops down on one knee and reaches under the car. A second later, he pulls back with the photo of the Holly Tree Bed ft Breakfast fire between his fingertips.

He gives it a cursory glance, then passes it over. “Here you go.”

I wrap my arms around myself. “Thanks. I don’t know how I’d have gotten that back and it’s sensitive…”

“Glad I was here to… uh… help.” He says as one side of his mouth quirks up. My brain might be full of annoyance, but I’m not too miffed to notice that he’s totally drool-worthy.

He nods down toward my soaked clothing. “You might want to get inside somewhere before you get hypothermia.”

I take a step backward. “You’re right. I should.” I should also get away before he figures out that I’m staring at the way the water clings to his thick black hair, or the way his lips form that perfect hard masculine line.

“Thanks again.” I turn and hustle toward the car and do my best to forget it happened.

When the door of my government issued sedan closes, I sag back against the seat.

“My lord. What a day.”

As if visiting Marco in prison wasn’t stressful enough. Then I had to deliver terrible news to a family about their daughter’s death. I close my eyes and, for a second, their faces appear behind my lids.

For over a decade, she’d been gone. And I had to tell them her case had been reopened. “We are investigating it as an arson case and have not ruled out murder.”

I peel my eyes open and look at my wet clothes. I’d wanted to grab dinner. That’s how this soaking-wet photo chasing fiasco started.

I reach into the back seat and grab my gym bag. Maybe there’s something in there that I can wear. I pull out a sports bra. A pair of booty shorts. And a towel. Okay, so that plan’s not going to work.

The only other thing I have is my ATF jacket and polo with the ATF logo on it. Not gonna fly either.

I should just go home.

But the memory of what’s in my fridge makes me think otherwise. Wilted lettuce. Moldy bread. A container of plain yogurt.

Yeah… I should have shopped weeks ago. But these cases have me running all over the place.

That’s when I remember that my small suitcase is still in the back of the car. Taking my umbrella this time, I battle the wind as I pop the trunk and quickly unzip the case. A neatly folded blazer is on top and a blouse is below. I grab them and my collapsible backpack and dash for the restaurant’s front door.

Meredith, the hostess, eyes my drippy state. “Oh dear.”

“Yeah. Thankfully, I have a change of clothes.”

I squeeze past the hostess stand, and weave my way toward the bathroom.

Maybe my luck is turning around. There’s a big electric hand dryer on the wall. I peel off my wet layers, tuck them in my bag and stick my head under the hand dryer.

I have to push the button a few times to cycle the dryer.

After a couple minutes, my hair is mostly dry.

I shrug into the dry top and the dry blazer and give myself a once over in the mirror. Not bad considering where I started a few minutes ago.

When I emerge from the bathroom, I head toward the bar.

I’m met with the comforting smell of fish and chips, burgers and fries, and stout beer.

These are the smells of life, not the smell of charred, burned buildings that haunt my dreams when I work cases like this.

Randy, the jolly, pink-faced bartender, sees me as soon as I walk in the restaurant’s bar area. He nods a quick hello and motions to the far end of the bar. There must be a spot there.

People are gathered all around the bar, toasting this or that. It takes a minute of winding through the noisy crowd, but I finally make my way to the other end of the long room.

I’m so busy avoiding the flailing arm of a loud talking woman on my left, I don’t even see who’s on my right until it’s too late.

This time, heat does flood to my face. Why does it have to be the ass-smacking, photo-rescuing hottie?

Shoot.

And he’s so much more than I realized in the dark rainy parking lot. He exudes sexiness out of every single centimeter of his skin. Even if the green eyes under his serious brow have a bite to them.

Not only is he shockingly handsome, he’s also “yoked” as my coworker Max would say.

I slide onto the stool. And catch myself looking at him once again. But this time, he catches me. His gaze collides with mine.

He makes a little grumble sound as if he’s thinking, you again.

“You look different,” he says and goes back to drinking his beer.

“So do you.” I say for some dumb reason. Brain overload happening here.

