Rarities Unlimited 04 - The Color of Death

shuttered, anything but a man watching a woman he wanted.
    No news there. The cop is in control. Over and out.
    “Like I told you every few seconds while you drove me home,” she said, “I’m fine.”
    “You were shaking.” He’d been shaking too, but that wasn’t something he wanted to talk about.
    “Ya think?” she said, widening her eyes. “The next time someone tries to kill me, I’ll be sure to keep a stiff upper lip. Lower one too.”
    Sam groaned and did what he’d needed to do earlier and hadn’t dared because he knew what would happen; he reached for her. Earlier he’d wanted to be able to tell the truth when Doug asked the question about sex and Kate. If Sam had touched her earlier, he knew he wouldn’t have let go. Then he would have had to lie to Doug in order to stay close enough to Kate to keep her alive.
    But now wasn’t then. Sam ran a fingertip over her lips, brushed it gently against her bruised cheek.
    “Damn, Kate, you scared me to death.”
    Her breath stopped at the turmoil revealed in his eyes, in the fine trembling of his finger. The cop wasn’t in control right now. Maybe in the next second, but not now . She wanted to lean into him, to hold him, to keep on holding him until there was nothing left in her mind but the taste and scent and feel of him.
    She didn’t move.
    She didn’t know what she would do if she reached out only to have him turn away from her again.
    “You’ve got me confused with the guy trying to run us down,” she said huskily. “And shoot us. I keep forgetting that part.”
    “Kate,” Sam whispered.
    “What?”
    “Nothing.” He leaned closer. “Just Kate.”
    She shivered when he whispered the last words over her lips, which were trembling again. Not with fear, but with the need he aroused in her just by being alive, by being Sam.
    Close enough to taste.
    His lips brushed over hers, brushed again. The tip of his tongue traced her mouth.
    Hands clenched at her sides, she didn’t move.
    “Kate?” He lifted his head. “I thought you wanted me.”
    Her eyes opened almost black with emotion. “And I thought you didn’t want me.”
    “You thought wrong. I want you so much it scares me.”
    “Same here. But you keep backing away.”
    His hands slid into the thick black hair that had fascinated him from the first time he’d seen it settle sleek and heavy and faintly wavy on her shoulders. Tonight it was warm and damp from the shower. He leaned in until his lips were almost touching hers.
    “If I back away far enough,” he asked, “will I reach the bed?”
    She almost smiled, almost laughed, and completely gave up trying to keep her distance from him.
    “Sam,” she said.
    “What?”
    “Just,” she kissed the corner of his mouth, “Sam.”
    One of his hands slid from her hair. His arm went around her hips, recklessly pulling her close for the kind of knees-to-forehead embrace that told her he’d given up trying to hold her at arm’s length.
    “You sure you want this?” he asked.
    She bit his lower lip. “Are you?”
    “What does it feel like?”
    She smiled. “It feels like you’re wearing your holster a little low.”
    He gave a crack of laughter and held her hips even closer, tilting her into his erection. “You sure?”
    “Let me check.”
    He caught her hand and looked at her. “Last chance.”
    “For you or for me?”
    “You. I was lost right after I met you.”
    She blinked. “You sure hid it well.”
    “Self-preservation.” Slowly, caressingly, he let go of her hand. “How about you?”
    Her hand drifted lower, settled, shaped, measured. She let out a long breath she hadn’t been aware of holding. “Sam, I don’t know if I’m checked out for this caliber. I’m used to, uh, twenty-twos.”
    “I’ll show you all the fine points of handling and safety.”
    She gave a shaky laugh. “You sure?”
    “I’ve never been more certain of anything. It will be good, Kate. For both of us.”
    She took a deep breath. “Okay.”
    He looked at her, saw she meant it, and felt a combination of tenderness and lust that nearly brought him to his knees.
    “Bedroom, couch, or floor?” he asked.
    “Okay,” she said again.
    He bent and joined their mouths in a deep, mutual exploration that left both of them breathing hard.
    “Bedroom,” he said finally. “I don’t want you bruised anymore.”
    “Only if you start stripping on the way there.”
    He smiled down at her. “Stripping, huh?”
    “As in peeling off layers