Submission Read online

  She looked around. Up until now she’d thought her day had been pretty crappy. Ending with being stood up by the man who was presently a little too quiet behind the bathroom door. But she suspected that whatever she’d faced had been nothing compared to what Alan was going through.

  Without realizing she was doing so, she picked up his overcoat from the floor, hung it on a hook near the door along with his hat, then moved on into the kitchen. There were a few coffee mugs in the sink, along with a couple of plates, but nothing serious. After cleaning out the coffeemaker, she put a fresh pot on to boil, then found two clean mugs and placed them on the counter, which she leaned against while she watched the open doorway for signs of life from the other room.

  In her first few years of college she’d lived in plenty of places similar to this one. Furnished apartments that looked as if they hadn’t been painted since the 1970s. They were in-between places she never put her stamp on but merely saw in the morning when she got up and in the evening right before she went to bed, the time in between spent on campus and at the library, where she had computer access and where she preferred to do her studying.

  The coffeemaker stopped spitting, and she turned to pour the hot liquid into two mugs, not much caring about the late hour.

  “What are you doing?”

  At the harsh sound of Alan’s voice from the doorway, Molly nearly dropped the mugs she’d just picked up. She turned. He’d gotten dressed into a pair of creased slacks and a wrinkled shirt that hung open to reveal the washboard abs she had felt last night but was now seeing.

  “I, um, made coffee,” she said, holding out a mug for him. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  He merely stood considering her for long moments, then finally reached out to take what she offered.

  She took a long, fortifying sip from her cup, wrinkling her nose at the bitter taste of his preferred blend. “Have you lived here long?”

  He looked around as if just now seeing the place for the first time.

  “I mean, no offense, but I’ve been here five minutes and I’m already feeling sorry for myself.”

  He appeared to find amusement in her comment. “Five years.”

  She nodded. “Long time.”

  “Too long.”

  He turned and walked into the other room, which was a combination living room/bedroom. To her right was a double bed, unmade. To her left, a threadbare sofa and chair positioned around a television that looked as old as the furniture.

  She gestured toward the set. “That thing even have a remote?”

  He reached out and picked something up from the chair arm, then tossed it to the coffee table.

  “Let me guess,” she said. “Child support and alimony.”

  His gaze narrowed on her face. Suddenly she felt the lightheartedness she was trying to affect melt away from her.

  “Three younger sisters who are living in a family house that’s paid for but that has upkeep bills that are more than they can manage.”

  She blinked. The three beautiful young women in the picture. “Why don’t you sell it?”

  He sat down in the chair. She slowly rounded the sofa and sat down.

  “Because it’s been in the family since it was built two hundred years ago.”

  Molly hadn’t had a chance to play tourist and visit the Garden District, but she’d seen enough pictures in the books on New Orleans she’d bought to know he was likely referring to one of the older places.

  “And alimony.”

  She blinked.

  “Although Valerie hasn’t cashed a check I’ve sent her in over three years.”

  Molly took another sip of her coffee, then placed the cup on the table. “How long were you married?”

  “Five years.”

  “Children?”

  He shook his head, then fell silent for long moments. Molly swallowed hard, listening to the sounds of his neighbors. Downstairs, a couple shouted at each other. Somewhere a cat meowed. And the scent of fried okra that had been strong in the hall was subtler here yet still present.

  “Do your feet hurt?”

  She blinked at Alan, only then realizing that she’d slid off her left shoe and was rubbing her arch.

  She smiled. “Yeah. I guess I’m not used to doing the type of walking I’ve been doing here.”

  He put his coffee cup down and motioned for her to put her foot on his knee.

  Molly’s heart stopped outright in her chest.

  She’d never had a man offer to rub her feet before. The offer was so foreign and so tempting that she didn’t quite know how to respond.

  But she was happy for the change in atmosphere and didn’t want to go back to feeling unwelcome, so she hesitantly lifted her foot. He gently grasped it and rested it against his knee. The instant his thumb slid down her arch, serious tingles erupted throughout her body.

  “I’m sorry about…well, being short with you when I opened the door.”

  Molly found it hard to push words through her suddenly tight throat. “That’s okay. It’s just that when you didn’t show at the bar tonight, I…”

  She what? She’d worried for his well-being?

  No, she realized. That wasn’t it at all. Rather she’d been looking for exactly what he was giving her now. And she didn’t mean a foot massage, although his lazy, knowing moves were igniting all sorts of interesting sensations. Rather she’d needed to see the awareness in his eyes when he looked at her. As he was looking at her now….

  12

  THERE WAS SOMETHING relaxing about touching Molly. By concentrating on the rhythmic motions of my thumbs and fingers against her smooth, warm skin, I was somehow able to force aside the demons that had been torturing me the better part of the day and focus solely on her.

  Of course, I could have done that even without the foot massage. Molly made it damn difficult to think about anything but her, whether she was in the room or not.

  Truth was, she offered me something that was being denied me in every other area of my life right now. Something intangible but important. Something that grounded me in a strange way. Something that made me want her with an intensity that was more powerful than even the bourbon I still craved.

