The P.I.

Drew was studying him now with an intense look in her eyes as if she was determined to figure him out. “That’s all I am right now…a ‘dream girl.’ We don’t know who I am and what I may have done. And what happened between us—”

“Was amazing.” He took her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles.

“Yes. But it shouldn’t have happened.”

“Who ever knows for sure what the Fates have in store?”

I’m serious. I’m very possibly involved in a murder.”

“No. I’m almost certain the person you shot managed to get away.”

She gripped his hand hard. “I didn’t kill anyone?”

“No.” When relief flashed into her eyes, he cursed himself for not telling her sooner. Of course, they’d been a bit distracted since he’d come out of the church. “I’ll give you a full report once I get you safely to my place. There were several shots fired at the church. The priest was one of the victims. He was shot by the altar. Another man was shot in the sacristy.”

Horror filled her. “Did I shoot all of them?”

“No. There’s a witness, the caterer, who saw the man who shot the priest. And I’d give you one-hundred-to-one odds that you weren’t in the sacristy or at the altar. I’m pretty sure I found the room you remembered. It’s in the choir loft where the bride waits with her attendants. There was blood there.” He carefully omitted the fact that he believed two people had been shot in the room. There was no sense in telling her that until they knew more. “But no body. The only other casualty was my friend, Roman. But he wasn’t shot. He took a fall over a staircase railing. Once he regains consciousness, he may be able to describe what happened. And you were right about the roses. The bridal bouquet was full of them.”

“Was I the bride?”

It was his turn to grip her hand hard. “No. Her name is Juliana.”

“And she’s all right? What about the groom? Did they tell you who I am?”

“That’s part of the mystery,” Kit said. “They weren’t at the church. They’ve vanished.”

“Did the man I shot kidnap them?”

Kit studied her for a moment. “You’ve got a quick mind, sugar. That’s certainly one possibility.”

“And you mentioned the caterer? Did she know who I am?”

Kit shook his head. “She was unloading her van when she saw you get out of a taxi with the bride and go into the church. After that she was setting up stuff in the rectory dining room for a little reception. The priest had hired her, and she claims she’d never met the bride and groom—didn’t even know their names. She had been prepared to serve them, the priest and two witnesses. I figure one of them was probably you. Why don’t you save the rest of your questions until we get to my place?”

When she hesitated, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I could really use that good-luck kiss.””

“You know what happened the last time we kissed.”

His lips curved. “Yeah. But we’ll have to stop with a kiss this time. We’re in an alley.”

She was still regarding him with that intent look of hers. There was a time when a fisherman had to be patient and wait for the fish to take the bait. But sometimes it helped to jiggle the line a bit.

“Just one kiss for the road?”

“Okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” With that, she set the helmet on the bike, placed her hands on his chest and rose on her toes. “You’re going to have to meet me halfway on this.”

He did, settling his hands on her waist to steady her and lowering his head until her lips could meet his. Kit let her control the kiss—the pressure, the angle, the depth—and focused all his attention on simply absorbing her. He thought he knew what to expect, but this time the sweetness was laced with raw greed, and it fueled his own response. He thought he was prepared, but when she threaded her fingers into his hair and pressed her whole body against his, the surge of heat nearly brought him to his knees. Too much, he thought. And not nearly enough. He staggered back against the wall, taking her with him.

She nipped his bottom lip and another explosion of heat erupted. He twisted so that her back was against the building. Desire seared through him. Sensations battered him. The soft sounds she made in her throat, the press of her nails into his shoulders, the quick catch of her breath when he bit her earlobe. The combination had his blood pounding.

He was drowning in her taste. Even as he searched her mouth for more, her flavors ripened, darkened, became more addictive. Her scent no longer reminded him of soap and water. Now he thought of rare flowers that only grew in damp, steamy jungles. He thought of taking her on some exotic beach late at night while waves crashed against the shore. He thought of stripping her out of those jeans and taking her here and now.

Even as the idea streamed into his mind, he gripped her hips, lifted her and pressed himself against her, center to center, heat to heat. Now, now, now, his mind screamed, and he prayed that he could hold on to his control.

No woman had ever affected him this way. All he had to do was look at her to want. All he had to do was taste her, touch her, to crave. It was that simple. That primitive.

Now. Now. Now. Drew wasn’t sure whether the word was a chant in her mind or if she was murmuring it against his skin as she raced her mouth over his neck and sank her teeth into his earlobe. He was all she wanted. His taste pouring into her, his hands—those strong clever hands—at her throat, her breasts, her waist.

She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t remember why she needed to do either. Was it always going to be this way when he touched her? Stunningly different, hauntingly familiar?

Now. Unclamping her legs, she slid down his body. As need ripped through her, she tore at the snap of his jeans. Then he was pulling at hers.

“This shouldn’t be happening,” she said, wondering how she had the breath to get out the words.

“Definitely not.”

Together they fumbled with the denim until they’d managed to release him and free one of her legs from her jeans.

“This is crazy. We’re crazy. I thought it was just you, but I want you so much. I can’t wait.”

“Working on it,” he muttered as he ripped foil off a condom and sheathed himself. Gripping her, he lifted her hips, and she locked herself around him. When she absorbed that first hard thrust, beneath the piercing stab of pleasure she felt the strange sensation of coming home.

Then the heat and speed engulfed her as they both began to move—faster, harder. He filled her vision, her mind, her world.

Then suddenly he stopped. And he stopped her. “Look at me, Drew, and tell me you’re mine.”

Her eyes narrowed on his. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” He began to move again until they both shattered.

AFTERWARD, Kit couldn’t think. He couldn’t walk. His breath was heaving in and out in gasps he couldn’t control. She’d nearly destroyed him, and he’d cooperated fully.

At least he was still standing, still had her pressed against the wall. But he was trembling. Trembling. And for a moment when he’d been in her, with her, reality had slipped away entirely. They could just as easily have ended up lying in the debris on the floor of the alley.

The alley.

They’d just made love in an alley. Hadn’t she said they were crazy? Had he hurt her? That question cleared the remaining sensual fog out of his mind. Easing her down, Kit stepped back, but he kept his hands on her shoulders and studied her. Her breathing was just as ragged as his, but she didn’t look as if she were in pain. “Are you all right?”

She opened her eyes. “I…think so. My legs—are they still there? I can’t feel them.”

He glanced down. “Yeah.” His were there, too. Then he met her eyes again. What could he say to a woman he’d just ravished in an alley? “This is a first for me.”

She drew in a deep breath. “Under the circumstances, I can’t be as certain of that as you are, but I hope I don’t make a habit of this. I’m pretty sure bricks are permanently tattooed on my backside.”

He couldn’t prevent the laugh and was delighted when she joined him. It was at that moment that it struck him. He was falling in love with her. As the realization sank in, he watched her get her bare leg back in her jeans and locate a sneaker.

“It’s ridiculous,” she said.

It was that, all right, Kit thought, still bemused, still stunned.

“We can’t go on this way. We have to figure out what to do.”

“I think we just did.” Kit zipped up his jeans.

“I’m serious.” She waved a hand. “This is just…irresponsible. It was one thing to jump each other in your office. But we’re in an alley. And who or what I am is still a mystery.”

It was the word irresponsible that hit him hard. She was right. He’d never taken a woman with less care, less finesse. And it had been more than irresponsible—it had been damned reckless on his part.

Cupping the side of her face with his hand, he traced his thumb over her cheekbone. “I’m not being very careful of you.”