Broken Bonds (Lizzie Grace 3)

“This is getting to be something of a habit,” I murmured, as I began to move ever so slowly.

“What is?” His voice and expression were as distracted as any woman could want.

“Me having my legs wrapped around your waist.” Pleasure grew as his thick heat slid deeper and his movements became more demanding.

“And this is a problem why?”

“It’s not, it’s just that maybe we should aim for a bit more variety.”

“Why do you think I brought the picnic blanket? I intend to make a full evening of it.”

“The bugs will be out and biting later.”

“They won’t be the only things,” he muttered. “Now will you just shut up and concentrate, woman?”

I laughed and did so—both then, and the multiple times that followed on the picnic blanket. We might have washed the potions off, but they’d still had enough time to work some of their magic on us both. Not that I was complaining any—not when I had three years of abstinence to make up for.

As dusk began to settle in and the bugs started to bite, he propped up on one arm and said, “I’m hungry—for food this time, you’ll be relieved to hear.”

“Good, because I think I’ve worn off all the energy from my Christmas lunch, and I need a refuel.”

“I’ve stocked my fridge, so I can make good on my promise to cook for you.”

“Can you actually cook?”

“As long as you want nothing fancier than steak, eggs, and chips, yes.”

“Sounds perfect.”

His phone rang, the sound sharp and loud in the serenity that surrounded us. “Sorry,” he said, and reached for it.

I walked back into the water and quickly washed off. I had a vague feeling I wasn’t going to get that steak. Not in the immediate future, anyway.

He listened for several minutes, then said, “Be there in thirty. Keep the area secure until then.”

My heart was beating a whole lot faster. Even though part of me really didn’t want to know, I said, “Another murder?”

“Another skinning.” He climbed to his feet. “These bastards certainly aren’t wasting any time.”

And obviously it had happened in an area that the wild magic—and Katie—wasn’t patrolling. I had no doubt she would have come for us otherwise.

I grabbed the towel and quickly dried off. “Isn’t this your night off?”

He nodded. “Byron’s on call tonight, and that’s not why I was called. With Ashworth still in hospital and Chester not picking up his phone, I’m afraid you’re it.” He hesitated. “That sounds bad, but you know what I mean.”

“I do.” I grabbed clothes out of my overnight bag and hurriedly dressed.

“We’ll have to stop at my place on the way through,” he continued. “I can’t go to a crime scene dressed in track pants.”

“You have before.” When he’d first met—and arrested—me, in fact.

“Because stopping to change could have been the difference between life and death. That’s not the case here.”

Which was true enough. I gathered my clothes and his in the towel while he folded the picnic blanket. Then we headed back to his truck.

The trip back to his house in Argyle was done in silence—with the siren screaming, there was little point in conversation. He quickly changed then continued on through the spa town of Rayburn Springs but took the road that led to Newstead and Maldoon rather than Castle Rock.

We made a right turn miles out of Newstead, and the road quickly changed from bitumen to stone. Aiden didn’t slow down, even as the road began narrowing and the farmsteads gave way to true bush.