  I idly wondered why she’d gone for the coffee. In plain view were at least four bourbon bottles in various stages of emptiness. Next to the bed, on top of the ancient television and on the kitchen table and counter.

  Probably seeing so many bottles of the same make of liquor had sent her scrambling to make coffee for me, lest she discover I needed sobering up.

  I grimaced. Definitely not a good first impression. Then again, I hadn’t been looking to impress anybody. Hadn’t been looking to impress anyone for a long time. Astrid…well, Astrid had been a hot, forbidden lay, our one liaison taking place at her house. The other women before and in between had been one-night stands that hadn’t stuck around long enough to see what the apartment looked like in the light of day, mostly because I had shown them the door before they could even catch their breath.

  Yet, despite the impression she may have gotten, here was Molly, looking like if I got up right now and carried her to the bed, she would go willingly.

  And I wasn’t moving.

  What did that mean? Except that I was crazy?

  More than likely it meant that I knew I didn’t have the right even to think about touching someone as sweet and beautiful as Molly Laraway, no matter how smart she was or how adult and capable of making her own decisions.

  “Mmm, that feels good.” Her whisper reached my ears.

  I cleared my throat. “So…what did you accomplish today?”

  She’d relaxed against the sofa, looking like a swath of pure silk poured over my unworthy couch. She considered me through the fringe of her lashes. “Uh-uh. You first.”

  I encircled the upper part of her right foot with both hands, pressing her toes with my thumb. “Some forensics results are in. The evidence proves we’re dealing with two separate killers.”

 
; I caught her shiver, although I couldn’t be sure if it was a result of my attentions or her reaction to the news.

  “You?” I asked, trying to focus on something beyond what I was doing, because my attention was starting to wander. My gaze took in her slender ankles and a portion of her shapely calves where her tan slacks had fallen back. Her breasts were full and round under her clingy black top. I realized she was wearing something similar to what Val had had on earlier. But my reaction to the clothes—or, more importantly, the woman underneath—couldn’t have been more different.

  “I went to the scene of the crime.”

  I stared at her. “The Josephine?”

  She nodded.

  I thought of her inside the hotel that may have at different times been the talk of the town, either as an upscale place to stay or as a brothel, but was now not even a stop for prostitutes. “And?”

  She smiled. “And it was closed.”

  My hands slowed. Since the day I’d responded to the call reporting Molly’s sister’s murder, I’d never known Josie Villefranche to close the front doors. I was familiar with the place long before that, going back to her grandmother, and I couldn’t remember a single solitary time when I’d seen the place closed.

  “I was reading the sign in the window when a guy who said he worked there came up.”

  “Philippe Murrell.”

  “Yes. He seemed surprised by the sign and was more than a little upset.”

  So Josie had closed the hotel and hadn’t told her staff. I frowned.

  “Oh, please don’t stop.”

  I realized I’d ceased my motions. I gazed into her blue eyes that were almost black with desire.

  Damn. I hadn’t meant for my actions to arouse her. Then again, who was I kidding? Touching her left me more than a little hot and bothered. Why should she be any different?

  I released her foot and moved to stand. If I didn’t do something soon, I’d end up taking her right on the couch.

  Her reaction was quick and kept me from passing.

  “Alan,” she said quietly.

  The scent of gardenias teased my nose, and her hair shone almost white in the bright light.

  “Molly, I…getting sexually involved isn’t a good idea right now.”

  She slowly lifted her hand, trailing a finger along my bare chest between the open flaps of my shirt. A trail of fire burned its way straight to my groin.

  “Oh, I think some parts of it would be good,” she said, leaning in to kiss my neck. “Very, very good.”

  Christ.

  She kissed her way up my jawline, both her hands on my chest now, making their way down, then around to my back inside my shirt. I hissed a deep breath as she pressed her soft body against me at the same time her mouth reached mine.

  At the gentle touch of Molly Laraway I was a puddle of raging male hormones at her beautiful feet.

  I entwined my hand in her hair, meaning to pull her away, but instead hauled her closer. So soft. So sweet. So damn sexy.

  Her quickened breathing filled my ears. Or was that mine? Both, I think. My blood thickened as she pressed herself against me, apparently catching on to my condition, as she made a little sound in her throat and edged closer still. My erection hardened further, letting me know in no uncertain terms what it wanted. And that was to be inside Molly’s slick, hot flesh—now.

  Which was precisely the reason I tightened my hands in her hair—to keep them from wandering. The action also held her still. I took full advantage of the result and plundered her mouth, focusing all my need on the relative safety of her swollen lips, her seeking tongue.

  Then I felt her fingertips at the front of my trousers. The danger zone.

  While I could control my own actions to some degree, it appeared that, short of handcuffs, I couldn’t control Molly’s. And she seemed determined to push this as far as it could go, the hell with the consequences.

