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  “It was?” He’d wanted to discuss their lack of birth control and not his regret for having sex with her?

  “Yes. We had sex in the middle of the night with no protection. I’m safe. You were the first I’d made love to in my entire life without a condom. Just to be absolutely sure, I’m tested yearly. If I know you, you were tested after you found out about your ex-husband.”

  “Three times.”

  “So, disease-wise we’re clear. Are you on the pill?”

  “No. I saw no need.”

  A slow smile spread. “I’d be blown away if you were pregnant with my baby.” He scooped her in his arms and spun around a few times. “Over the moon with happiness, love.”

  The man was insane. “If you think you’ll trap me with a pregnancy, that won’t work. I can raise a child alone.”

  He set her feet on the tiled floor and kissed her. “We’ll discuss this later. For now, it’s too soon to even mention. I just want you to know, I’ll be there for you and a baby, if there is one. Always.”

  This time when he and his hero complex sauntered off, he didn’t turn back. She stood there with her hand over her thundering heart. A baby? Him, a father? Oh, this was all so wrong. There was no way it could happen. No freaking way.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Mason’s interaction with the dispatchers was brief and somewhat cordial after his conversation with Ciera in the darkened hallway. He’d told her how he felt, what he wanted. Now the ball was in her court.

  The storm had finally stopped and snowplows were clearing the main roads. Their power was still out and the building’s emergency generators working overtime. He was reading the fine print on lab reports with a flashlight, when Ciera walked in with a plate and cup.

  “Here’s a tuna salad on rye, chips, and cookies.” She set the cup beside his pile of papers. “And water.”

  He rocked back on his chair and smiled. “Thanks, love.”

  She blushed beneath the illumination of the one ceiling light and shook her head. “You’re not going to call me that in front of everyone, are you?”

  “I am.” He pulled back the top slice of rye bread and placed chips on the tuna mixture. Then he flattened it. “I’m not ashamed of how I feel, Ciera.” He bit into the sandwich and chewed. “Oh God, this is the best tuna salad I’ve ever had.”

  “Well, I’m glad you like it. I’d also like it if you’d keep our one-night stand between us. My co-workers are my friends. I’d rather they didn’t know how easy I was to seduce.”

  Easy? Hell, woman, it took me nearly two years! “Are you ashamed of me?”

  “No. Of course not. Although you do have a reputation.”

  “We all do. Some of us have good ones; some of us have more interesting ones.” He winked and bit into the sandwich again.

  She pivoted and strode toward the door.

  “Fate brought you to me. To love, to cherish, to have as a best friend, and to bear my children. I believe that. I have a long way to get you to believe it, but you need to know how deeply I love you. Feelings like that, a man can’t keep secret, Ciera. He just can’t. It says so in the rule books.”

  Both of her palms plastered against the door. “You’re a pushy bastard.” Her shoulders shook, a couple sobs escaped, and he cursed his big mouth.

  He hurried to her and placed his palms over hers. His head tilted and his lips moved against her ear. “Don’t cry, please. If keeping quiet about us means this much to you, then I will for a while.” His mouth moved back and forth over the silky skin of her neck and he edged her nearer to the door, his front curving over her back. “I’d do anything for you. How can I make you believe that?” He hardened against her sweet, firm ass.

  “There is no us. There was only the other night.”

  “No us?” An unholy blend of anger and possessive passion clouded his judgment. He took her by the arm, opened the door to his office, and led her into the hallway. Both Larry and Bruno, wearing their jackets and hats, were helping people on their dispatch lines. With any luck they wouldn’t miss Ciera for a several minutes.

  “What are you doing?” her voice rose in fear.

  She’d better be scared. Damned scared, because he was emotionally and sexually frustrated to the point of madness. “I’m taking you to the women’s restroom. Then I’m setting you on the vanity and bringing you to climax twice. Once for you and once for my battered ego, because damn if you don’t know how to make me feel like a worthless son of a bitch.”

