Until You

Mary Alice's bedroom—they'd moved there during the long night—was grey with early morning light. The soft ringing of the phone had awakened him. Mary Alice rolled over and grabbed for it on the nightstand.

"Lo," she muttered, and then she shoved the phone in his direction. "It's for you."

He took it from her. "Thanks," he said, trying not to notice that her face was puffy with sleep or that the sexy, kittenish voice had given way to one that was raspy and sullen.

"I don't much appreciate having my private phone number handed out everywhere, Conor. If you need to touch base with people—-"

He reached out, cupped her breast as he scooted up against the pillows.

"O'Neil," he said into the phone. Mary Alice sighed as his thumb moved against her flesh.

"Your cell phone is government property, my boy. Turning it off is a violation of the law."

"Bull," Conor said pleasantly.

"Did I wake you?"

Conor shut his eyes. He pulled back his hand and rubbed it over his face. The stubble on his chin and cheeks was rough against his fingers.

"No, Harry, of course not. I'm always up and alert at—what time is it, anyway?"

"It's 6:00 a.m.," Mary Alice said. She flopped onto her belly and dragged the satin quilt over her naked shoulders. "Who in God's name makes phone calls at this hour on a Saturday morning?"

Harry Thurston's chuckle rumbled softly in Conor's ear. "Did I interrupt something? If I did, I'm sorry."

"Yeah. I'll bet."

"But I wanted to be sure I got hold of you."

Conor sighed. "Well, you got hold of me. What do you want?"

"I tried reaching you at the office yesterday, four, five o'clock, somewhere around there. Rosemary said you were already gone."

"I left at three-thirty." Conor shoved aside the quilt and swung his feet to the carpet. "Come on, Harry. You didn't call me to discuss the time I checked out of the office. What's up?"

"I'm cold," Mary Alice mumbled. Her voice had lost some of its sullen quality. "You pulled the quilt off me, Conor."

He half-turned, grasped the quilt and drew it over her. She caught his hand, bit the pad at the base of his thumb none too gently, then sucked the finger into her warm, moist mouth.

The voice on the other end of the phone took on a teasing whine. "Did you pull the quilt off, Conor? I'm ashamed of you."

Conor shook his head at Mary Alice, smiled and gently extricated his thumb from between her lips.

"Harry," he said, "I'm warning you, I'm not in the mood for fun and games right now."

"But I am, "Mary Alice murmured. She reached out her hand. Conor caught it as it began its search for his lap.

"You've got one minute to get to the bottom line, Harry," he said.

"Anybody ever tell you you've got no sense of humor, O'Neil?" Harry Thurston sighed. "Okay, okay, here's the deal. I need a favor."

"No."

"What do you mean, no? You don't even know what it is."

"It's the weekend, Harry. I finished up the stuff I'd been working on—"

"Yeah, I saw. Nice job."