Midnight Betrayal (Midnight #3)(63)

“We’ll close at nine.” He leaned back and studied her face. “Do you feel OK?”

“I’m fine.”

“OK, then.” He scanned the bar. The band was packing up. People paid their checks and drifted toward the door. “I’ll go help Ernie and Jayne so we can get out of here faster.”



Conor turned the deadbolt in the front door of the bar, then led her past the EMPLOYEES ONLY sign into the back hallway. His police babysitter had moved from his booth to an unmarked car at the curb out front, where he would wait to follow Conor wherever he went for the night. The constant police presence was a reminder that the body still hadn’t been confirmed as Zoe. Conor still headed the short list of suspects.

On the bright side, Louisa was safer with the cop hanging around. Since her pavement dive, Conor didn’t want to leave her alone. Sure, it could have been an accident, but what if it wasn’t? What if the killer didn’t like the questions she’d been asking? What if the murderer was someone she knew and trusted enough to let into her apartment?

“Do you want me to stay with you tonight?” He hoped she did, and not just because his apartment was uninhabitable.

Louisa locked eyes with him. “Yes.”

Her gaze was level and . . . hungry?

“I’ll be finished in a few minutes.” He lifted the cash register tray in his hand.

“All right.” She followed him into the office, pacing impatiently while he sorted and filed the night’s paperwork.

Something was up with Louisa. On autopilot, he counted cash and tallied the total with the computer-generated numbers. Tucking the bills into a bank envelope, he closed the zipper. Nerves slid up his spine with the same deliberate zing.

“Ready?” he asked.

She pivoted and crossed the dented oak floor to stand in front of him. In slim jeans and a sweater, her legs seemed impossibly long. Her athletic shoes, worn as an accommodation to her bruised knees, made her a full head shorter than him. Despite the casual attire, she’d swept her hair into one of those fancy, uptight knots.

Her green eyes were fever-bright. “Yes.”

For once, she didn’t avoid his direct and searching gaze, but met him stare for stare. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. She opened with no hesitation. Her body pressed against his, making solid contact from thigh to chest. Her hands slid up his biceps, her fingers and nails digging into his flesh. A groan reverberated deep in her throat. Instead of the chaste, sweet kisses they’d shared in the past, this was tongue and teeth and heat. Need roared through him like a subway car, screeching in his bones and muscles with the harsh discord of steel wheels in an underground tunnel. He wanted more from her than this physical storm. But her need, pure and raw, rammed through his resolve and left it shattered.

He dropped the bag. It hit the desk with a soft thud. His hands cradled the back of her head, his fingers sliding into her thick mass of hair. Pins pinged to the floor as he unraveled the bun at the base of her neck. Hair tumbled over her shoulders in wild disarray.

“I need you.” She tugged at the hem of his T-shirt. Her hands burrowed under the fabric. One splayed on his chest, right over his beating heart. She had the power to rip it to shreds. Her free hand slid down his belly toward the snap of his jeans.

“Easy.” He lifted his head. Her eyes were dark, bright-green irises darkened by expanded pupils, emotion blurred by desire.

A finger delved into his waistband. A breath hissed out through his teeth.

His body screamed for more, while his heart insisted that a feral coupling on his desk wasn’t enough.

He caught her wrists and pulled her hands to his chest. “Slow down.”

“Don’t want to.” She pressed her hips against his. The pressure of her belly on his erection sent a wave of electric pleasure rippling from his balls to the base of his spine that nearly buckled his knees. His heart’s voice telling him this wasn’t enough grew dimmer, but he could still hear its whisper. Barely.

“We’ll get there. I promise.”

She shook her head. “Now.”

A moan of frustration escaped her lips. He captured the sound with his mouth. He released her hands, bent down, and caught her by the backs of her thighs, picking her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her core creating more sweet friction. Her arms encircled his neck as he turned and set her on the desk. Brushing papers and a stapler aside, he lowered her to the wooden surface. She was pulling at his shirt. He reared up and tossed it off. Her body arched backward. Her head tilted back. The overhead light caught the bruise on her jaw as a purple shadow showing through her makeup.

Instead of allowing those busy hands to roam freely, he caught her by the wrists again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m fine.” Her lips trailed down his neck.

“You’re not fine.” He lifted his head, more concerned with her abrupt personality change than her physical injuries. “Look at me.”

Her eyes blinked open and met his, and the gaze staring back at him shifted from raw sexual desire to more. Much more. The heat that filled his belly rose twenty degrees.

“Louisa.” Yearning deepened his voice. “I don’t want to do this here. It shouldn’t be like this. Let’s go back to your place—”

Louisa’s eyes changed again. Fear clouded desire. Her body went rigid.