I pull my eyes away from his massive, chiseled deltoids and make myself busy getting settled in the chair. I pick up a laminated menu from the rack. Mostly to have something to do, so I don’t look at him.

I pretty much know the menu by heart, it is my go-to solo-dining spot. And even though there’s probably a dozen good selections on the menu, I always get the same thing.

Randy wipes the bar in front of me with his neatly folded towel. “Evening, Skye.”

“Hey Randy. Busy night, it seems.”

“Indeed. Never thought Wednesdays would be like this, but they are most weeks now. Want your favorite?”

I glance at the menu one more time. “Seems like the easiest thing. What can I say? I like to know what I’m going to get.”

Randy raises a brow. “You could end up getting something you like even better.”

I huff. Suddenly, the menu is tugged from my hand by the man I’m trying hard to pretend doesn’t exist. “I could order for you.”

Randy grins as if he’s about to watch something very amusing unfold in front of him.

I raise a brow and angle myself toward the man. “Oh really? And what would you order?”

The man holds my gaze as he says, “A Guinness and the Shepherd’s Pie.”

Randy’s still watching us.

“Why should I try something new if I like what I usually get?”

He shrugs those massive shoulders, “Because life’s too short to do boring.”

Randy chuckles, “Boring, huh? I’m not sure that word is in your vocabulary, is it, Skye?”

“I like routine. Routine is not boring. Routine is efficient.”

The man laughs. “Call it what you like. Why don’t you try something different and see what happens?”

“You’re not from around here, are you, Tank?”

He shakes his head as he drops the menu back in the rack. My eyes follow his big hand as he tips up his mug, draining the dark beer—half a mug full in one gulp.

Randy’s chuckle turns into a laugh. “Alright, then, I’ll leave you two alone. And, man, just to warn you. Don’t push your luck with the little lady here. She might look like she’s all prim and proper in her navy blazer, but she’s got bite… and probably some bullets.”

The man’s green eyes flip back to the display of liquor bottles behind the bar as he sets his mug down. “Don’t feel obligated to talk.”

I grumble.“I won’t.”

But I do look at him. I can’t peel my eyes away from his jaw, which is rock hard, and those eyes that drift a million miles away.

Damn him for getting under my skin.

All I wanted was a beer and a pleasant distraction.

I swivel back around and pray Randy shows up soon with that beer.

Suddenly, the woman next to me breaks out into a horrific cackle.

I can’t stop my scowl when she bumps into me. “Has that been going on long?”

“Long enough to make me think about leaving. But no need now. You make a good buffer, Skye.”

He draws out my name in a slow sexy note.

“I guess I’ve been called worse.”

A grin threatens one corner of his hard mouth. “Earlier, she was trying to talk to me. Maybe she thought she’d get lucky.”

“Guess it didn’t work.”

He turns his dark green eyes slowly toward me. “No.”

“Well, don’t worry, I won’t try to pick you up.”

His eyes flick away, and he picks up his coaster and turns it over and over between his long, masculine fingers. “Good, because about the last thing I’m looking for is some woman trying to get in my jock.”

“Ditto. After the day I’ve had, I’m in no mood for letting someone down gently tonight.”

Randy waltzes over, taking his sweet time, and sets a beer in front of me. “I see you two are really striking it up.”

I roll my eyes. “I didn’t come here for company.”

Randy laughs a little too loudly as he walks off.

Big thing says in his husky voice, “We all come here for company.”

“Even if you don’t want to talk?”

He finishes his beer and sits it slowly down. “Sometimes, you just need to be around the living so you can let go of the dead.”

When I look at him again, I see pain and he knows I see it.

His eyes flash the hurt as he lets his guard down for the slightest of moments.

And I’m shocked to the bone at the vibration between us. Like we’re connected by a thread of that underlying pain.

What I see in him matches a feeling inside of me.

This mountain of a man is grieving, alone behind that hard shell of his. The same kind of shell I’ve worn for a long time.