  He shoved open the door and pulled her in. His arms around her, he slammed her against the door and kissed her. For all he knew this might be the final time they were together, so he poured all he had into the kiss—all the love, the passion, and the need for a future with her. She had him raging internally with passion’s fire so intense he didn’t think he’d ever have enough of her to squelch it or, hell, to even make the flames diminish.

  Where Ciera Parker was concerned, he was a goner.

  His hands swept over her, memorizing every inch while his mouth tortured hers. She trembled and moaned, which was like a bittersweet balm to the pain of her rejection. He’d apologized and explained the whys of his behavior. Still, she remained unforgiving. How was he to heal the pain he’d caused without unmanning himself in the process?

  She softened against him and her hands slipped around the back of his neck, pushing her breasts into his chest. When they were like this, their bodies communicated in unspoken words of passion and longing. Ciera might claim there was “no us” but her lips and body stated something entirely different.

  While he bit and soothed her lips, his hands shoved down the sweatpants she’d changed into this morning after she was in here for longer than usual, no doubt taking some time to refresh. He tugged on her thong, as well, and lifted her onto the granite vanity top.

  “It’s cold!” she yelped.

  “It won’t be for long. I guarantee you. He slid her sweats and thong down her legs, slipping one foot out. He stepped between her thighs—one naked, the other covered with clothes—and kissed her again, his one arm around her waist while his other hand separated her folds and his fingers began their slow, seductive magic. Her breathing hitched and she moaned, spreading her legs to grant him more access. He took advantage of what she offered.

  She was already wet for him and her body’s response eased his bruised ego a tad. One finger slid into her opening while his thumb circled her clit. Moans filled the restroom while his tongue dueled with hers.

  “God, I’m glad I’m the only female on duty in the building. I’d hate to bitch-slap some woman for walking in on us.” She kissed his neck between every few words. Her muscles tensed against him, her release near.

  He inserted another finger and pumped before he tilted them to hit her magic spot and pressed her clit with his thumb. She buried her face in his shoulder to muffle her scream as a climax shuddered its way through her body.

  Before her tremors ended, he was on his knees his face buried in her wet heat, enjoying her juices with slow strokes of his tongue. Her hands reached to hold his head to her. “How long?” His tongue stilled, waiting for an answer.

  “As long as you can keep it up. Two hours maybe?”

  He chuckled and made one more pass. “I meant, how long before your period is due?” She’d never tell him when she was clearheaded, but when he had her passion-hazed, she might answer without thinking.

  “Mason!” She wiggled her ass. “I need—”

  “I’ll give you what you need, love, as soon as you answer my question.”

  “Six days! Now, please—”

  He circled her clit with his tongue. There was one more question he had to ask. Until then, he would torture her with her need for him. And he did until her thighs began to quiver and then he stopped. “Are you regular?”

  “What? I will kill you! No, better still, I will rip out your tongue. You’re gonna sound a little odd trying to read a criminal his Miranda Rights with no freakin’ tongue.�
� Her arms flung out like wings. “Yes, I’m regular. Are you happy, now?”

  Six days. He’d mark his calendar, although he wouldn’t forget. He wanted a child so badly—and craved this dark-haired beauty even more. He worked her the way he knew she liked. When he finally allowed her to climax the second time, he stood and enveloped her in his arms, rocking her back and forth until her breathing returned to normal.

  He kissed her again, briefly, and helped her off the vanity. Then he slipped her foot into her panties and sweatpants and pulled them into place. “Go lie down now and take a nap. Both Larry and Bruno have slept, but not you.” He cupped her face. “Sleep.”

  Her dark eyebrows rose and her hand went to his erection. “What about you?”

  “I’ll wait until you feel something for me. Until then, I’ll take care of you and myself. I need love, Ciera, not sex. I’ve had plenty of sex. Now I find I need…I need—” He shrugged.

  He shook his head and walked out of the ladies’ restroom. What more could he say that wouldn’t make him sound like a lonely, pathetic bastard? Which was what loving Ciera had made him.

