Gypsey Blood (7 page)

They followed Bobby and Gus back to the station. Matt’s stony silence spoke volumes about his anger and frustration. The need to comfort him nagged at her, but what could she say when she felt the same? She had been next to the Ripper and didn’t do a damn thing.

Matt parked in front of the building. Once inside, the group huddled in the meeting room. After the debriefing, Della yawned,
then
waved to Rita. “See you same time, same station, tomorrow.”

Matt walked Rita to her car. “I’ll follow you home.”

“It’s only a few miles. I’ll be fine.”

“After scaring me senseless, I want to make sure you stay that way, so don’t argue.”

“Yes, Mon Capitan,” she said and saluted.

Chapter Eight

Rita rummaged in her tote for her key ring. When Matt’s arm slid her around her waist, her knees weakened. His fingers encircled her wrist, his grip strong, yet tender. He took the keys and hefted the overloaded ring, jingling them.

He shook his head slowly. “You can do some serious damage with all of these.” He rifled through the heavy bunch.
“This red one?”
 

She nodded, stifled a grin, and let him unlock the door. She hurried into the foyer and turned off the alarm system. The unit’s green numbers glowed two-thirty a.m.

“Coffee?
Beer?
Something stronger?”
She walked around snapping on lights. Matt followed close behind her.

“Beer.”
He shrugged off his jacket and looked around. “Nice.” He bent to peek up the stairs. “Where’d you find those art pieces in the wall recesses? The wild mustang looks hand carved.
Nice Venus replica, too.”

Rita slipped out of her coat, took off her shoes, and went into the kitchen. “Thanks. Della and I hunted miles and miles of flea-markets for them.”

Matt gave a quick glance into the dining room, then walked back into the living room and tossed his jacket on the arm of the rocking chair near the fireplace.
“Gas-jet?”

“Yeah.
No fuss, no muss.” She watched him over the work counter separating the rooms as he walked around studying the layout.

He ran his hand over the top of the long, beige couch with its jumble of purple and red throw pillows, sat, and fingered the multi-colored afghan that lay folded over the armrest.

She poured a glass of wine and brought him a longneck bottle from the fridge. Their fingers touched. The amulet heated against her chest. A pleasant, crackling energy wound down around her body and curled her toes. It surprised her that she didn’t get a jolt of static electricity from the carpet.

“Ah, that skirt, those legs.” His lips curled into that quirky grin. “If you don’t change, don’t hold me responsible for my actions.”

She put her forearm across her brow and widened her eyes. “Oh Lordy, and here I thought y’all was a perfect, southern gentleman. I do declare, I think y’all are comin’ on to li’l ol’ me.”

Matt threw his head back and laughed. He reached up and tweaked her elbow. “Suga, you know damn well what you do to me.”

“Ah. I better go…upstairs…change.” Grinning, Rita climbed the stairs and ran to her room. She hit the shower,
then
slipped into her old gray sweat pants and button-down flannel shirt. Barefoot, she padded down the carpeted steps to find Matt sprawled on the couch, his shoes and socks off, remote in hand and flicking the channels on her flat screen TV.
 

 
“Make yourself at home, why don’t you.”
    

He sat up. “Don’t think for a minute that I’m leaving you alone tonight. But don’t worry about me. I have all I need. Nice, long couch, lots of pillows. Good blanket.”

“I told you, I can….”

 
“Take care of yourself. I know, I know. However, this is the first time our guy has pulled this sort of stunt. It has to mean something. He might come after you again, and I’m going to be here, just in case.”

“Bullshit, Matt. How? It’s not like I wrote my name and address down for him.”

“Cheri, trust me, he can find you.” His eyes darkened. “I have a feeling you’ll learn more about him soon enough.”

Why didn’t he tell her now? Why wait? She held her tongue. No sense pushing him to disobey orders. She wouldn’t ignore a direct order either, so why should he? Well…unless she had no choice.

Without putting on his shoes, Matt went outside, brought in a large, black duffle bag and threw it on the floor by the couch. “Set the alarm and try to get some rest.”

“What’s with the bag?”

“Weapons.
Change of clothes. Never leave home without ‘em.”

“Looks like you could carry a whole arsenal in there.”

“Just a few things a guy in my line shouldn’t be without.”

He was being evasive, but Rita let it slide. She finished her wine. The fruity flavor rolled over her tongue and warmed her stomach. Her insides were still in free-fall. “I’m not tired. Too wound up.” Rita got him another beer and poured another glass of wine, then snuggled into the couch corner opposite him and tucked her bare feet under a throw pillow.

“Look.” He reached over and tipped her chin up with his hand. “We have this crazy connection. Don’t know the why of it, and you damn well know that sitting there looking all cozy and big-eyed is driving me nuts. You’re enjoying it, and don’t deny you’re not feeling it, too.”

She flipped her dark hair over her shoulder. “How the hell would you know what I’m feeling?”

An impish smile played on his lips. “Maybe I can read you better than you think. Anyway, it’s your decision. I don’t need a black eye to explain tomorrow.”

Rita licked her lips. “If you can read me so well, what makes you think I’d give you a black eye?”

“Because you’re afraid of getting involved, yet you’re not the kind that would settle for a one-night stand. Don’t worry, though. That’s not what I’m after.”

She sat up straight and leaned forward. “What are you after?”