I swallow back the bite of sadness that lingers in my heart. Marco didn’t die, he went to prison.

My older brother’s death was metaphoric, his young life ending when he got mixed up in a crime he didn’t commit. The death came after. When its toll took both my parents to early graves. Our family was shattered into fragments and I’m the last one left standing.

Now, the bureau is my family. And my purpose.

That keeps me going most days, but sometimes, I stumble and the pain breaks through.

I sigh as I rest my chin on my hand and confess to a complete stranger. “I’ve seen my share of ghosts today too. That’s what brought me in. I needed to feel alive.”

He glances down at my jacket, “You a cop?”

“Sort of.”

I never tell people what I really do unless it’s official business.

Tuning in on him, I look him over for a second.

The calloused hands… maybe a tradesman.

The trim haircut… maybe former military.

Finally, I ask, “You?”

“I wear a lot of hats.”

“That’s vague.”

His eyes hold mine and I fall into the two deep pools that seem to hold an eon of mysteries.

I blink and lean back, putting a little distance between me and the man’s intoxicating body heat.

He watches me for a second, then says, “As was your answer. But I’m fine with that. We don’t really have to get to know each other.”

“No, we don’t.” I say as I fold my arms.

Randy arrives and slides a plate of food in front of me that I don’t really want anymore.

When he leaves, I mutter, “For some reason, I’m not that hungry now...”

“You should eat.”

I scrunch my nose at him. Who is this guy?

“Bossy much? First, ordering my meal, and now making me eat it.”

He nods solemnly and points at my plate.

I eat in silence as I contemplate the mystery sitting next to me.

Randy’s helper delivers a glass of water to the man and takes his empty beer mug. When we’re alone again, he says, “I see you’re enjoying the Shepherd’s Pie.”

I glance at the plate. It’s almost half empty. “Yes. I am, actually. It’s quite good and I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

His eyes are softer this time.

The pain is replaced with something I picked up on when I first sat down. Chemistry.

“What are you thinking?” he asks in that pheromone laced voice of his. His heated eyes skate over my face, my hair, down over my chest in a slow appraisal.

I’m pretty sure I’ve just been undressed by his eyes.

I frown. “I’m confused. What are you thinking?”

“I’m hungry,” he replies immediately.

I swallow hard. “Uh…”

His gaze drops to my lips and the air between us crackles and simmers.

“Should I order you something?” I ask, my voice sounding far too nervous.

“No.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, I am not sure what to do…”

He reaches a hand out to me, skates a knuckle down over my cheek. “I changed my mind. Talk to me.”

I’m breathless.

My heart flops over inside my chest.

The feel of his skin against mine sets my cells on fire. Heat races from my face to my neck, and down to my nipples.

A thirst unfurls inside of me that I’ve never felt.

“I can’t seem to find my voice.” I croak.

He grins.

If I thought I was senseless before, I need serious help pronto….

CPR, please!

“What has you down, tonight?”

I blink at the unexpected question. For some reason, I tell him about my day. “A case that I’m working. It stirred up some skeletons.”

His eyes search mine as his fingers sift down through a strand of my hair. It’s incredibly intimate.

My own fingertips tingle. I want to touch his hand. But he pulls back and his hand falls to lay on his thigh. Which draws my eyes right to his massive package.

Heat flares in my cheeks. I fold my hands into my lap and fight the silly need to know what his skin feels like.

When I get a handle on my runaway hormones, I say. “How about you? Are you feeling better after having a beer with my outstanding company?”

“Better than I have been in a while.”

My brain tries to make sense of where this cryptic conversation is going.

When his eyes move to mine, this time, there’s a smoldering intensity in him that sets my marrow ablaze.

That look…

The way he studies me is like having his hands on me.

My heart pounds wildly inside my ribs. I’m pretty sure the thing is doing cartwheels.

A shiver races through my core.

My lips suddenly feel too dry and tight... and far too needy.