  ****

  Ciera stood on legs still weak from two trips to sexual oblivion. How did he always do that to her? It was as if he knew exactly where and when she needed his touch. No doubt his expertise came from all his experience. Just like the words he so easily tossed out about love and having his child. The man screwed with her mind—among other things.

  Why had he walked away without getting his own satisfaction? Had she wounded his ego as he claimed? Or was she such a lousy lover that his hand was better? Hadn’t Seth told her that many times? Her ex-husband’s accusations had driven her to tears on more than one occasion. It wouldn’t be long before Mason would utter the same rejection. Today, he’d used a vague excuse of needing love.

  She wasn’t going there again. One trip to the well of pain had been enough.

  Yanking open the door, she squared her shoulders and strode to the communications center. Once there, she slipped off her sneakers and lay down on her sleeping bag, bundling up under the comforters. With her head half covered, she stared at the lockers, replaying Mason’s last words. “I need love, Ciera, not sex. I’ve had plenty of sex. Now I find I need…I need—”

  He needed what? Love? Really? Could she believe that? Or did he need someone better sexually? She had to get her head on straight about him. She cared too much and he would break her heart. He held that capacity in his eyes, his lips, and his touch. For her own emotional safety, she had to keep their relationship on a professional basis. Lot’s of luck with that.

  What just happened in the restroom could never happen again. Would never happen again, because no man could make her respond sexually like Mason Holt. Could she go the rest of her life without the explosive climaxes he could bring her?

  Cheering from the two male dispatchers startled her awake. She blinked at the bright lights, the distant hum of machines. She pushed the quilts away and sat. “The power’s back on?” She blinked and rubbed her eyes.

  “Yes!” Larry beamed as he did a fist pump. “Thank God and all His angels.”

  She jerked on her sneakers and stood, bending and stretching the kinks out from sleeping on the hard floor. “I’ll make coffee. Sex on a cracker, I could drink the first pot myself.” Larry and Bruno laughed.

  At the coffeepot, she noticed Mason had his blinds open. He was sleeping, his head on folded arms. Once she had the coffee made, she carried in a quilt and covered him. He moaned her name and something about a baby. She backed out of his office, silently closing the door so she wouldn’t waken him.

  “Larry, do you want me to relieve you for a while? Walk around. Give your eyes a change of view.”

  He stood and held his mug. Weariness was evident in his craggy face. How many hours had he been here? He’d just turned sixty, so she wanted to make sure he stayed healthy. “Think I’ll do just that. Be back in fifteen.”

  Ciera hugged him. “Have at it. We’re all tired and cold and getting stiff. Boy, could I use a hot bath. I dread thinking about how much snow I’ll have to shovel when I get home to even get inside my little house.”

  “That’s one nice thing about apartment living,” Bruno said. “All we have to shovel is the area around our vehicles.”

  “Lucky you.” Her phone rang. “Hello. Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”

  As more roads were cleared, the ghostly building began to come alive with muted conversations and typical sounds of police work. At one point, Mason rushed into the communications center wearing his coat and knit cap. “There’s been another murder. A woman’s body was found by a man shoveling out his driveway. Hard to tell until the autopsy how long she’s been dead. Same M.O. as the murder a week or more ago. Rope burns around her neck, face beaten and knife cuts.”

  His worried gaze pinned Ciera. “Text me when you get home. Larry, let me know your wife is okay. I’ve called my sister. One of you call Juanita and Darla. I’m afraid we might have a serial killer on our hands.”

  “Huh, he tries anything with me, I’ll break his nose and knock out a couple teeth.” She could, too. Boxing gloves or bare-fisted.

  “Ciera, I’m not playing here. Text me! It says so in the rule books when an officer tells you to do something, you have to follow his orders.”

  She had a smart answer ready for him, but the concern on his face touched her. “Okay, hero, I will.”

  Warmth briefly softened his hardened eyes.

  “Where’s your travel mug? I’ll fill it with coffee.” She opened the cooler. “While you get it and rinse it out, I’ll make you a tuna sandwich. You can’t be out in that weather for hours on an empty stomach.” She sent him off with two sandwiches and a warning to be safe.

