Breathe (Colorado Mountain 4)

My mouth started watering.

Chace would undoubtedly not think chest hair was sexy, but I knew whatever he was thinking were very unsexy thoughts when he growled, “Fuckin’ shit,” put the bottle on the counter by the glasses and came to me.

He ran his fingers through the length of my hair at the side, bent and whispered, “Be right back.” Then he kissed my forehead, his fingers left my hair and I twisted on my stool to watch him prowl (oh jeez, he was prowling) to the door.

Even with him prowling and impatient, my eyes watched him move, his broad shoulders not even close to being hidden by his shirt, his long legs in his jeans, his arms loose at his sides and it was, as ever, a good show.

Over dinner at my place that week, he’d told me he was a swimmer and ran track in high school and kept it up since then. He swam at the YMCA in Chantelle twice a week, ran five miles twice a week, ten miles once a week and had weights at his house where he did weight training twice a week.

This effort paid off for him in a big way and since he maintained his body and pushed it on occasion, he knew what it could do and the way he walked, in total command of his frame, communicated that.

I had a feeling with that and what had happened in his bedroom, this boded well for what Chace referred to as “later”. A shiver ran up my spine the likes I’d never felt before but I liked it a whole lot.

I smiled to myself and my eyes drifted to the champagne. I needed a drink. I’d had a Chace’s hand down my pants orgasm. That definitely called for champagne. I wanted to open the bottle but from our very first date, if Chace was with me, I’d not poured myself a drink or bought myself one.

It was then it occurred to me that Chace was kind of old-fashioned. He had no trouble with me cooking for him and serving up the food. But he didn’t want me to pour my own drink. He helped with dishes if he was at my place but he was strictly a dry and put away man. Strictly as in, there were clearly boundaries. Men didn’t wash. They dried and put away. Men didn’t serve up food. They poured drinks.

It was definitely old-fashioned.

It was also weirdly hot.

“Jesus, are you f**kin’ serious?” I heard him ask in what had to be a rude greeting then finish, “Jon, I’m off-duty. Very f**kin’ off-duty and this would be why I didn’t answer the f**kin’ phone.”

Right, Chace was cursing more than normal. He was pissed. I knew this but I had a feeling his pissed-ness had increased after finding out who was at the door.

“I know that but we need you on this one, Chace, or I wouldn’t be out here. You’re our most experienced detective,” another voice sounded.

“Frank might have passed the test only a few months ago but he’s been around these parts since birth, clean and on the job awhile. He’ll do fine,” Chace told him.

“It’s a murder, Chace.”

My breath left me and my body stilled.

“Fuck,” I heard Chace clip.

“Darren Newcomb,” Jon told him.

Suddenly, all the way from the front of the house, a white-hot current of electricity streamed through.

It was so intense, I twisted woodenly on my stool to face that way as Jon went on, “Brother, sorry, so sorry, brother, but he was found on the access road up to Miracle Ranch about ten feet from where they found your wife. And buddy, this sucks, I hate to share this shit, but Newcomb was done just like her.”

At these words, my body having a mind of its own, I ignored the terrifying current still streaming and moved quickly through the massive kitchen to the hall.

I saw through the hall that the front door was open, storm door closed. The uniformed policeman that was at the reception desk when I went to the Station was standing just inside Chace’s lit foyer. Chace’s body was still and his jaw in profile was hard, both in a way that made my heart clench.

Jon’s eyes cut to me when I moved through the hall then they cut to Chace. I saw them drop to his shirt, taking in the opened buttons and they came back to me. He shifted uncomfortably, likely reading into the situation somewhat inaccurately since the action wasn’t interrupted but reading accurately there was action.

This would normally mortify me.

But my focus was entirely on getting to Chace.

Which was what I did. Immediately, I moved into him. His arm came up in a distracted way, curling around my shoulders as I fitted my front to his side and my arms moved to circle his middle.

“Honey?” I called as he stared silently at Officer Jon.

When my word sounded, his body jerked slightly, he looked down at me and muttered, “Go back to the kitchen, darlin’.”

“I’m good here,” I refused gently, giving his middle squeeze.

He dipped his face close and repeated quietly, “Go back to the kitchen, baby.”

I pulled in breath, squared my shoulders, held his eyes and repeated (kind of), “Chace, honey, I’m good here.”

“Backbone,” he murmured, his gaze drifting around my head and shoulders then it sliced to Jon. “Send someone to check Harker’s Wood. I’ll get Faye sorted and then I’m on my way.”

Oh God. Holy frak.

Harker’s Wood.

I’d heard of Darren Newcomb but I didn’t know how. His name was just familiar.

But whoever he was, this had something to do with Misty.

“Frank’s already on that. Got a cruiser headin’ that way. Frank’s with the body,” Jon replied.

“Call him, tell him I’ll go to the body first. The wood second. Anyone on the family?” Chace returned.

Jon shifted uncomfortably again as he shook his head.

“Fuck,” Chace muttered then, “Right. Body, wood, then I’ll go to his family.”

I didn’t like that but even if I didn’t, it was his job. Unfortunately, murders were happening in Carnal on an alarmingly frequent basis. Well, that wasn’t true. Just Tonia Payne, a waitress who was killed by Dalton McIntyre. Then there was Neeta, Tate’s old girlfriend though she didn’t live in Carnal, she was just murdered by McIntyre who did live in Carnal and also did all his killing here. And, of course, Misty Keaton. But still, that was three people I semi-knew in the last few years when I’d lived there near to my whole life without a one.

Though I suspected even if you informed a hundred families a loved one had died or something bad had happened, it would never get any more fun.

“Right Chace,” Jon muttered then he looked at me. “Sorry, uh… Faye, is it?”

Like he didn’t know. I’d been with Chace at the Italian place, The Rooster and Bubba’s. The talk hadn’t come to me but I was no dummy. The town was buzzing.