Page 31 of Hunting the Crossbow Killer

“Wait,” Grace said. “Please.”

He hesitated, then faced her with a questioning look.

The sound of voices in the lobby had her glancing toward the stairs. She lowered her voice so no one downstairs would hear. “I really need to talk to you.”

“That’s not a good idea—”

“It’s work-related. I want to brainstorm with you about the shooter.”

His jaw tightened. “You mean you want to interrogate me again.”

“You’re not a suspect. You’re the suspect’s target. So far, that’s the best lead I have to figure out who this guy may be. I’d like to ask you some questions and see if we can come up with any ideas, a new direction for me to take my investigation. Otherwise, I’m stuck waiting on lab results and a search for a vehicle that may or may not exist.”

“Vehicle?”

“I’ll explain, once we sit down to talk. We could go in one of our rooms and—”

“No.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Are you afraid of me, Aidan? Afraid I’m going to jump your bones or something? I’m not that desperate.”

He choked on a laugh, then cleared his throat. “My ego just got crushed knowing you’d have to be desperate to want me. But at least I’m safe knowing you won’t try to jump my bones.”

“As much as you complain, I think you’re the one who’s worried you can’t keep your hands off me if we’re in a bedroom together.”

Instead of the immediate denial she’d expected in response to her teasing, he simply stared at her. The amber brown of his eyes seemed to get even darker, more intense. There was no sign of amusement or an impending snappy comeback. Instead, he reminded her of a sleek panther, ready to pounce.

An answering hunger flared inside her. When he quickly turned back to his room and unlocked the door, she was there right behind him. He whirled around, his hands clasping her wrists with a solid yet remarkably gentle grip, stopping her.

“Grace, don’t. I’m trying to do right by you. But you’re not making it easy.”

The sound of voices again froze both of them in place.

“Can’t say I’ve ever met a TV reporter before.” The sound of Stella’s voice in the lobby seemed louder than usual. Her next words had Grace in a panic. “Two nights then. I don’t have any more vacancies after that. We’re all booked up for the fall season. It’s number three, top of the stairs then take a right and it’s at the end of the hall.”

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, quick and light, heading up.

“Ah, hell.” Aidan yanked Grace into his room and shut the door.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Aidan leaned past Grace and flipped the dead bolt. Then he froze. Without meaning to, he’d pressed her back against the door. There wasn’t an inch of space between them. Even with their jackets and vests on he could feel her heat and the pressure of her generous curves crushed against his chest. He should back up, put as much distance as possible between them. But he couldn’t have moved away right now if the fires of hell were licking at his heels. She felt so…dang…good.

His body responded against his will, hardening against her. The soft intake of her breath had his pulse rushing in his ears. And then, the impossible happened. This smart, beautiful woman who was too good for him for so many reasons slid her hands up his coat, their heat practically burning him when she stroked the sides of his neck. Standing on tiptoes, she thrust her fingers into his hair where it touched the back of his collar, stroking, kneading, fanning the flames.

He shuddered against her and suddenly they were both stripping each other’s jackets off, then their vests, tossingthem onto the floor. She plastered her body against his, her mouthwatering curves fitting perfectly against his hard planes.

“Kiss me,” she whispered. “Kiss me, Aidan.”

His good intentions, his self-control, melted away in the inferno they’d created. He spanned her tiny waist with his hands and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around him and he pressed her against the door, shoving one hand through her hair, the other supporting her bottom as he claimed her mouth with his.

It was as if dynamite had exploded between them, burning away all logic, all reason, every thought in his mind except loving her. He couldn’t get enough, stroking, caressing, kissing her the way he’d wanted to from the moment she’d impressed him by knowing what type of wood he was using to make that dang table in his workshop. She was a confusing mix of intelligence and wonder, aggravating him one moment and enthralling him the next. And just when he was about to end their kiss, his lungs starving for air, she deepened it and thrust her delicate tongue inside his mouth.

His legs nearly buckled. He groaned and matched her wild hunger with his own, no longer even trying to hold back. He wanted this, needed this. And he could sense the answering need in her. They were ravenous for each other. Turning with her in his arms, he rushed to the bed, careful not to crush her as he followed her down to the mattress.

He forced himself to slow down, to savor, to be gentle to this beautiful, delicate woman who was so much smaller than him. But as much as he wanted her, he wanted to make this good for her, to show her with his actions how obsessed he was with her even if he couldn’t put it into words or had tried to pretend indifference.

“I’m not going to break,” she whispered against his neck. “Love me. Just love me. Let yourself go.”

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