“I think the only other thing is that you know how important it is for me to keep my wig on. I don’t want you accidentally pulling it off, which is why I asked you not to touch my hair.”
He lifted his hand from her wrist and saluted. “Yes, ma’am. Remember, I was in the Marines. You won’t find anyone better at following orders.”
“Good. Do you still want to show me your bedroom?” she asked, butterflies dancing in her stomach.
Aleksei’s eyes became hooded, and he leaned toward her, so close that his lips brushed hers as he spoke. “Do you still want to see it?”
Desire snaked through her belly. Instead of answering, she closed the distance between them, pressing her lips against his warm, firm ones. His tongue pushed against her mouth, and she opened for him, savoring his sweet, spicy, minty taste. She dropped her hands to his thighs. His pants were smooth, but the muscle beneath was hard. An image of him using those muscles to thrust deeply inside her flashed through her mind. Heat swirled in her stomach and thighs. She needed to touch him.
She inched her hands higher and higher, circling the tips of her fingers in exploration until she found what she was looking for—his erection. He was rock hard, and she could feel the heat of his skin even through his pants. She closed her hand around his cock, squeezing.
He groaned and thrust his tongue deeper into her mouth, sending electric waves through her. She found his waistband, tugged his undershirt free, and let her fingers roam, finding firm muscle and fiery skin. His coarse chest hair contrasted with the smooth planes of his sides and back. The need to feel him under her tongue rode her.
She jerked his shirt upward and bent her head to bite the flesh just above his waist. Hard fingers dug into her shoulders as his hips jerked forward, making liquid heat rush to her core. His cock was rigid against her cheek, warm even through the layers of material separating them. She fumbled at the button of his pants, the metal cool under her fingers.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
His hand left her shoulder, and she peered up just as he glanced at the vibrating smart watch on his wrist.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.”
She eased back, disappointment mixing with concern.
His mouth was set in a grim line. “I’m sorry. I have to take this call.”
He leapt off the coach, agile as a cat, grabbed his phone from the coffee table, and answered the call as he headed toward the hall. She leaned in his direction, straining to hear.
She heard Alexsie ask, “What’s wrong?” Then, the click of his bedroom door cut him off from her hearing.
The concern in his voice sent a chill down her spine.
* * *
Aleksei’s eyes adjusted quickly to the darkened bedroom. The room faced the road, so streetlights and headlights always provided bands of light around the blinds, no matter how late it was. Jaka lifted her head in her crate, but she didn’t bark. As he waited for Kemper’s response, he peered carefully through the narrow opening between the blind and the edge of a window that flanked his bed, scanning the street. If Kemper called late on a Friday night when he knew Aleksei was supposed to be out with Rosemary, shit was brewing. If Moresco was somehow on to him, he’d be easy enough to find. He owned the apartment. A quick search of real estate records and he’d be a sitting duck.
The hiss of Kemper blowing out cigarette smoke filled the line. “Why do you always think something’s wrong?”
“You’re calling me when I’m with Rosemary,” he said through clenched teeth. “I told you we were going to the theater and that I was going to try to find out more about her work.So, it’s reasonable to assume you wouldn’t fucking call unless something was wrong.”
“It’s past midnight. You said you’d be home around 10.”
He glanced at his watch: 00:37. The theater. The bar. The walk back to his apartment. Talking outside, then inside. Watching Rosemary come while lying in his arms. It felt like days, and it felt like seconds. Too much and too little at the same time.
“Shit.”
Kemper barked out a laugh. “That’s what you always say. You gotta get a new line.”
“She’s still here.”
“You brought her back to your place? What the hell are you doing, Thompson? You know better than that. This op isn’t going to be worth shit if you blow your cover.”
He fought to keep his voice quiet. “This is no op, and you fucking know it. It’s me, solo, trying to catch Phillipe’s killer with an occasional bone from you.”
Another hiss from the cigarette. “All right. All right.”