I can’t peel my eyes from his sexy-as-hell mouth as my mind spirals out into a million forbidden thoughts...

Dangerous, reckless thoughts, about his body on top of mine.

I stop myself. This is a stranger.

But how long has it been since a man looked at me like that? With a mix of desire and understanding?

I almost laugh out loud.

Never.

I moisten my lips and try to reason with myself.

There is no reason this stranger—the unknown man with hard, hurting eyes, and shoulders like an Ox—should be having this effect on me.

He stands, suddenly, and he’s way taller than I remembered. There’s nothing small or mild about this man.

His right hand dips into the pockets of his low slung jeans. He pulls out a stack of bills and tosses them on the bar.

Slowly, he offers his hand in an undeniable invitation.

I slide mine into his palm and it’s warm and strong and very much alive.

Randy’s knowing eyes follow me out, but I only glance his way once. The raucous sounds from the bar disappear as the door closes behind us.

Big guy doesn’t say a word. Neither do I.

I don’t think either of us needs to say a thing after that smoldering, hormone-igniting look we shared.

I’ll be lucky if my panties aren’t charred shreds when I do take my clothes off.

We jaywalk across the street and enter the swank hotel that’s not fifty paces from the bar.

Elegant hand painted letters in gold and white cover the glass on the door. I’ve never been inside the boutique hotel, even though I see it on my once-a-week visits to McKenna’s Pub.

I never imagined I would be walking there with a lover… a stranger.

I never do things like this.

Ever.

Sex is… predictable for me. You know—a date or two, and a make out session, and a date or two more before you get naked.

Apparently, we’re skipping from the meet and greet to the naked. Only we haven’t even done the greet. I don’t even know his name!

But the big, hard man that gently holds my hand, like I’m some delicate flower, has knocked me completely off my balance. And all I can do is shiver in anticipation as he uses a keycard to access the elevator.

An instant later, we’re closed inside the small mirrored space together. I stare at myself in the reflection on the door, hardly recognizing the woman standing there in her boring work blazer and slacks.

There’s a reckless light in her eyes.

Have I ever seen that look before?

My vision wavers as the sex god’s clean, strong scent twines around me like the mist from some mysterious perfume bottle as we begin to rise up toward the fourth floor.

I feel dizzy and excited and alive and insane in rotations.

The door opens silently. He leads me to a suite that is dead in front of us. The number 404 is inscribed on a brass plate on the wooden door.

This is reckless. Dangerous. Dumb.

But screw it. I feel alive. And I need to feel alive right now.

He slides his card, pushes the door open with a whoosh. I follow him and, together, we step into the low light of the beautiful hotel room.

Rich burgundy, gold, and white decor fills the space in perfect amounts of masculine and feminine.

Then, before I have time to come to my senses and run back out the door, I’m in his arms.

All those big, hard muscles wrap me up. His arms are so long he can curve completely around me and back around my ribs.

He lowers his beautiful, chiseled face toward me. I inhale swiftly when his hard mouth takes mine. His tongue parts my lips and I’m lost....

He breathes deep—drawing my scent in.

God. His mouth. The taste of him. The scruff of his face against mine. The sensual way his tongue demands mine play along completely wrecks my orderly brain.

As his hands glide up my sides I quiver. He brushes over all the sensitive spots along my ribs and the sides of my breasts and I can’t hold back the moan.

Then those big calloused hands, working man’s hands, cradle my face as he angles to take my mouth more deeply.

I grab onto him.

He’s a mountain of power. So vital and hot beneath my fingers.

I want him, every glorious inch of him. I don’t need to know who he is. I want him with something so carnal it defies logic.

The muscles on his shoulders are like iron straight from a forge. His skin is burning hot beneath his t-shirt.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me.” He whispers in a deep gravelly voice that scores itself on my brain.

I breathe, “I’m not afraid of you. I don’t know why, but I’m not.”

He weaves his fingers into my hair and I nearly purr.

“Cop sense?”

“Maybe. Maybe just insanity.”

