Drawn in Blood (Burbank and Parker 2)

Asian. How ironic.

The telephone rang, and Derek reached over to get it. “Hello?”

There was a long, awkward pause at the other end of the receiver before a man’s guarded voice replied, “Hello. This must be Derek.”

“It is. And you are…?”

“Leo Fox.” The guardedness remained as he identified himself, and Derek knew just why. He was well aware of who Leo Fox was.

“Yes, Mr. Fox, what can I do for you?” Derek had no intention of tipping his hand.

“I don’t know if Sloane’s mentioned me,” Leo continued tentatively. “I’m a friend of her father’s. I?

??m also an interior designer.”

“Oh, sure, of course. You’re the magician who’s going to transform this cottage so it doesn’t scream out only feminine and canine.”

Leo chuckled, his relief so acute that Derek almost pitied him. “So Sloane did tell you about my offer. I was afraid she’d think I’d just made it out of obligation, given how far back her father and I go. I wanted her to know it wasn’t lip service. I really do want to help you two settle in as a couple.”

“Well, I appreciate that, and gratefully accept. Sloane’s got great taste, but this place is designed for her, not us.”

“Of course. You need to feel comfortable, make it so you can call the cottage home.” A pause. “I remember the layout of the house, but I haven’t been there in years. Nor have I seen the decor since Sloane moved in. I’d like to set up an appointment to drive out there when both you and Sloane are home. I can look the place over and also talk to you, get to know who you are, so I can give the right flavor to my design, and the right blend of your tastes and Sloane’s.”

Derek felt his lips quirk. “Makes sense. The only problem is Sloane’s not home yet. But I expect her soon. Can she give you a call tomorrow? That’ll give us a chance to coordinate our schedules before she sets up an appointment with you to visit the cottage and work your magic.”

“Of course.” At this point, Leo sounded almost relaxed. “I’ll be in my office all day tomorrow. I’m really looking forward to this project.”

“So am I.” As he spoke, Derek heard the faint crunching sound of tires on gravel from outside. Sloane must be home. “Thank you again, Mr. Fox.”

“Please—Leo.”

“Leo,” Derek amended. “I’ll talk to Sloane tonight.”

“Excellent. You have a nice evening.”

“Same to you.” Derek hung up the phone just as the hounds heard Sloane’s key in the door and sprang to life, jumping off the sofa and scrambling toward the front hall.

Derek rose as well, setting down his glass of wine and watching as Sloane came in, dropped her briefcase and coat, and squatted down to greet the three elated dachshunds.

No matter what else was going on—even if his workday had been a nightmare, if he was dead on his feet, or if he was under massive pressure; even when the two of them weren’t on speaking terms, when she frustrated the hell out of him, or when they were so at odds he wanted to punch a hole in the wall—she always had the same effect on him. One look at her and he wanted her.

“Hi, my little jumping beans,” she was saying to the hounds now, affectionately scratching their ears. “What a wonderful welcome.”

“I can provide an equally wonderful welcome,” Derek offered, his tone half teasing, half seductive. As he spoke, he made his way over to her. “I’m just afraid of getting mowed down if I try to beat these three to the door.”

Sloane rose, her eyes glinting and a warm flush starting to tinge her cheeks. The fire between them was mutual. And she was just as attuned to him as he was to her. “Be daring. From you, I’m up for a different type of welcome home.”

“I like the sound of that.” Derek wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him. “And I like the sound of the word ‘home.’ It feels right.”

“You feel right, too.” Sloane slid her hands under his sweater, hiking it up as she did.

Derek yanked it off and tossed it aside, then helped Sloane unbutton her blouse, which he dragged off with her blazer.

“Which room should we initiate first?” he asked, unhooking her bra and letting it drop to the floor.

“That’s a tough one.” She wriggled out of her slacks, kicked them aside, and stood there in only a thong. “I think we’ve already initiated them all—several times over.”

“Then how about right here?” He lifted her onto the hall table, shedding the rest of his clothes, and stripping off her thong in a few hot, fast motions. He moved between her legs, pushing her thighs apart, and wedging himself between them.