you think I am, then?”
The White Witch.
He forced the thought from his mind.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” he replied, conscious of the proximity of her. A strand of her hair had come loose and teased his neck.
She smirked. “You do that.”
He had this insane urge to smell her skin and hold her close to keep her safe. He leaned in, conscious of the fact that he was crossing the professional line but unable to help himself.
Hell—he’d crossed the line already, with that kiss, and that infuriated him even more. He had always prided himself on his professionalism and the ability to keep his cool. Losing it was unacceptable and difficult. His body wanted her badly. He didn’t have an active imagination, but apparently he didn’t need one to picture her legs hitched around his hips.
He reined himself back. The investigation was his top priority. Maybe if he told himself that, another several dozen times, his dick would believe it, too. “I find it hard to believe you have no ties to either of the two homicide victims.”
She leaned back against the building, casually and at ease, humor flirting with her lips. “And why is that, Starsky?”
At least she hadn’t called him Ponch. That always pissed him off. “What other reason would you have to be at Bohemia if you had nothing to do with either victim?” he asked.
“Maybe I like to get my groove on.”
He knew that wasn’t the reason, but he could picture the scene all too well—her body undulating, loose, limber, and graceful. Only not to the music, but to a lover’s hands, and he felt himself harden again.
Focus,
he ordered himself, putting a wall around his unruly reaction to her. “Or maybe you know Joel Rocco.”
She shrugged, that mocking hint of a smile fixed in place.
He wanted to kiss it off her face.
No,
he didn’t, damn it. Scowling, hoping to intimidate her, he asked, “Was Rocco your lover?”
Amusement lit her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Starsky.”
Hell, if that wasn’t what he was. His jaw tightened. “Answer the question.”
“Or what? You’ll cuff me?” She pushed off the wall and stepped into him. “Maybe I’d like that.”
She didn’t touch him, but his body lit on fire like she’d reached into his pants and taken hold, as if she’d wrapped him in a sexual web.
He exhaled, trying to focus, trying to regain his professional demeanor, but all he could see was her cuffed to his bed, open and inviting and wet for him. He cleared his throat. “Maybe I should take you to the station.”
“Or you could just take me here,” she retorted, her breath soft on his neck.
He wanted to—desperately. He glanced at her lips, curled in mockery of his obvious dilemma, and it pushed him over the edge. Before he could talk himself out of it, he hauled her flush to his body and took what she was offering.
The moment his mouth touched hers, all thoughts of the investigation left his mind. He slipped his hands under her nonexistent top. He’d never felt skin so soft. If her back was this silky, what would the inside of her thighs feel like? Something shifted. She breathed a low moan into his mouth and melted into him.
Something elemental howled in triumph inside him at her surrender. He drew her in closer—as close as they could get fully clothed. He inhaled her faint evergreen scent, clean and pure, and knew
this
was who she really was.
Her hands ran up his shoulders. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she drew herself up into him, and he groaned as her hip brushed his erection.
Just as quickly as she gave in to him, she pulled back, her eyes wide with passion and surprise. Good. He hated to think he was the only one affected. He raked his hair back, his scalp tingling from where her nails had scraped, and tried to regain his composure.
She stepped back, her hand touching her mouth as she stared at his. And then she ran. Again.
Chapter Seven
T he kiss was the most powerful thing she’d
The White Witch.
He forced the thought from his mind.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” he replied, conscious of the proximity of her. A strand of her hair had come loose and teased his neck.
She smirked. “You do that.”
He had this insane urge to smell her skin and hold her close to keep her safe. He leaned in, conscious of the fact that he was crossing the professional line but unable to help himself.
Hell—he’d crossed the line already, with that kiss, and that infuriated him even more. He had always prided himself on his professionalism and the ability to keep his cool. Losing it was unacceptable and difficult. His body wanted her badly. He didn’t have an active imagination, but apparently he didn’t need one to picture her legs hitched around his hips.
He reined himself back. The investigation was his top priority. Maybe if he told himself that, another several dozen times, his dick would believe it, too. “I find it hard to believe you have no ties to either of the two homicide victims.”
She leaned back against the building, casually and at ease, humor flirting with her lips. “And why is that, Starsky?”
At least she hadn’t called him Ponch. That always pissed him off. “What other reason would you have to be at Bohemia if you had nothing to do with either victim?” he asked.
“Maybe I like to get my groove on.”
He knew that wasn’t the reason, but he could picture the scene all too well—her body undulating, loose, limber, and graceful. Only not to the music, but to a lover’s hands, and he felt himself harden again.
Focus,
he ordered himself, putting a wall around his unruly reaction to her. “Or maybe you know Joel Rocco.”
She shrugged, that mocking hint of a smile fixed in place.
He wanted to kiss it off her face.
No,
he didn’t, damn it. Scowling, hoping to intimidate her, he asked, “Was Rocco your lover?”
Amusement lit her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Starsky.”
Hell, if that wasn’t what he was. His jaw tightened. “Answer the question.”
“Or what? You’ll cuff me?” She pushed off the wall and stepped into him. “Maybe I’d like that.”
She didn’t touch him, but his body lit on fire like she’d reached into his pants and taken hold, as if she’d wrapped him in a sexual web.
He exhaled, trying to focus, trying to regain his professional demeanor, but all he could see was her cuffed to his bed, open and inviting and wet for him. He cleared his throat. “Maybe I should take you to the station.”
“Or you could just take me here,” she retorted, her breath soft on his neck.
He wanted to—desperately. He glanced at her lips, curled in mockery of his obvious dilemma, and it pushed him over the edge. Before he could talk himself out of it, he hauled her flush to his body and took what she was offering.
The moment his mouth touched hers, all thoughts of the investigation left his mind. He slipped his hands under her nonexistent top. He’d never felt skin so soft. If her back was this silky, what would the inside of her thighs feel like? Something shifted. She breathed a low moan into his mouth and melted into him.
Something elemental howled in triumph inside him at her surrender. He drew her in closer—as close as they could get fully clothed. He inhaled her faint evergreen scent, clean and pure, and knew
this
was who she really was.
Her hands ran up his shoulders. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she drew herself up into him, and he groaned as her hip brushed his erection.
Just as quickly as she gave in to him, she pulled back, her eyes wide with passion and surprise. Good. He hated to think he was the only one affected. He raked his hair back, his scalp tingling from where her nails had scraped, and tried to regain his composure.
She stepped back, her hand touching her mouth as she stared at his. And then she ran. Again.
Chapter Seven
T he kiss was the most powerful thing she’d
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