He steps back, suddenly, draws in a big ragged breath. His hands clench at his sides.

I feel dizzy from his quick withdrawal.

“I’m going to take a shower and get the grit of the day off me. If you decide this isn’t the way you want to spend your night, you can go.”

With sure hands, he rips off his t-shirt and tosses it on the chaise lounge. His eyes wander over me before he steps around me.

A wave of heat hits me as he passes.

My breath refuses to move in my locked up lungs.

In the bathroom behind me, the water begins to spray. A few seconds later, the sound changes and I know his gloriously naked body is under the water.

I pull the paddle holster from the back of my waistband and set my gun on the desk next to the fine stationery, and the fresh red rose in the elegant vase that bears the hotel’s name.

My jacket is next—I hang it over the back of the leather chair. Then my blouse and pants, which I fold and drape over my jacket. Finally, I’m left in nothing but my light blue satin panties and bra.

Gooseflesh dances over my skin as I slip them off and place them on the seat of the chair.

My fingers shake a little as I rake them through my hair.

Here goes nothing… or everything.

The heated tile floor is warm beneath my bare feet and the plush marble and glass bathroom is full of steam, giving it a dreamy vibe.

And the man in the shower… the true fantasy worthy thing is barely visible through the thick haze. He’s merely a hint of flesh, a ripple of light reflecting off of his shoulder muscles.

The latch to the glass door clicks as I open it.

My insides quiver when his intense green eyes devour me, coursing over me from head to toe.

An appreciative light fills his eyes that undoubtedly matches my own.

My voice is totally breathy. “I’m on birth control, an IUD. I’m clean.”

One side of his mouth softens, just the slightest amount, and he reaches a hand for me, silent and strong, with his gaze as hungry as a wild animal.

My heart thumps about wildly as I lay my hand in his for the second time tonight.

He pulls my palm to his lips. “Me too. The clean part. Not the birth control thing.”

I hesitate for a second as I revel in the beauty of the beast in front of me. His body is so big, so cut, so masculine. A fine dusting of dark hair feathers over his chest and lower over his six-pack, drawing my eye down to the thick, long erection that’s standing at an angle from his rock hard lower abs.

Could I have dreamed up a man that does what he does to me?

Never.

He said I could go. But it would have been impossible for me to walk out that hotel door.

He’s the magnet and my whole body is apparently made of ferrous metal.

I step into his arms. No doubt. No hesitation.

His body vibrates with need against me.

I rise far up on my tiptoes to meet his lips as my hand circles his incredible, steel-hard shaft. Everything is deliciously hot and wet.

And big. The size of his manhood matches everything about him—GRANDE.

Rough palms cup my breasts, my waist, and then my ass. He kneads and explores me, and pulls me into him. He’s going to be a demanding lover.

The hot water falls over us and gets in my mouth as we kiss. Salt and the tang of the water mixes together on my tongue.

I close my eyes as he sloughs it off my face and slicks back my hair.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs as he kisses my forehead.

Then those soft but hard lips of his pull at my lower lip. I lose more of my threadbare control.

I could come from his kiss alone.

His biceps flex beneath my fingernails. He grunts his approval. And even more need courses through my core like hot rays from the sun, reaching places that have never been lit before.

Then those thick fingers of his glide down between us. When he touches my clit, I squeeze my eyes closed. God. I’m so close.

My knees are shaky.

I crave, literally crave, being filled with his thick hardness.

A low growl vibrates from his chest as he slides his fingers over my most sensitive flesh and through the moisture at my center. My body arches into him on its own. The heat of his solid chest sears my ultra-sensitive nipples.

I press my lips to his skin. Tasting him and the water mingling together over the tattoo on his chest. The dagger and rose.

Tattoos like this have meanings. But tonight’s not about the past.

His fingers hesitate for the briefest of seconds on my body and his green eyes rise to mine. We share a silent exchange.

He leans down and kisses me hard. Harder than before.

The thrill of being alive courses from him into me.

And I don’t even know his name.