“I told you I’m an honest man, Cheri. I want to have a chance with you. But, it’s your choice.”

The crystal tingled against her skin. Damn, damn, damn.

He pulled back and rested his arms on the back of the couch. That quirky smile warmed her insides. The full view of the bulge in his jeans made her breath catch. She rolled the wine glass between her palms and closed her eyes. It wasn’t a smart idea to mix work with pleasure.
Could lead to all kinds of complicated shit.
He’d probably be gone in a few days.
Safer not to start something.
Don’t be a damn idiot. Don’t do it!

Rita set the glass on a side table, stood, and in one fluid motion straddled his lap. She wrapped her fingers in his thick hair and planted her mouth on his.

Matt’s long, muscular arms clamped her hips to his waist. He stood, turned, laid her gently onto her back, their mouths never breaking contact. His lips were soft, a little damp, and tasted of beer and heat. He deepened the kiss and groaned when their tongues met. The couch dipped next to her ribs when his elbows settled, and he pinned her beneath his body.

The hard ridge of his belt buckle pushed into her stomach, but Rita wanted more of him. She wiggled and pushed her hips upward. He lifted his head and whispered, “You keep moving like that, I’m gonna get wild.”

His words made her insides contract. She hissed in a breath.
“Oh, yeah.
I can do wild.”

Their hands worked fast, buttons opening, elastic giving way, the whisper of a zipper. She sought the feel of his flesh, the touch of the wiry, dark hair on his chest.

Matt slid down and ran his wet tongue over her nipple, sucking, nipping.
First one, then the other.
His hot hands slid up and down her rib cage. “Sweet,” he
muttered,
his voice hoarse.

Fingers moved over her body, touching, testing, until her skin burned with sensation. He nibbled at her chin, her neck, and shoulders. Her insides coiled into a throbbing knot of heat, her breathing hot and shallow.

She rubbed the solid muscles of his back and shoulders, reveling in the taut strength held in check beneath the surface. He cupped her breasts, tweaking a nipple with deft finger movements while he pulled at the other with his teeth.

Rita’s skin tingled, her blood raced. She whimpered, dug her fingers into his hair and forced his head closer. Heat roiled deep within her.

He groaned, reached for his jeans on the floor, and her muddled mind made out his choked whisper, “Condom.” The sudden shift of his weight away from her sweaty body made her want to cry. An instant later, she turned all warm again. He pushed partly inside her. Rita
moaned,
her body on fire with need.

“Look at me,” he said. “I want to take it slo….”

Rita wrapped her legs around him, dug her heels into his hard butt, and thrust up, taking in every inch of him.

He tensed, his breath hitched. “Oh, hell,” he expelled in a guttural moan.

They matched rhythm, his gold cross and her warm crystal sliding, skimming across her hardened nipples, heightening the sensation to all her nerve endings. Her body thrummed. She flew higher and higher as he kept hitting the spot that made her insane, her need coiling tighter. He drove into her, pushing harder each time, his jaw clenched, arm muscles bunched, holding back his release.

Sighs came from her lips. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.” She ground her nails into his back and arched up. He wedged a hand under her buttocks and thrust heavily. Her entire body exploded into fiery, hot fragments. The wash of release brought a sharp cry from her throat.

Matt pulled out,
then
thrust again, deep and hard. A primal groan, carried in a lungful of air, rushed into her ear. He collapsed on top of her, crushing her with his weight. While her insides continued to spasm, she wrapped her arms around his sweat-slicked back. She sucked for air as her world kept spinning. Little tremors deep within her sent after-shocks through her body.

“Jesus H. Christ.” He gasped for breath. He shuddered, elbowed off the couch, and rolled onto the floor. His chest heaving, one arm flung over his forehead, he reached up and pulled her to lie beside him, then enfolded her in his arms.

Rita tugged the afghan from the couch and covered them. She laid her head on his chest and drifted into a deep sleep.

She woke during the night to the feel of Matt’s hands exploring.

“This time, I really mean to take it slow and easy,” he whispered in her ear.

* * *

The smell of fresh coffee wafting from the kitchen forced her eyes open. Rita stretched her arms and smiled lazily. The clock on the mantle showed eleven. She had never felt so rested.

Matt rounded the counter from the kitchen, a spatula in one hand, a cup of steaming coffee in the other. He was dressed in jeans, his feet and chest bare. His hair swirled in damp curls from the shower. She licked her lips at the sight of him again. She sat up and draped the afghan around her, folding it in place and tucking the end under her arm. Brushing strands of her hair from her eyes, she reached for the coffee.

“Uh-uh. Not till I get a kiss first.” He squatted and pressed his lips against hers. “Now, here’s your coffee. Scrambled eggs and toast will be ready in a few. It’s about all I can manage in the kitchen. Where do you hide your
Tabasco
sauce?”

“Arrrgh, don’t you dare slather my eggs with that stuff.” Then she noticed his silly grin. “Got me, huh?”

“Yep.
And in such a nice way.”
He wiggled his eyebrows, and she couldn’t help but groan and then laugh.

He walked back to the kitchen. “I called the station. The morning shift is still looking for the van. They haven’t found a body. I have to go in soon for a conference call with my director.”

Rita leaned back, the soft seat cushion of the couch molded into her shoulders.
The coffee tasted strong, hot, and just right.
Like Matt.