Take the Heat

“Just arrived. I fly back in the morning.”

His chest caved in, sinking his hope for a long weekend between her legs. “Where are you staying?”

“In town.”

Watching her enticing lips form that wisely vague answer, he felt like a hunter. Hungry. Calculating. And usually a hell of a lot more subtle. He leaned back in a display of carefree and nowhere to be. “Fire when ready, Joni.”

“All right.” She removed a laptop from her bag and powered it on. “As I mentioned in my e-mail, our researchers are interviewing a selection of psychiatrists, law enforcement, and felons.” She shrugged. “I got the paraphilia expert.”

For as long as she wanted him. Hopefully, her interest lasted till morning. He nodded.

The barista arrived with the bread and coffee and returned to the counter.

Joni sipped from her cup, rolling back her shoulders and smiling. Then she set it aside and met his eyes. “The documentary examines arousal in its myriad of scents. Our mission is to isolate the poisoned, disease-ridden odors, and air out why only certain people are corrupted by them.”

Cute. Did she rehearse that? Maybe it was a quote from the film. “Everyone has unsavory fantasies. You want to know what rouses a person to act on them?”

With the keyboard balanced on her lap, she nodded. “Is it power and control, anger, or some mental disorder?”

“Or horniness.”

She blinked. “Everyone gets horny, Detective—”

“Dev.” He wanted to taste her responses without the stiffness of job titles.

“Fine, Dev. What takes a person from horny to unlawful?”

Rather than tire them both with a didactic monologue, he decided to answer with a little harmless flirting. “A guy stands behind you in a checkout line, watching your ass as you bend over to retrieve something from beneath your cart. When you stand up, he brushes his erection against your backside. You may or may not feel it.”

A smile danced in her eyes. “Frotteurism.”

“Horny. What about the guy who randomly dials your number late at night and whispers all the ways he wants to fuck you, his breath heavy, his voice so compelling you find you’re unable to hang up.”

“Phone scatologia is stalking and harassment.” She glanced up, and her pupils dilated. “And I would hang up.” Her hand went to her hoop earring, rubbing a finger over the hook. Then she released it to lift her coffee cup. More likely, she realized stroking her jewelry was an indication of her arousal.

He leaned his elbows on his thighs and captured her gaze. “You sure you’d hang up?”

Her knees pinched together, the nonverbal answer heating the air. If he called her from an unknown number, he would murmur his illicit fantasies and fuck his hand to the sound of her gasps. A warm flush coursed through his body.

“Making vulgar phone calls is a disorder.” She blew out a breath. “And a Class 1 Misdemeanor.”

Only in some states. “Since we’re discussing hypothetical scenarios, what if I jerked off right here, while you watched? How would you label that?”

Caught in the sharpest stare he had, she didn’t flinch. “Exhibitionism. You would be arrested.”

“Or horniness. That shouldn’t be a crime.”

A lovely red hue tinted her cheeks, from the warmth of the coffee, the nearby fire and her arousal. “So you believe the motivation is mere horniness, not mental conditions or power plays?”

The front door slammed, and a glance over his shoulder revealed empty bar stools. The barista’s footsteps shuffled in the back room. They were alone. He turned back to her.

“Tell me about the opposite end of the spectrum.” Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Either she found his directness uncomfortable, or she truly wanted to understand criminal sexuality. His chest collapsed. Any sexual interest he might’ve kindled in her was about to be extinguished, but he was there to answer her questions. “You mean rape, pedophilia and sexual murder?”

At her nod, he sifted through his recollection of the worst kinds of criminals. For the next hour, he outlined their profiles, methods, degrees of force, and typologies. She clicked on her keys as he spoke, her shoulders deflating and her jaw sliding back and forth. He’d shredded a napkin on the table between them, suffocating in the miasma of putrid subject matter.

When he finished his walk-through on human depravity, she leaned back and shook out her hands. “And the motivation?”