  Bruno sat back in his chair, grinning, a pen between his fingers.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know which of you two is worse. Mason with his jealousy or you with your wifely caring.”

  “Wifely? Bite your damn tongue! How’d you like to go home with a black eye?”

  Larry made another pot of coffee. “Did you know our girl here takes boxing lessons at that boxing gym on Madison?”

  “No fake!” Bruno stared at her.

  “Yup. Sweat, buckets of spit, and wrapped fists. You ought to see me work the body bag.” She swiveled her chair around. “Larry, now that the roads are open, why don’t you head home? You’ve been here too damn long.”

  He speed dialed his wife and talked for a couple minutes. “Nancy says the road by our house was plowed twenty minutes ago. She’s working on clearing the end of our driveway so I can get in off the street. Folks, I’m heading home.” He grabbed his things and left.

  Slowly the cold building warmed up. Coats and hats were removed. The level of calls remained high. Roads were still bad. A lot of accidents needed police and medical attention.

  What about Mason? Was he safe? What if the murderer was watching?

  She snatched her cell and sent him a text. Be careful. The killer might be lurking to get a sick thrill from everyone’s reactions.

  Her phone vibrated with an incoming text. Careful, my blue-eyed darling. You’ll make me think you care.

  The man just had to push her. She could almost see his eyes twinkle. Her thumbs moved. Bite me!

  Her cell danced on the desk. Bare it. His text was quickly followed by another. At the scene now. Later love.

  Had he been texting and driving?

  Three hours later, Juanita bustled into the communications center. “Oh, Ciera, you poor thing. Go home. Go to bed for a day. Aleesha from HR will call with the new schedule to get us back on track. What a nasty storm. But my boy’s home!” Juanita did a hip wiggle and Bruno groaned.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Ciera trudged to her Land Rover. Most of the vehicles were cleaned off. Hers was the largest lump of snow in the parking lot. She opened and slammed each door, hoping some of the snow would simply fall off. There was some succe
ss. She started her SUV to warm it up and defrost her rear window while she scraped the side windows. Hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Was someone watching her?

  A quick glance over her shoulder told her she was alone in the parking lot. She scoffed. If someone was lurking somewhere spying on her, the least the person could do was come help her clean off her car and shovel her out.

  The piece of cardboard her neighbor had put on her windshield days ago had done its job once again to keep her windshield clear. She shoveled the snow behind her wheels. A couple footsteps crunched in the snow. She spun around. “Who’s there?”

  No reply. Maybe she was just so tired she was hearing things. The past seventy hours had drained her. Still, she couldn’t shake the eerie feeling of being stalked.

  She hurried to finish her job. Another footfall crunched in the snow. A sliver of fear laced up her spine. She tossed the shovel onto the floor beside her and hopped into her Land Rover.

  Her driver’s door jerked open and her heart stuttered for several beats as she came face-to-face with madness. It had scraggly blond hair peeking out from a gray stocking cap, yellowed teeth, and rancid breath. Claw marks marred one cheek. Blood spots stained the front of his tan coat. One hand slapped duct tape over her mouth.

  Dear God, was he the murderer Mason was hunting? Her breathing grew rapid and her heart pounded a swift beat of terror as it clawed to escape up her throat. She jerked off his hat and tossed it in her back seat for possible DNA. His fist made contact with her jaw. Making a fist of her own, she punched his nose. Blood spurted. Damned if she’d go easy!

  Stars exploded when he hit her in the eye. He looped a lasso rope over her head while his other hand pushed on her windpipe, choking her. She kicked him in the stomach. Suddenly, her breathing stalled for an instant while he tightened the knot around her neck.

  He pulled a knife and cut below her ear. Warm blood flowed, even though her veins seemed clogged with ice. His pale green, menacing eyes narrowed as he waved the knife in front of her face. “Get out of the car, you fighting bitch! You ever been fucked in the snow?” He exhaled a maniacal laugh.