I See You (Criminal Profiler #2)(20)

There was no garage, and the closely cut grass had browned and bristled in the August heat. No flowers in the edged beds or extrafussy accoutrements such as flags or garden statues women tended to like. But there was a wooden fort built in one large tree, and judging by the graying wood and weathered rope ladder, it had been there at least a decade.

As she stepped out of the car, her general assessment of the Vaughan home was that it was normal.

He pressed several buttons on the keypad mounted by the front door, and it opened. A sensor inside the house triggered interior lights, and a security alarm pinged as he punched in the code.

Okay, maybe Vaughan’s emphasis on security was not exactly run of the mill. But once anyone saw what a homicide detective witnessed, they understood monsters did not just inhabit fairy tales.

The interior setup was very masculine. Large overstuffed couch, twin recliners, and a massive television mounted over a fireplace that looked unused. The pictures on the walls were themed around his son or sports. The place was clean and neat, and the only hints of Nate’s major transition were several unfilled boxes.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked. “I have bourbon.”

“Thanks. No ice.”

He opened a kitchen cabinet and removed a half-full bottle of bourbon and poured two fingers in everyday glasses. As he handed her a glass, her fingers barely brushed his. It was a light touch, scarcely noticeable, but it sent a thrill through her. It had been a while since they had been together, and she hungered for what was coming.

She took a sip, impressed. “Nice.”

“Glad you like it.” His gaze studied her over the rim of his glass before he downed it in an uncharacteristic show of impatience.

She finished the last of her drink and set the glass down beside his. “You going to give me the grand tour or take me straight to the bedroom?”

He loosened his tie. “Do you want the grand tour?”

“How about a rain check on that?” It surprised her how much her impatience had seeped into her tone.

“Good.”

Vaughan took her by the hand and led her down the central hallway peppered with more pictures of Vaughan and his son.

The bed in the master room was a king with two pillows and a neatly made blue comforter. Twin nightstands had lamps, but the table closest to the door was piled high with books on history, mathematics, and politics. Topping the stack of books was a pair of dark-rimmed glasses.

“There’s a bathroom in there if you need it,” he said.

“Thanks.”

She removed her weapon and holster from her waistband and set them both on a dresser outfitted with a large mirror that caught the bed’s reflection.

She shrugged off her jacket and laid it beside her weapon and kicked off her shoes. As she unbuttoned her blouse, she caught Vaughan’s reflection in the mirror. He had removed his badge and gun but was watching her closely as he unfastened his shirt buttons.

She slid off her shirt and then her pants. When she faced him in just her bra and panties, he was reaching for his belt buckle as his eyes roved over her.

She crossed the room and pushed his hands aside, taking the smooth metal buckle in her fingers. She was careful not to touch him as she studied his face.

“I feel a little like a lab rat,” he said.

“Really?”

“You are always studying my every expression. And I know you’ve analyzed my home.”

“It’s what I do. I study people.” She unhooked the top button of his trousers.

His jaw pulsed. “Do you ever see people as people?”

“It’s easier if I don’t.”

He traced his finger over her bare shoulder. “There’s no emotion, then, when we do this?”

“I like it very much.” She opened his pants but did not slide her hand under the waistband of his shorts.

“You’re using me for sex?” A note of seriousness hummed under the playful tone.

Maybe she was. But after Jeff had died, she had used other men for sex and had never returned for extra helpings as she had with him.

Zoe met his gaze, seeing an intensity she had not noticed before. “Do you want me to stop?”

His silence swarmed around her. “No.”

“Good. Because I don’t want to stop.” She reached for the clasp between her breasts and unhooked her bra. She slid it off and let it fall to the floor.

He cupped her breast and leaned in to kiss her lips. Since the first time he had touched her, she had liked the way he teased her nipples and the sensual way he kissed her. He certainly did not feel like Jeff or even look like him. But he had a way of fanning flames that had died with her husband.

She pressed against him, liking the feel of his erection brushing against her groin, the way his taut abdomen hitched when she teased him, and how breath shuddered over his lips when her teeth gently bit his bottom lip.

They stood, teasing each other, almost testing to see who would be the first to lower to the bed. It had always been her in the past. And each time she had eased down to the mattress and beckoned him forward, that patience of his had shattered.

This time, she found he was taking extra time playing, and when she tried to tug him toward the bed, he resisted. It had been a month since he had been inside her, and she missed the sensations he churned in her body.

She pushed off his pants and underwear, growing impatient with the foreplay. He stepped out, but instead of pulling her toward the bed, he cupped her lace-clad buttocks.