  Within moments her hot fingers slid against the hard length of my erection. I dragged in a deep breath and pulled my mouth away slightly from hers, reveling in the feel of her touching me. Damn, but it felt good. Too good.

  She popped the fastener on my slacks and tugged down the zipper until I felt air on me, then her fingers again. She encircled the engorged length, then brushed her thumb over the tip, effectively reminding me that I was but a man. And with her doing what she was, well, there was only so much I could take before my self-control snapped.

  A millimeter away from that point, she released me, then grabbed the hem of her shirt, pulling it up and forcing me to remove my hands from her hair. She wore the skimpiest of white bras, practical yet sexy as hell against her pale skin. Her breasts were perfect globes begging for attention I was loath not to give them.

  I fastened my mouth over a protruding nipple through the shiny material of her bra, pulling it in deep. She gasped, stretching her neck to give me easier access while I supported her back with my hands. Those same hands found the fastener, and I popped it open, causing the bra to slip down over her breasts. She moved to take it the rest of the way off, but I was too impatient for that, eager to taste her bare flesh against my tongue. And that’s what I did, pulling her other nipple into my mouth and suckling deeply, reveling in the clean taste of her.

  Damn, had a woman ever tasted so good to me? Had I ever experienced such a state of need for a woman while she still had her pants on? I smoothed my hands along the column of her back. So soft. So firm.

  She apparently regained a portion of her bearings and pushed my own shirt back, giving her access to my shoulders. She ran her tongue across my collarbone, then over my right bicep before kissing my skin, driving me insane with the image of her paying such rapt attention to another area of my anatomy.

  Giving up all pretense of control, I swept her up into my arms and carried her toward the bed. She clung to me easily, her eyes staring deeply into mine. I laid her across the tousled bedsheets, marveling at the needy expression on her face, the wildness of her hair. I’d moved well beyond questioning what she saw in me and acted on pure instinct instead, peeling away her bra, then reaching for the front of her slacks, all the while my gaze glued to her beautiful face. Within moments her slacks and panties lay with mine on the floor, and she was pushing my shirt the rest of the way off.

  I reached to switch off the lamp.

  She caught my hand. “No. Don’t. I don’t want this to happen in the shadows. I want it to happen in plain light, where we both know what’s happening.”

  And what was happening?

  As I pressed my palm against her stomach, sliding it down toward the triangle of soft fleece between her legs, I was afraid to answer that question, fearful of what I’d find lurking beneath the desire blinding me to nearly all else. I might honor her request for light, but the openness she demanded was a little more difficult in coming. Probably because it wasn’t one of my strong suits when it came to the opposite sex. I’d spent far too much time hiding my real self to step out into the light. To allow Molly to see me, all of me. My identity was built on shadows and darkness. To cast that aside now would be to deny who I was. To bare myself not only physically but emotionally…well, even if I’d wanted to do that, I don’t think I could have.

  So I forced myself to focus on the physical instead.

  MOLLY WATCHED MYRIAD emotions flicker across Alan’s face. His expression was almost savage. And while the light revealed a handsomeness not even she had glimpsed until now, the stubble marring his face clung like a shadow that refused to be chased away. She wondered if that was a fitting metaphor for the man himself.

  His fingers slowly trailed from her stomach to her springy pubic hair, then touched her tight bud. Her eyes drifted closed and she swallowed hard, all thought blurring from her mind.

  The instant she’d stood to face him, barring him from an avenue for escape, she’d known she’d made an important decision to force whatever was happening between them to its natural conclusion…or beginning. She couldn’t say which it
would be, only knew an intense desire to find out. There were too many unanswered questions swirling around in her life now. She needed to exercise a power over those she could. And with Alan leaning over her now, his body slender and muscular, his eyes full of need for her at the same time as his jaw clenched in what appeared to be a desperate effort to keep control, she knew she was traveling the right path.

  He needed this as much as she did. She felt that with everything that she was. They both longed for a connection that transcended them and their bodies and rational thought.

  She slowly opened her thighs to him, bending her knees to gain leverage as she lifted her vulva into his touch. She heard his groan and opened her eyes to watch him watching her. Then she reached for his obvious arousal, curving her fingers around the thick width. So long. So hard. She could virtually feel his heartbeat there, just beyond the silken, stiff flesh.

  She wanted him to lose control. Needed to know she was the cause of it.

  She gently squeezed and drew her hand down, then back up again, watching as he groaned and threw his head back. Such a simple touch. Such a feral response.

  Then he was grasping her hips and turning her over.

  Molly was caught off guard at first, her face pressed against a pillow that smelled of him. She moved to turn back around. She wanted to see him. Yearned to see his face during the progression of their lovemaking.

  He held her still.

  Then he was touching her again, stroking her slick heat from behind, and she was the one groaning. She heard a drawer open and close, then a condom packet being torn, and before she could catch her breath, he was stealing it away from her again by positioning his hardness against her softness.

  He paused.

  Molly lay still, anticipating the moment when he would breach her. When his flesh would meld with her flesh and they would topple over into the next level of sweet sensation.